Jelly

So now they’ve changed some story lines, changed characters overall personality, gotten the wrong cultural background for some characters and now not doing the bare minimum of hiring an actual transgendered person for lev?

Only good thing the show did was Frank and Bill’s relationship.

Pairing: Game Joel Miller x afab!fem!reader

Word count: 11.3k (I went a little crazy, sorry.)

Summary: Being the sheriff’s daughter means one thing: you’re property to be traded. You are determined to choose freedom instead—and when an older outlaw with a soft spot and a guilty past saves you (twice), you're forced to question everything you know about your father, your town, and who really deserves your loyalty.

CW: enimes to friends to lovers, cursing, old slang used, smut, 18+ content, minors dni, praising, piv, thigh riding, female anatomy, male anatomy, oral - f reciving, size difference/kink, overstimulation, pent up feelings, mutual lust, porn with plot, major character death, mentioned of abuse, daddy issues, angst but I kiss it better, good ending, no use of y/n, let me know if i misssed anything!!

A/N reposts and likes are appreciated! Let me know if you guys have any requests or ideas. i'd be so very apprieciative if you feel like tiping me :) Cash App!

God, you hated being the sheriff's daughter. Sure, people respected you, people listened to you, but nothing would ever make up for how your father treated you. You weren't some pretty girl to be put on display, just to be seen as an object to eventually be sold off in some stupid marriage.

He barely even acknowledged your existence unless he was getting mad at you for “dressing unwifely" or trying to make you agree to marry some rich old fat man on the east end of town, who would only see you for your status and ability to carry children. None of these men were even good people. There was a 90% chance they were only offering their hand to the sheriff's daughter so they would be let off the hook with their shady business choices. And the other 10% of men wanted you because of the farm land your father would leave to them in his death, because heaven forbid a woman own anything.

Why couldn't your father understand you didn't want to be married off? Let alone be married, period.

Every day goes the same: you wake up, go downstairs to eat the already-made breakfast by one of the many farmhands your father had, and then are bombarded with potential marriage candidates.

Though he wanted to let you choose your potential partner, he was getting impatient. You were 24, so in his eyes, you were a few years away from being undesirable. He’d always say something like “Ya know, them Grizille boys on the east side are single, looking for wifes—one of them would be nice,” or “come on pumpkin, dont ya want to make your old man proud,” and even “one day I'll I wont be here anymore, weather that’s from old age or getting shot on the job—who will take my land when I'm gone?”

Every single day, it's just iterations of saying “I wish you were a boy, and if not a boy, then you must get married and be owned by a man twice your age who will abuse you and treat you like nothing more than an object.”

You can't just settle down—and nothing is going to make you. No old fat man with riches that come from the cost of others' blood, sweat, and tears deserves you. Never ever.

Today was the same as it always is, once again you wake up, brush your hair out, get dressed in “unwifely” attire, which was a pair of jeans you bought yourself with the little money your father gave you on your birthday, a white button-up blouse, and your hair far from the beauty standard. You even wore a pair of old boots.

Immediately as you walked downstairs, you felt your father's eyes rake your figure, silently judging the choices of your clothing. You take a seat at the table, eggs and bacon being served to you as your father looks at the weekly newspaper, on a page with his face, because of course he's in it again for saving the town from bandits or something stupid like that, but you don't care—it's just another facade—just another political act.

“I heard the mayor of a town over the river has a son who's looking for–”  you interrupt him before he can finish that god-awful sentence, “Don’t. I’m not interested.”

His fists hit the table, causing you to flinch as the metal and white granite plates clank together, making a very unpleasant screeching noise.

“Dammit, woman, you can't be this stubborn forever,” he raises his voice. You sit there, eating the food on your plate, trying to ignore him, “You’re one lucky lady, ya know that? I’m giving you the opportunity to choose! Most fathers would have just sold you out right–”

You stand up, slamming down your hands on the table, making the cutlery and dishware make that horrific noise again. “And that means it's a good thing? Being sold like cattle to men who are worse than Lucifer—” your father is practically screaming at you now,

"Don't you dare say that blasphemous name in this house, young lady.”

Tears start to swell in your eyes, “Why not? Because God is listening? Why should I care what he thinks if what he wants for me is to be married off to some immoral scum—God can strike me down for all I care, why–”

Your father stands up, slamming the table, and a few dishes even fall to the ground, one shattering as it hits the floor. “Don’t you dare,” he growls, his voice is deep, serious, his eyes looking at you like he might kill you.

You step back, the wooden chair behind you almost falling over. Your father takes a deep breath in, looking at the broken china on the floor. “Look at what you did—look at the mess you’ve made.” He scoffs and storms off with his rifle and his hat, stopping just before he leaves. “You'd better fix your attitude, or I won't be so lenient with your future.” He stomps out, shutting the door with a slam behind him, leaving you and the farmhands in disbelief and a bit of fear.

Having lost your appetite, you decide taking a trip into town would be nice. You leave your house, the cool morning summer air hits your skin as you walk outside, shutting the old wooden door behind you, making sure it latches. You notice a group of boys around your age huddled in a circle around something, you decide to investigate and see that it's a stray cat, scared and alone, hissing over a large-mouthed bass as the men poke at it with a stick and kick at it.

“Hey! Leave the cat alone.” You raise your voice, walking more briskly as things start to escalate. The men—if you can even call these scums men—barely batted an eye. “I said stop.” You push the men just enough, allowing the cat to run away with its food. All the men instantly circle around you; they look pissed—like you’re prey. “Oi, what's a little lady like you have any business with us, ey?” You try to escape, but it's no use—you aren't short, and you are not weak—but these men are not on guard, and they are like 6’3 250 pound giants, and there were 3 of them. “Yeah, what makes you think you have the right to join in our business?” one of them hissed.

You stand up a bit straighter, trying to show you aren't scared or one to mess with. “Well, if your business consists of abusing innocent animals, I think I have every right as a lawful citizen to see to it that you stop your immoral actions,” the third and by far the biggest one scoffs, “Innocent? That scum of a cat stole our lunch, do you plan on payin’ us back now?” He leans in closer, you step backwards, accidentally hitting into another one—you are trapped. “I’ll have you know—my father is the sheriff of this–” “does it look like we care?” one snapped at you. “Maybe we can hold you for ransom—or use you for ourselves.” You are completely and utterly shocked—how can these boys be so crude?

“I can assure you if you try, there will be severe consequences for–”

“Stop talking, will you? Use your mouth for something better than speaking all posh–” you swing, punching his face, causing his nose to bleed. All of them are in shock, as blood drops down from his nose onto the dirt.

His eyes grow dark, he looks like he's going to kill you. “I’m gonna–” he's interrupted by the rising sound of horse hoofs against the dirt road, coming closer and closer.

“Look out!” one of the men shouts as they all panic to dart out of the way as the horse barrels right through them. You are immediately scooped up with one arm and sat on the front of the saddle—two large arms on the reins in front of you caging you in.

It all happened so fast—you don't even know what's going on. “Let me go!” you scream out, trying to get off the moving horse, you'd rather die than be kidnapped.

“Woah ‘er, easy th’re, miss, wouldn't want ya to get hurt now, would we?” One of his large arms wraps around your waist as the other stays on the reins, stopping you from your piss poor escape—more like a suicide attempt. His voice is so soothing—so calm. He doesn’t sound like he's a monster or anything.

“My Father is the sheriff, and if you don't let me go, I’ll–”

“Jesus girl, would you let me save ya without ya threatin’ me?” save you? Is that all it was? Is he trying to save you from those men?

“You really messed up after hitting the big one, didn’t ya?” you scoff, pouting. What is his problem? Who does he think he is? All you can focus on, though, is his arm and hand around your waist…

After a bit, the horse comes to a stop. You are now on a green little hill on the outskirts of town, being able to see most of everything if you look outwards. His arm moves from your waist, and you immediately try to get off the horse, falling stomach-first on the ground. 

“Woah ‘er, easy–I ain't tryna hurt you girl.” he extends his arm out, and you reluctantly take it. He helps you up—and oh my…is he a sight to behold.

He's in an off-white shirt, and a little cowboy vest on, with some nice old slacks that hug his thighs in a way that makes your heart pitter-patter funny. He has a stupid cowboy hat on too—and a good pair of riding boots. He's like no man you've ever seen—he's actually decent to look at.

“I just saved ‘ur ass, a bit of thanks woulda been nice.” You look star-struck at him—gosh, what that thick southern accent is doing to you, he must be from farther south.

“You ok? Didja hit your head when you fell or–”

“I’m fine. Thank you.” You stand up straight, letting go of his hand, and wiping off your jeans from the grass and dirt that got on them from the fall. He shakes his head at you, breathing out fast—almost like a laugh, tying his horse's reins on a low-hanging branch of the tree you’re both under.

“Why did you…ya know.” You gesture to him and his horse, not wanting to admit to this random man that he might have saved your ass—no, you won't let him have that victory.

“Save you? I don't know—yer looked pretty stuck, am I right?” He crosses his arms and leans against the tree, looking all smug and shit.

“I was fine, I was handling it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head at you. “I wouldn’t call lookin’ like a lost puppy ‘handlin’ it.’” He grabs a cigarette from a worn-down box and lights it with a match, the burning smell of tobacco filling the air between you.

“Why didn't you just use that gun of yours? Shoot it in the air to scare them off?” A chuckle rumbles out from deep in his chest, “And waste a bullet on a stranger? I don’t think that woulda been a good idea, darlin’.” Your heart pounds in your chest again, causing your cheeks to noticeably flush, not just from the summer heat.

“You save a lot of girls, then? Not wanting to waste one single bullet on just one girl?”

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, puffing the smoke right in your direction, causing you to cough. “I was just being polite.”

A few seconds go by, and he talks again, “What did a girl like you get into a fight for anyway? Breaking their friend's heart?”

Gosh, this is embarrassing, but there's no use in lying, “They were beating up a cat—so I stepped in and saved it.” He shakes his head at you, taking in another deep drag.

“You ‘er willin’ to kill yourself ov’er a stray?” he huffs. He smirks, putting out his cigarette on his boot, and saving it for later.

“Why is that so shocking to you?” Your nose wrinkles slightly, annoyed by his douche bag demeanor.

“Just don’t seem like somethin’ a girl like you would do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“See?” he huffs again, shaking his head and looking off into the distance towards the town…it looks so peaceful from up here.

“Well, you don’t know anything about me,” you huff back. He starts walking forward, looking down at you with a smug grin plastered on his stupidly attractive face.

“Is that so?” His southern drawl hits every single vowel; his accent is much thicker than yours. He takes his hat off, causing you to really beagle to see his face in the sun. He seems to be in his 40s—maybe 45 at the most, and oh is he a sight. His perfectly sun-kissed skin, the faint freckles under his eyes, the defined wrinkle between his eyebrows that seems to be permanently stuck there, his intoxicating grey green eyes, with a hint of brown—and that small scar on the bridge of his nose…

You are completely dumb struck, looking at him like a complete idiot, and then it happens—he puts his hat on your head, putting it over your head, the immediate cool shade hitting your forehead.

“I know you were hot—could tell by the way ‘ur eyes squinted.” Your heart rate heightens, your face blushes more, and the worst part—he's right. You don't even know what to say, so you change the subject.

“Well, maybe don’t take me so far away from town next time,” you roll your eyes, trying not to look into his perfect eyes.

“Next time, ay? You asking me out on a date?”

Your breath hitches—the audacity! Gosh, he was such a dick. “That’s not what I—I’m just mad that I have to walk all the way back home now.” You cross your arms, looking off to your little town. He grins, walking even closer to you. “You don' t seem very thankful for me savin’ you.”

You step backwards, trying to distance yourself from him, “I never said I wasn't thankful—I’ll make sure to repay you greatly–” He interrupts you, “I don’t need payment darlin’” as you step back once more, trip on a rock, sending you backwards—but he catches you, his hand sliding perfectly on your waist.

“Easy, there, girl, don’t tell me u’re fallin’ for me already.” Gosh, this is embarrassing, he's saved you twice—and now you're blushing up a storm.

He chuckles at your reaction, letting go of your waist and walking back to his horse, "I can take you back, if Callus will let you ride him again.” You immediately shake your head yes—going over to his horse, “Hey Callus, can I ride you back to town?” You hear the man's chest rumble with laughter; he's holding his stomach from how much he's laughing.

“What? You said Callus would have to let me ride back, so I asked him.” You don't find this funny, you thought he was being dead serious—but his laughter…it's slightly contagious, making your frustrated expression turn into a small, reluctant grin.

“U’re talking to a horse girl—he ain't gonna respond.” You are beyond embarrassed—and he continues to laugh—but it's not an annoying laugh, it's the kind of laugh that only a few people are blessed to hear in a lifetime, a genuine laugh.

He gathers himself, catching his breath and uniting Callus from the tree. He jumps up, putting his hand out to help you up, though you refuse, trying to get up by yourself. After a good 30 seconds of struggling, you finally fold, taking his hand as he helps you up in front of him, his arms at either side again, leaning Callus down the hill and back to town.

He takes you home as promised—the ride silent, only the sound of Callus’s hoofs on the hard dirt roads, echoing in the bare era.

Finally, your house comes into view, where he snatched you up about an hour ago. Callus stops, the man's hands on your waist and chest, helping you down safely, but all you can think about is how his callus fingers feel against the fabric on your shirt.

You turn to look back at him, thanking him as he rides away—not even getting his name to put to his face.

But as he's already too far away to catch up with—you realise you still have his hat. You try to yell out for him, but he's too far now, your voice only bouncing off trees as it goes nowhere.

You take off his hat, looking at it, flipping it over—and inside the lip is a name embroidered—Joel.

The next day starts the same as always, waking up, getting dressed, and going downstairs, but what's different today is him. All you can think of is the man who swooped you off your feet yesterday—the man who saved your life, the man named Joel.

So, heading downstairs, you wear his hat—determined to find him and give it back. But today is also different for other reasons. Your father sits there with his coffee and toast, and the new weekly paper, but something is different—he's practically fuming with rage.

“Young lady, I heard you got into an altercation with the Dungry boys yesterday morning, hm? When were you going to tell me ‘bout that?” Shit, you knew the boys looked familiar, but you didn't know they were one of the east side families.

“I’m sorry, Father, they–” his boots loudly hit the ground, “Sorry, ain’t enough pumpkin! Their daddy could take my badge and ruin our lives if he wanted to—ya hear?!” A plate of toast and jam is served to you, but you aren't very hungry after being scolded for standing up for yourself.

“I said I’m sorry, I was just–”

“Don’t finish that sentence, I'm not in the mood. Just stop being a tomboy, won't ya? Just listen to me for once.” His voice is low, almost a growl, so you decide not to defend yourself any further.

Breakfast was pretty quiet. There was no talk about marriage, or the way you dressed, or even where you got that hat on your head. Your father was too absorbed in the newspaper. After a while, you look up at your dad and see a familiar face drawn on the paper with big words under it: “OUTLAW, BOUNTY 10,000 GOLD.” Well, that's a lot of gold for a random outlaw…

“Why is that bounty so much, father?” Your voice is soft, trying not to make him angrier than he already is.

“This is the reason I’m all stressed out lately, pumpkin, this man right here has been stealing from the east side, causing a huge ruckus for everyone—including me, since I can't find him.” He passes you the newspaper so you can get a good look at the man—but you might vomit right there and then—it's Joel.

There's no doubt about it—it has to be him. The same dreamy eyes and smug grin plastered on that perfectly seasoned face—it was him. You don’t know what to say. The man you hung out with yesterday, the man who you were crushing on, the one who saved your life, was an outlaw? A petty thief? You try not to look surprised, but your father notices.

“You ok, Pumpkin?” His words snap you out of your shock, but you don't know what to do. Should you tell your dad that you saw him yesterday? Do you keep it to yourself? There's no way the man you met was a petty thief.

“Pumpkin?” You have to think of something fast.

“Sorry, father, I'm just awestruck by how detailed this drawing is—it looks really good.” Your father sits up a bit taller, taking the newspaper back and smiling.

“I’m glad you noticed—we just hired a new artist.” He looks so proud of himself…but it's not like he drew the illustration, so why should it matter? But forget that—you successfully lied to him.

“That's good! I’m glad you found someone so talented.” He keeps that smug face on throughout the rest of breakfast, and then heads off to work, and you head off to your stables—it's time to find Joel, give his hat back, and maybe bring him in.

You pack some food, water, a pocket knife, a journal with a pencil and a compass, and head to your father's stable. You saddle up one of the horses, get a step stool, and get on. You decide that heading in the direction Joel left is the smartest choice. You start on your journey, not going too fast as to not tire your horse, but also to take in the beauties of nature—plus you don’t want to miss anything. As you stroll through the outskirts of town, you notice fliers of his face posted up everywhere—trees, fences, houses, torch sticks, everything. After a while, houses start to be more sparse, and you start entering the rural countryside. About a few hours later, you notice a ranch with fencing all around it and a small farm attached—it looks relatively new, and in use.

You continue to ride up until you see Callus the horse, so you know this is the place. You come to a halt, jumping off your horse and tying the reins on the fence. You decide your best bet is knocking on the door, so you start walking up the pathway. You have your bag with you, so you take out your journal to write how long it took to get to his house, the direction it's in, and basic information. But when you are about to put your journal away, you hear a man yell.

“Put yer hands up, girl.” It's not Joel's voice. You freeze, your compass falling onto the ground along with your pen and journal, the compass breaking as it hits the gravelly pathway. You look up, seeing a man who looks like he could be related to Joel, but that doesn't really matter since he has a double-barreled shotgun pointing right at you, loaded and ready to shoot. You stand still in fear he might actually pull the trigger—you are at a loss for words.

“What’s all the ruckus for Tommy?” you hear His voice—Joel's voice, and he appears from behind the man with the shotgun—presumably Tommy. He notices you right away.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there,” he pushes down on Tommy’s shotgun, nodding to him, causing Tommy to stop aiming it at you. Joel walks over to you, Tommy still confused as you are.

“How’d you find me, darlin’?” There it was, his sweet southern twang, calling you darling—exactly what you've been thinking about since yesterday.

“Follow the road you took,” you sheepishly say. He huffed a chuckle, shaking his head at you, but there was no real annoyance. Taking off his hat and putting it on his head, leaning up into him on your tippy toes to reach him.

“You forgot your hat, Joel.” His name on your lips was like music to his ears. You didn't say it like others; you said it with more class—he liked it.

He lets out a chuckle, smiling down at you, “I did, didn’t I?” he turns around to face Tommy, putting his hand over your shoulder, guiding you to his door.

“This is the girl I was tellin’ you ‘bout Tommy.” He was talking about you? Your cheeks flush up just as red as they were yesterday—but you remind yourself you aren't here to crush, you were here to return his hat and maybe bring him in. There was no way he’d like you anyway—he was twice your age, could be your father.

“The one that sacrificed herself to save a measly stray?" Tommy shouts back, scanning you up and down as you approach the house with Joel.

“Yeah, ‘ats her–” you interrupt Joel, “It was not just some measly stray, it was a poor animal being abused by some malmsey-nosed, unmannered, pigeon-livered jollocks!” you huff at the booth of them, causing the brothers to erupt with laughter—which was not the response you were looking for.

“You gotta muckspout of a mouth on ya girl!” Tommy could barely even get out as he caught his breath. Joel was laughing nearly as much, but he was still chuckling.

“My heroic nature is not to be laughed at.” You stand up straighter, walking past Tommy as Joel opens the door for you, shaking his head.

All three of you settle down into their house, and Joel offers you a glass of whiskey, which you gratefully take.

You start talking to both of them, telling your name, where you’re from, some life stories, and having a good time. After a couple of drinks, you spill that you're the sheriff's daughter, which Joel already knew from yesterday, but Tommy didn’t.

“Joel, you let the sheriff's daughter into our home? What if she rats us out?” Joel shushes Tommy, shaking his head.

“She won’t, will ya?” He looks at you with these tender eyes.

“Well, that depends—why are you a petty thief?” You sound almost deceived, like you had been lied to, but all Joel does is chuckle more.

“Petty thief? Is that what they are callin’ me?” he sounds mock offended, shaking his head and taking another sip of whiskey. You nervously stare down at your empty glass, and he pours you another.

“I ain’t some petty thief darlin’, I take from the rich and give to the poor.” You tilt your head in curiosity and confusion.

“Like robbin hood?” you wait for his response.

“In a way.”

“Isn’t that the literal definition of thief?” you question.

“Well—It’s not really stealin’ if I'm taking stolen money.” He sighs and then gets serious.

“Look, darlin’, people like the ones in your town, on the east side, don’t make money just by sitting around doin’ nothin’... even your daddy’s land is blood money.” Your eyes widen—what does he mean by that? Is he serious?

“What do you mean?” You take a bigger sip than intended, the whiskey burning as it goes down your throat.

“He means that your daddy is only sheriff because he's a meater, working for a bunch of killing Shoddyocracy’s, following their orders like a Damfool,” Tommy interjects.

You sit there, all this information coursing through your veins—you don't know what to say. But one thing is for sure, you believe them. Everything they are saying just makes sense; everything is adding up. Why your father wants to marry you off, why he's so scared of the east side, why he wants you to behave—it's all connected.

You sit there silently for a few minutes, Joel growing concerned, “You ok there, girl? I know it’s a lot to take in, but–”

“I’m fine, I believe you,” you pause, taking one last swig of your whiskey—finishing it off, “And even if I didn't, you saved me—twice—so I would never rat you out to my old man,” you huff out a laugh, “And besides, he wants to sell me off, why would I want to help him? Besides, if you are telling the truth, I think what you are doing is heroic.”

Joel is taken aback, but intrigued by your response. And you both think to yourselves that this might go places.

As the days go on, everything is the same. You wake up, eat breakfast, go downstairs, be ridiculed for why you need to choose a man to marry, and go on with your day. But now your days include riding to Joel’s house, talking and laughing, enjoying every second of every moment together, slowly but surely both catching feelings, even though you both know it's wrong for many reasons. Not only is he a wanted criminal, but he's twice your age—it's all taboo. But you don't care, and you secretly hope he doesn't either.

As weeks go by, your stubbornness melts into tolerance for Joel, not caring if he laughs at you or teases you, or makes fun of you for how you get on a horse—you just enjoy his company, something you never thought would be possible.

As the seasons change from summer to fall, Joel’s bounty goes up from `10,000 gold to 50,000 gold, making it harder for you to meet with him without the fear of being caught. Your father also starts becoming more suspicious of your reluctance to argue or disagree with him; all you do now is “I’ll think about it,” or “Ok, I’ll add them to the list of potential candidates." You even slowly but surely started dressing slightly more feminine, wearing more skirts and coming home with your hair braided—or even with a necklace, which you insisted you found on the ground by the river. Everything wasn’t adding up for your father.

Eventually, when Late October rolled around and the summer sun was turning into the cold November air, one poster had Joel's bounty for 100,000 gold—an offer from the Vanderbilt family. At this point, you decided it was too risky for Joel to come to the hill, the place you first met, or hang out by his house, having the fear that passersby would see him, and your father grew more suspicious of your daily adventures, so you devised a plan.

Every morning, you would wake up like normal, do life like normal, but every morning you would go out to the front of your fence by the road, and swap out your hat with the one that stayed there on the fence. They were identical hats, both Joels, both with his name embroidered on the inside, both the same model and color—the same hat. Tommy, who wasn't in the media, would stroll through town on his daily trips to “get the horses exercise” and swap out the hat you left the night before with a new hat, containing a note from Joel, pinned in the lip on the inside. This way, you could talk and plan how to see each other without being caught. You looked forward to his letters each and every day, wearing his hat until sunset, when Tommy would stroll by past midnight.

You started sneaking out of your house at night, too, so your dad wouldn't be suspicious of all the days you were always gone. You usually stole a horse from the stables, being as quiet as possible, going as fast as you could to get to see Joel again.

You’d stay up and look at the stars, talk until the early morning, but always making sure you got home before dawn. Once in a while, when the buzz around Joel would die down, he’d even pick you up with Callus, going to the hill you first met on to have night picnics, huddled together for warmth, sometimes even saying things like “Damn blanket hog,” or “You trying to make me free to death girl?” These sweet moments between you two stirred something in your heart—something serious, though you would never admit it was a crush, or anything more than a friendship.

One night, your father decided to check on you since it was particularly cold that night, and you weren't in your room. He looked all over for you, but you weren't anywhere on their property. Instead of immediately freaking out, he decided to wait it out until morning, and by that time, you were home, oblivious of your father's knowledge. This went on for weeks until it was mid january, and he finally decided to figure out where you were going.

He assigned some of his men to follow you, so one of them did. One morning, when you decided to see Joel in the daytime, since his bounty had gone down, he followed you on foot as your horse galloped towards Joel's. You were unaware of him tailing you, though, so you got to Joel's. You arrive at his house, putting your horse in the stables next to Callus, and knocking on the door, entering Joel's house.

The man sent to follow you waited outside, confused as to why you went to this house, but a few hours later, he saw it—you and Joel walking outside to get callous for a stroke to the river—and you were laughing with the outlaw—laughing with a man twice your age out of wedlock.

“Callus missed you, Darlin’” Joel huffs out a chuckle as Callus neighs loudly, seeing you for the first time in a while. It had been a few weeks since Joel and you got together because of his last heist. Someone saw his face a bit better; in return, the sketch improved greatly, so you both were cautious in your meetings.

“I guess he did, didn’t you, Cal?” You laugh as Callus neighs again, pushing his head into your chest.

“I missed you, too,” Joel grumbles. You look at him, a bit surprised by his boldness.

“I missed you as well." Your eyebrows furrow slightly, almost bittersweet.

Joel gets Callus all set up as you talk to the horse like he's a human being, “I know you’re excited, Cal, just a couple more minutes and you'll be done getting all ready.” Callus neighs again, almost like he understands you—something Joel always teases you about. “Good boy, Callus,” you praise the horse, and Joel shakes his head, internally making fun of you.

“I know that look—just say it.” You roll your eyes at him, causing his deep rumbly chuck to rise out of his chest.

“I wasn’t gon say nothin’,” he huffs out, but you know what he's thinking.

“You’re just jealous I’m not talking to you like that.” You look at him, suppressed by the sight you see—Joel's cheeks are slightly flushed with a hint of blush… he's blushing!?

“Come on, let me help you up.” he changes the topic, hoisting you up, following shortly after as he sits in front of you—gently riding out of the stables, your arms lightly wrapped around his waist for safety, and for a bit of a tease.

“Miss me that much, girl?” He chuckles, clearly enjoying the attention you’re giving him. “Of course not—I don't wanna fall.” You huff, no real anger, though, or annoyance. A smile creeps up on Joel's face; you can almost feel it even though you can't see it.

You are both wearing warm jackets, and you are even wearing a scarf—but even in this weather, he wears that damn cowboy hat.

Callus trots slowly out of the stables and onto their property, going towards the gate to leave, when a loud bang pierces through the silence. Callus freaking out due to the loud noise, and the fact that Joel falls off of him onto the stone cold ground with a loud thump, and the sound of a dislocated shoulder pop. You can’t even react, everything happens so fast—the all too familiar noise of a gun, Joel groaning and falling onto the ground, Callus kicking you off of him, sending you straight to the ground as well, running off into the distance.

“Joel!” Your eyes quickly focused on Joel; he had been shot. You crawl over, your own body hurt and sore from the fall, frantically making sure he's ok—alive. Your gaze focuses on the man who shot him—it was one of your father's men. He stands there, smiling at himself as if he is proud of the scene unfolding.

“Gonna get a pretty penny for you.” The man laughs, referring to Joel's bounty. You panic as he points the gun at Joel again, going for another shot since Joel is still breathing heavily as pain shoots up his whole right side. You panic, opening Joel's pistol pouch and pointing it at the man.

“Whoa there, easy their missy—I ain't here to hurt you, just him.” his hands shoot up, trying to show he's no harm, but it's almost like something in this moment snapped inside of you, causing you to pull the trigger—shooting him right in the head. Your hand shakes as the recoil hits back at you, realising what you’ve done, but it's too late now. You drop the gun on the ground, crawling closer to Joel, checking his heartbeat, his breath, his wound. He's curled up in a ball, almost, blood shooting from his thigh, his right arm desperately trying to hold in the blood—stop the bleeding. 

“Joel, Joel, it's me,” you frantically say, freaking out over the amount of blood pooling out from him. You don't think twice, grabbing the pocket knife you know he keeps in his belt bag, fishing it out, taking off your coat, and cutting off the sleeve of your shirt. You set the knife down and gently help Joel onto his back, his left arm out of socket. You want to puke.

Tommy rushes outside, “What were all those shots for?” he sees his brother bleeding on the floor, groaning in pain, callus nowhere to be found, a dead man lying a few yards away, and little innocent you with the gun in your lap, shaking as you tie your sleeve around Joel's thigh, which doesn't fit. Without hesitation, you cut the other sleeve off, tying them together and tightly wrapping it around his thigh as he groans in pain from the pressure.

“It's ok, Joel, everything is going to be ok—ya hear?” Your blood-filled hands find his face, cupping it, trying to make sure he's still with you. Tommy runs over, looking at Joel and the dead man.

“I’m…I’m ok, darlin’” Joel's voice, his horse, winded.

“Don’t talk—just stay with me, ok? I can get the bullet out, I can suture you,” you try to reassure him, but your voice is laced with panic.

Tommy starts coming over to you and Joel, but you stop him. “I got Joel, go get Callus, he ran off.” Tommy doesn't even say a word, running in the direction you pointed in, searching for Callus.

“Ok, Joel, we need to get you in the house, ok?” You put his right arm over your shoulder, trying to lift him up, but he's too heavy.

“Joel, help me out here, please.” You almost cry, so upset at the state he's in, what he's going through, all because of you.

“Did I ever tell ya how pretty ‘ur eyes are?” He smiles, muttering it out like a man on his deathbed—because it might be.

“Joel, this is not the time—please let me help you.” Your voice is stern, angry almost, like you are yelling at him to keep trying, keep pushing—keep living.

Joel helps you help him up, pushing off the ground with his left leg, using his right arm to steady himself as he waddles and limps to the porch, and you open the door, practically dragging him to his bedroom. Once you get there, you lean his right side against a wall so as not to hurt his arm anymore, his left leg doing all the work keeping him up. You grab a towel and put it down on his bed where his bleeding leg will be. You go back and grab him, laying him down on his back and taking off his winter jacket and his shirt, being careful not to cause any further pain, but it's inevitable. The pained noises coming from Joel's chest make you want to hurl. You never wanted to see Joel in pain, let alone cause pain or be the reason he's feeling all this pain.

You then take off the make-shift tourniquet and his pants off next, he's too out of it to make a snarky comment, but fuck, you wish he wasn’t.  It's not looking good—it's still bleeding, and it won't stop unless that bullet gets out because it's burying deeper and deeper into his muscle.

Just in time, Tommy barges in, “I got callus, and I dragged the dead man to the shed so no one sees him—what the hell happened?”

You frantically explain everything: how the man must have followed you and was sent by your father, and how he must have seen Joel and wanted the bounty. Tommy quickly runs to grab their first aid kit, helping you remove and stitch up Joel's wound. Tommy then goes over to Joel's arm and pops it back in the socket, making a disturbing ‘pop’ noise and getting a loud groan out of the half-conscious Joel.

Time passes, it's night now. You and Tommy are growing worried for Joel as he hasn’t really woken up yet. You have been changing his bandages, keeping it nice and warm for him, checking his temperature to make sure he isn't getting an infection—everything you can. You change into some of Joel's clothes, since yours are ruined. But you don’t leave the house, even at midnight. You stay—you stay by Joel's side, you don't go home or go into town—you don't care what your father thinks or does, the man you love was shot because of you, and you won't ever forgive anyone that was involved.

The next day, Joel is still asleep. Tommy decides it's best if you stay with him, and he goes into the town over for some medicine and clothes for you. Since he knows you won't be leaving for a while, he also buries the evidence—the man you killed in cold blood. You can’t think about it too much, it's eating you alive…the man could have had a family—a wife and kids, grandkids maybe. But you refuse to dwell on morals, he started this, you ended it—simple as that.

You start with a stew, using what was around the farm and house. You plate a bowl and go to Joel's room, attempting to wake him up and feed him some water and soup. You gently shake him and talk to him gently, “Joel, it's me, I made you soup—please wake up.” He doesn't wake up, so, pleadingly, you kiss his cheek, and to your surprise, Joel's eyes flutter open—confused, he tries to get up, but pain shoots through his arm and leg, causing a guttural groan to escape his lips. You stop him and help him sit up instead. You refuse to let him feed himself, so you feed him the soup. He's drowsy and out of it, but there's a hint of admiration as he silently lets you feed him as you tell him everything that happened.

After he finishes his soup, he leans into you as you sit on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around you. “‘M sorry,” he mutters out.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who should be sorry—it's all my fault and I–”

His gruff voice cuts you off, “Are you ok?” Is he really asking if you are ok? Why is he so selfless?

“I will be, yes.” You hug him back, and he takes a deep breath into your neck.

“You smell good,” he mutters against the skin, causing you to shiver as the vibrations make a heat pool in your lower belly.

“And you stink.” Laughter rumbles from his throat. There he is—there's your Joel.

Days go by—you and Tommy both nursing Joel back to health, but you do most of the work, Tommy makes sure the house stays secure, and no one comes looking. He's the supply runner since no one knows his face. There are now posters of you and the man who works for your father plastered all over the town—even the next two towns over, both marked as missing. Joel's bounty even changed to being “wanted dead or alive.”

But none of that mattered—you made sure Joel was healing nicely, giving him pain medicine and different herbs that were supposed to help with healing. The stubborn man you once knew was now one of remorse and thankfulness, always making sure to thank you for helping a hopeless man like him. But he wasn't helpless—he was your friend, and maybe something else.

You started placing kisses on his forehead before bed, always staying by his side no matter what, even going so far as to sleep on a chair—the bed was big enough for the both of you, it would be a tight fit, but you didn't want to intrude. But one day, when you went to sit down and watch him as he rested, he grabbed your wrist.

“Come lie with me,” he coaxed. Your cheeks immediately flush—embarrassed by his request.

“Joel—”

“Please, darlin’”

Out of better judgment, you snuggled into bed next to him, Joel burying his face into your chest, holding you against him.

“I love you.” He mutters against your shirt—causing a shiver to be sent down your spine, face flushing as a result.

“Joel—”

“I do. And I know you do too.”

You are at a loss for words… Did you really love Joel? Of course, you cared for him, but the feeling this whole time, the desire to be by him, to meet up with him, to kiss him—shit.

“Joel, you’re all drugged up—you’re more delirious than a man with consumption.”

This seemed to piss him off, “I ain’t delirious,” he groans. You huff out a chuckle.

“Joel–”

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

Your heart sinks—this isn't what you wanted, this is far from it. You never wanted to hurt Joel more than you already have—and it seems like you did. Fuck, you had feelings for the gruff old man, you loved him—but he was twice your age, and if your father found out that he was the man you loved, you might both die.

“My father–”

“Your father don’t scare me.”

You frown, looking down at the man you’ve known for months now—the once rugged outlawed cowboy, reduced to a man begging for your love. Joel looks at you like you hung the moon, gazing into you, desperately wanting you to just admit what you’re feeling.

“You’re too old for me.” You regretfully sigh, your hand disobeying you and tangling in his hair, gently intertwining with the soft strands of dark brown hair, with gray and white peppered through like stars in the night sky.

Joel chuckles, rolling his eyes, “And then men your father suggests ain’t?”

But he's got a point…you can’t continue ignoring these feelings—they’ve been here now since the first time you two met, when he swept you off your feet, literally. You loved the way his eyes practically glowed in the summer sun, how he always knew your hands were cold even with gloves, offering his breath to heat them up, you loved the way he’d look at you so intently when telling a story, you loved the way his chest always vibrated with a low chuckle whenever you did something silly, you loved how even though he teased you, there was no true judgement behind any of it, you loved how he saw you—really saw you like no one in the whole world had before.

You were deeply in love.

You huff out another chuckle, shaking your head at him like he does to you, “You comparing yourself to those east side wiffle-waffle shoddyocracies?”

“That's not what I–”

“I know.” You smile down at him, scooting lower in the bed so you are at eye level, looking straight into his eyes.

“Don’t be a Snoutband,” He lightly chuckles.

“That’s hypocritical of you to say,” you counter.

He says your name with that damn southern drawl, the one that makes you ache inside, and you finally snap—smashing your lips onto his, soft, warm, loving. His arms cup your face, bringing you impossibly closer, as his tongue asks for passage, which you grant—causing him to groan into your mouth as he charts this newfound territory, memorizing the taste and feeling of your mouth. A moan rips out of you. In return, Joel's hands grip hard on your hips, causing your hips to buckle into him. You start to run out of breath, gasping for air between the cracks of your kiss, Joel finally releasing your lips, trailing down your jawline to your neck, mapping you out like new-found land. You gasp his name, body shuddering against his, admitting a growl from his chest, vibrating into your neck, causing soft, sweet noises to escape your mouth.

“Fuck—you taste ‘s, goog baby.” His voice is low against your skin as he sucks, kisses, and nips at your neck, leaving marks as he goes, painting on a perfect canvas. Your hands are still tangled in his hair, grabbing on for dear life. You’ve never kissed a man, let alone had one worship your body. Sure, you’ve read your fair share of erotic novels, but it was nothing like this. His hands stay gripped on your hips, leaving fingerprints in your skin as they roam up your torso to your breasts, grabbing them through your corset.

“Off,” he groaned into the hollow of your neck, so you sit up, him slowly following, still attached to your neck as he tries not to put pressure on his left arm. You struggle to untie the back, and as quickly as a frustrated huff escapes your lips, he's already behind your back, kissing the nape of your neck as he carefully takes off your corset—marveling at the sight of your bare chest. You sheepishly look away, embarrassed to be so exposed, never having done this before. Joel notices your embarrassment, leaning in to your ear, nibbling at the lobe as he mumbles, “‘ur so fucking beautiful darlin’,” and thats all you need to hear before looking back at him, seeing his gaze rake your breasts, his hands now holding both in each hand, callous fingers against your soft skin, his thumbs rubbing against your nipples, provoking a desprate moan from you. Joel's lips find your chest, kissing and nipping at them, sucking around every part, the familiar heat you’ve always felt around Joel pooling in your lower belly, shock waves being sent straight to your clit.

“Joel–” you whimper out, the bedsheets beneath you balled up in your fists, knuckles turning white.

“I know baby girl—I’ll take care of you,” his lips leave your chest, his eyes dark and blown out, hungrily looking at you, but there's still a sprinkle of truthful love and admiration laced in there as well. Your hands shoot up to his plaid pajama shirt, unbuttoning it as fast as you can, wanting nothing more than to see his body again, you’ve secretly dreamed of him ever since you bathed and patched him up—thinking of how he would feel filling you up, how he would—

You snap out of your head, his words piercing through the silence, "Eager, aren’t we?”

You huff in retaliation, “I’ve already seen you—I just…I need you.”

Joel growls, crashing his lips back onto yours as he helps you take his shirt off, your hands roaming over his body, sliding down into his pants, feeling his hard cock against your hand. He ruts into you, slightly whimpering in pain as his thigh shudders. You immediately stop—not wanting to hurt him.

“Don’t—don’t stop, please darlin’” he begs, huffing and puffing, all from one little touch of his cock.

“Sit against the headboard.” You capture his lips in another sloppy, hungry kiss. He follows your orders, positioning you onto his left thigh so you are straddling him, his hard cock rubbing against your knee. You trail your kisses down, stopping only to take off your pants and all of your layers, so you are now fully naked. Joel looks in awe, seeing how wet you are for him, seeing how much smaller you truly are compared to him. You capture his lips in another kiss, his right hand caressing your boobs as his left rests gently on your ass, gently guiding you against his pajama pants, the friction killing your clit. You stroke him harder.

The room is filled with praise from Joel, and sounds of pleasure escaping both of your mouths. “Atta girl,” “U're doing so good for me,” all of this making it so much harder to keep it together and not just cum right then and there.

You release his lips once more, carefully taking off his pants and underwear, being wary of his thigh that's wrapped up. Joel's cock springs up against his stomach, it's huge—you knew it would be, but holy shit. He reaches back to you, your clit rubbing against his raw thigh, his coarse hair tickling your inner folds. You are able to glide much more easily now that his pants are off.

Your hand wraps around his length, stroking up and down at the same pace he's guiding you against his thigh. Both of you flush into each other, desperately kissing and moaning. “Just wait until I’m fully better, darlin’,” he moans against your shoulder. You continue riding his thigh like a fucking slut—drool spilling from your mouth, and into his. Both of you are so close to the edge—and then it happens, you come undone, falling into his arms as he chases his own release, thrusting into your hand.

You become limp against him, having never felt this type of pleasure before. “I’m right here, I’m right here,” he coos, laying you down beside him, burying his face into the back of your neck, kissing the prior marks he left along your whole body. “You did a good job, baby.” He praises, gently rubbing circles against your stomach.

As the weeks progress, Joel gets better, slowly being able to walk with a little waddle and little pain. And even though you enjoy every moment you spend with him, you know you eventually will have to go back home, not that they wouldn't let you stay here forever, but you have personal business to handle.

“You could just not go,” Joel mumbles on the couch, having the ability to finally leave his room.

“I have to. I have to tell him off, and besides, I want a couple of my mom's heirlooms that she left me.” Joel doesn't like that you’re going back, and you want to go alone—and he can't even stop you since he's in no shape to protect you. Tommy doesn’t like the whole thing either, but he can’t stop you from doing what you think is right.

“If you don’t come back within 3 days, I’ll ride Callus over ‘ere myself and beat his ass.” Tommy crosses his arms, trying to hide his worry for you.

“I’ll be fine, I promise, I can hold my own.” Joel raises his eyebrows to Tommy, almost like a silent ‘I told you she was stubborn.’

So, you grab your horse and head home for the first time in two months. It's now late March, the weather is nice, and spring is just around the corner. As you approach your house, one of the farmhands sees you—he runs inside. You tie your horse to the fence, and then you see one of your father's men come out, looking like he’s seen a ghost. Your name falling off his lips like it's so foreign.

“Where’s my father? I must speak with him.” You stand up tall, you are in nice clothes, it doesn't even look like you were missing for weeks, kidnapped, or anything. But instead of the man yelling for your father, he looks to the ground.

“I asked you a question.” Your brows furrow, confused why he won’t answer you, but then he looks up.

“Ma’am, your father has fallen ill—the doctors say it's consumption.” Your heart sinks. All this time you’ve been gone, all this time you’ve been free from his grasp, and the man who's made your life hell has a death sentence. You take a deep breath, not backing down. “May I see him? I will follow the protocols.” The pit in your stomach deepens, the man who you despise, the man who raised you, your father—he's dying.

The man led you inside, and your house looked the same—like no time had passed. You walk through the empty hallways of your childhood, photos hung all over the walls, slowly collecting dust. The large wedding photo of your father and your mother stares down at you, almost like it’s disappointed in you for your choices, for who you are. You turn to your father's room, the door being latched shut. The man handed you a cloth to put over your mouth, and you did—you held it with one hand as your other reached for the door handle—shaking violently, afraid of what you might see.

The man noticed your distress and opened it for you, and there you saw him—your father, but he had aged so much from the disease—his face sunken in, bloody clothes all around him. Your stomach turned, seeing the man who hurt you, who yelled at you, the man who raised you—the man who abused you for years, lying there hopeless. He opens his eyes, they are so soulless, until they land on you.

“Pumpkin…” He mutters out, coughing immediately. His voice is hoarse, his hands bony, void of muscle. You wanted to cry.

“Yes, it's me, Father—I’m home.” He smiles weakly.

“I…thought I’d never see you…again…” You want to vomit. This isn't your father; he’s—he’s glad to see you, he's happy you are here. He's not the man you knew.

“Dad, I was safe—I am safe, I found a man, but you would never approve of him–”

“You… ungrateful trollop whore.” He coughs again, blood splaying on the cloth in his hand, just adding to your nausea and guilt. He was right; you were a whore, sleeping with a man before marriage, regardless of penetration.

“I’m so sorry, Father—I–” tears fall onto the floor, your sight blurring.

“It’s…too late now,” he takes a shaky breath and continues, “I’m…so sorry…God, please forgive my daughter's sins.”

The guilt in your chest deepens, and you choke on your tears. “Daddy,” you sob.

“Don’t…” his breath is weak, and something in you snaps.

“I know I may not be the daughter you asked for, but you sure as hell ain’t the father I asked for,” you choke on your sobs, “You…you never loved me—just the idea of selling me off to get a fucking promotion. And I’m fucking happy now, I’m free with someone who I love—and you are still so bitter, even on your deathbed. You will go to hell for your actions, and I will fucking die your daughter whether you like it or not.” Your voice cracks from yelling, and your father looks almost surprised at your outburst.

You storm out, throwing the cloth to the ground, tears falling as you charge to your room, flopping on the bed, just wishing you had never come back. The maids knew better not to bother you, and so did your father's men.

The night comes and goes, you miss the warmth of Joel next to you—the warmth you got so used to. Morning comes, and you start packing your items, wanting nothing more than to be left by now.

A knock on your door startles you, and when you open it, it's the same man from yesterday, with a clean cloth in his hand.

“He's asking to see you, Miss.” You scoff, so appalled that your father thinks he has the right to see you again after what he said to you yesterday. You huff out a chuckle and take the cloth from his hand, barging to your father's room and opening the door with force, “What makes you think you have the right to see me after you—” and then you see him—he's smiling, he looks worse but is sitting up, acting like he's doing better.

“You…You’re just like your…mother…” Your stomach twists. What is happening?

“You…you always reminded me of her, pumpkin.” His smile grows, but it's short-lived as he coughs blood into his hand, gasping for air.

“I’m, I’m sorry—please…forgive me, lord, please forgive me.”

You grow nauseous, that pit in your stomach coming back, burning deeper.

“It’s ok…be happy…for…me…Pumpkin…” your father's head dips, a gritty breath leaving his chest, the man beside you running downstairs to fetch the doctor…He's dead.

The man who caused you all your pain and hurt, your father, just died in front of your eyes—you are at a loss for words as the nausea rises, you run to the nearest window, vomiting out of it, clenching your stomach as you hear the doctor declare him dead. The man who abused you is dead, and you feel remorse—sadness. You slump down on the wall, looking over to your bag that you had started packing, and you grab it, quickly grabbing the rest of your important items and darting out down the hallways, all the farm hands and maids try to stop you, but you don't listen—grabbing a photo of your mother off the wall, a photo of you and her when you were a baby, and bolt out of the house—the man who had brought you to your father trying to stop you, “You need to stay—who will handle the property?”

You snap, screaming at the man, “Is that really what matters right now? My father is dead, and you are worried about property? Fuck the property, it was built on the exploitation of those with lower status and fostered on unethical work practices—take the fucking property for all I care.” You storm out of your house, grab your horse from the stables, and ride off, getting far enough away that no one can figure out where you went by the time they grab horses to catch up with you.

You ride to your home—your real home with Joel and Tommy. As you arrive, Joel is on the porch, getting up to welcome you back, but he notices your tears as you get off your horse, not even tying her down to a fence, running into Joel's arms, immediately going limp as you sob against him.

“He's dead—he's fucking dead, and he had the audacity to want me to forgive him—for god.” Tears stain his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you and rubbing your back, “Shh, shh, it's ok, baby girl—I got you.”

Tommy walks out, seeing the situation, he grabs your horse and puts her away, deciding it's a good time to go into a couple of towns over for a supply run. Joel picks you up without any struggle, carrying you into the house, counting to rub your back in calming circles, cooing and shushing you, trying his best to calm you down as your sobs worsen—on the verge of hyperventilation. “It's ok, I got you,,” he whispers in your ear, sitting down on his bed—the bed you’ve both shared now for weeks. You continue to wrap tightly around him, unable to speak, and he stays with you the whole time, rubbing your back, giving you praise and reassurance, placing kisses against your temple and forehead, until you finally stop crying, severely dehydrated. He helps you into a bath, gets you water, and clothes you, all while not coaxing you to tell him anything more, just being there for you.

Eventually, though, as you lie in bed together, his face buried in your neck, you tell him everything—and instead of getting mad at you for your rash actions or anything, he reassures you that what you did was ok and warranted—he made you feel seen and heard. You roll over so you are now face to face, locking your lips with his—moaning at the feeling, it’s been a few days since you got to taste him—desperately you try to get every drop of what he's offering. He groans into your mouth, his hands roaming up your nightgown and down your back. He positions you so he's now on top of you, and you can feel his cock against your leg. You pull him back in, kissing him so desperately—like you want to drown in him. His chuckles vibrate your body as he trails down your neck, unbuttoning your nightgown and tossing it to the floor—going straight to your panties.

“Look at how wet you are, darlin’.” You shudder, covering your mouth to hide the moans escaping as he buries his face in your pantie-covered pussy.

“May I?” He mumbles—eyes dark and hungry. You nod—and he swiftly takes off your undergarment, marveling at the sight of your blushed clit. He wastes no time burying himself into you—long stripes of his tongue between your folds up to your clit, causing you to rut into his face.

“I know, baby girl.” He mumbles against the sensitive skin of your thigh, kissing and nibbling there. You keep your mouth covered, not wanting to be too loud.

“Let me hear you.” He demands, and you obey, taking off the hands grasping your mouth, holding onto the bed sheets for dear life as he abuses your clit. Every time his tongue flicks in and out of your hole, up and down your pussy—you moan out, each more desperate than the last. You quiver, coming close to the edge.

“Joel I–” you arch into him, his fingers interesting themselves into your tight hole, and that does it, you come crashing down, twitching against his face and fingers, completely pleasured.

Joel gently removes his fingers, you whimper, not wanting him to stop filling you, his mouth trails up your torso to your mouth—kissing you violently, tasting yourself on him. He takes off his shirt and pants in a swift motion, never stopping, kissing your lips.

His hard cock is now free, glistening with precum.

“I told you to wait ‘til I'm better, and you did.” He grins and leans over to the end table, opening the drawer and taking out a condom and placing it on his rock-hard cock—you practically drool over it, it's so fucking attractive.

“You're pretty little pussy ready fo’ me?” Your clit throbs for him, you squirm, and he knows you’re ready. He slowly lines himself up, slapping his tip against your clit a couple times before slowly inserting his length inside of you, each inch a challenge—your cunt tightening around him. You shiver, fingers digging into his shoulder blades, you whimper and moan out his name.

“Fuck—u’re so tight—is this your first time?” You sheepishly look away from Joel, nodding. He makes a primal growl. You look back, his gaze completely dark and hungry, a cocky smirk plastered over his face.

“Don’t say anything,” you whimper, but all this does is cause more noises to escape Joel's lips.

“You have no idea the ride u’re in for, darlin’.” He slowly pulls out and thrusts back in, causing you to clench and scream.

“Atta girl—fuck you feel s’ good.” He grows against your neck, sucking and nibbling at the soft, sensitive skin there. He continues to thrust in and out, slow and deliberate, making you whine—you need more.

“More?” He chuckles, watching you nod violently. He starts picking up the pace—his balls hitting against your sensitive skin. Your nails dig deeper, and he captures your lips, biting at them and sucking like he's eating a five-Michelin-star meal. You start twitching against him; he knows you’re close, and he is too. His one hand shoots down to your clit, rubbing it with his calloused thumb and thrusting harder into you. This sends you over, trembling under him as he fucks you through your orgasm, eventually letting himself let go, pumping hot liquid into his condom. You shiver, feeling his cock twitch inside you. He slowly exists, taking off his condom, tying it off, and throwing it on the ground to take care of later. He lies you on top of him, your head resting on his chest.

Soft kisses are peppered on top of your head, “How was that, darlin’?” His voice was tired, his southern drawl coming out even more.

“So good.” You mumble weakly. Joel chuckles, holding you closer.

“You are forever mine. I love you.” He looks down at you, and your eyes meet his, “I love you too, Joel.”

THE END.

tag list: @dreamedaboutitinthedark

I might be writing this right now. And it might be done by Sunday (rn it’s at 5k words and I have college so it takes me longer to write.)

I made a SPN personality quiz!! Take it if you want, and leave me any feedback :)

SDV Joel Miller Headcannons

tysm for the request!! i'm gonna try to do more joel miller stuff in general, i'm just obsessed with spn rn! i hope you like it anon!! heres some more game joel miller content in my au, where you both live in stardew valley.

context of the middle image: where i think joel, tommy, and ellie would live together - pink circles are the potential candidates.

CW: sfw, fluff, cursing, age gap, sdv au.

Pairing: gn!farmer x joel miller

A/N: reposts are appreciated. If you have any requests, just ask! feel free to support me via cash app!

˖ .𐙚 When you first moved in, Joel was reluctant to greet you to the valley. He knew your grandpa, he grew up with him, heck, your old man gave Joel his first beer—it was hard to think that you were the little granddaughter he talked about. 

˖ .𐙚 You and Joel have a 20-year age gap—you are 25, and he is 45, so regardless, he didn’t really see fit to make friends with his new neighbor who was half his age. 

˖ .𐙚 He had heard good things about you from the others, like how helpful you were to Willy—getting his business back up, and how you were helping Gunther get back his collection. It always seemed like you’d drop everything to help someone.

˖ .𐙚 Somehow, he always avoided you at the saloon. He found out when you’d go, and avoid those days. Once in a blue moon, he’d go on Fridays with Tommy and hope it was one of the rare times you and the other “youngsters” weren’t there. 

˖ .𐙚 Even after a few seasons had passed, the most he did was see you when you’d go by Marnie’s to talk about animal care or buy supplies for your animals. You’d wave to him—but he wouldn’t wave back. 

˖ .𐙚 Though when you came over one cold fall day, a freshly baked apple pie to introduce yourself… he really couldn’t say no—especially to pie with ingredients from your farm. 

˖ .𐙚 He wouldn’t admit it, but you two hit off immediately—talking about all sorts of things. You even complimented his woodworking without knowing it was his work. 

˖ .𐙚 You two liked a lot of the same media and had a lot of the same values in life, which surprised him because you were almost half his age. 

˖ .𐙚 A couple of days after your visit, you find a basket of wooden plates he made outside your door, with only a note with his name to know it was him. 

˖ .𐙚 After the first time you met, he’d “somehow” run into you more often… whether that be at Pierre’s, or at the library—he wanted to nonchalantly see you.

˖ .𐙚 Sometimes he was bold enough to walk up to your farm, and just secretly watch you work, or help you cut down trees for his wood that somehow grew like weeds on your farm.

˖ .𐙚 After a while, Tommy noticed his peaked interest in you, which he found so out of character for Joel, especially since you were practically half his age…what did you two even have in common? (A lot.)

˖ .𐙚 You were so good with Ellie too, helping her build an epic snowman in the winter, which Joel joined along, seeing how fun you two were having. 

˖ .𐙚 In the spring, you even let Ellie pick the types of crops she wanted to grow on your farm—teaching her how to grow and harvest things. 

˖ .𐙚 You got along with Ellie better than Joel did. She was around 14, so about 10 years younger than you. And she saw you as more of a friend than an adult, which helped when she needed guidance. 

˖ .𐙚 During the spring dance, you were just gonna watch, until Ellie made a big deal about how Joel isn’t festive enough and never attended, but he did this year, so you two danced together, poorly. You stepped on each other's feet, bumped into each other, and laughed all the way through it. 

˖ .𐙚 Finally, after all that admiring from afar and flirting with you casually, he finally lets himself feel the way he feels about you. 

A few extra statments:

˖ .𐙚 He’d get along with Linus really well, making him some supplies as gifts and looking out for his favorite items. 

˖ .𐙚 He’d fucking HATE Clint. He’d notice how he treated Emily and see Ellie in Emily and get irritated, so if he ever found a geode, he’d just give it to Ellie so she could throw it around and see if it would break. 

˖ .𐙚 He would be reluctant to love you, especially if you were younger, because he wouldn’t want to be like Clint.  ⁃ He’d also probably not like Clint since he’s a woodworker and Clint is a mental worker and has a 5-foot pole up his ass. 

Pairing: Sam Winchester x afab!fem!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Summary: Reuniting with the Winchesters was supposed to be about food, bad motels, and a little nostalgia—not discovering that your childhood best friend, little Sammy, grew into a 6'4 wall of muscle who still looks at you like you hung the moon. One night, one shared bed, and a bottle of whiskey turn old crushes—and new ones—into something you can't hide from Dean for too long.

CW: childhood friends to lovers, cursing, smut, 18+ content, minors dni, praising, unprotected piv, female anatomy, male anatomy, oral - f reciving, size difference/kink, overstimulation, pent up feelings, mutual lust, pwp, lace kink, pantie kink, use of nicknames/petnames, i.e., sweetheart, birdie, etc.

A/N reposts and likes are appreciated! let me know if you guys have any requests or ideas. Feel free to support me with Cash App!

You’ve known the Winchesters since you were a kid. Both of your families dragged you into hunting, so you guys all got along quite well. You have fond memories of shared stays with Bobby, causing havoc in shitty motels, and playing epic hide and seek. You and Sam were close, being the same age and all, but you always had a couple of inches on him. He was a short kid—a late bloomer, so to speak. So seeing him now in front of you after all these years? Yeah, it’s pretty jolting.

You look around the diner, trying to find anyone who looks like your old friends. You spot Dean, and he looks exactly the same, but just with more wrinkles and more stress on his face—older. You notice someone with longer hair and a few inches on Dean sitting across from him, back facing yours. And to your surprise, when he turns around, it’s Sam—there’s no doubt about it... but holy shit.

“Hey, long time no see, Birdie!” Dean scoots over for you to sit next to him, and you do. You are still shocked by the sight before you. Little Sammy, he’s at least 6'4”—if not 6'5". You weren't on the short end either, being a pretty big girl yourself, 5'7" and had muscle on you. But hot damn… he’s huge. Twice your size just in width alone. “Hey, Dean! Hey, Sam! How’s it going?” You smile at them, trying not to look at Sam… he was always cute, sure, but in a “I want to protect him” kind of way… but holy cow was he handsome. He gave you a smile that sent heat pooling in your belly… shit, this isn’t good.

The three of you take turns catching up and ordering some food as well. You order pancakes and finish most of them, finding yourself unable to eat the last one. Sam looks at you with these fucking puppy dog eyes, like, seriously? “You gonna finish that?” The hell? Is he for real? He’s eaten like a whole kale salad with extra chicken, a smoothie, and a fruit bowl. How can he fit this into him?

“Sure, big boy, eat up.” You chuckle, pushing the plate closer to him. Dean doesn’t even seem dazed. This must be normal for someone who’s a giant. “What did you feed him, Dean? He’s like a giraffe.” You nudge Dean's shoulder, and a deep chuckle rises from his chest. “I don’t know—guess he got some mutant gene.”

Sam looks up from his plate and does a playfully offended scoff. “I am no mutant—I just ate my vegetables.” You burst out laughing. And by Dean's expression, he’s not wrong. Dean was never the kid who ate his vegetables, even when Bobby bribed him. “It’s not my fault that everything green tastes like grass.” Dean rolls his eyes at Sam and takes another fry into his mouth, already finishing the massive burger he had somehow consumed in record time.

Nothing has changed, besides the fact that you all grew up. But you are all the same, and after catching up, it feels just like old times.

You all get to the nearest motel, but there are only two rooms left, and only one bed in each. Dean immediately grabs one of the keys and runs to his room. You and Sam debate whether one of you should sleep in the Impala, but decide against it. You can both fit in a queen bed—and it would be the best option comfort-wise.

You open the door to your shared motel room, setting the key down on the table. “Just like old times, aye?” you nudge Sam, and he nodded—it was just like old times, when you’d have a sleepover in your bed since Dean snored so loudly in the guest room, it kept him up at night when they stayed at your home.

You decide to crack open a few beers and catch up more. Well, a few beers turn into a bottle of high-proof whisky—and after a few glasses of each and somehow finishing off the bottle, you two are wrecked.

Sam’s face is all red from the alcohol, and so is yours—but yours is also from the fact that he’s so fucking handsome, though a bit of guilt twangs in your chest. Sammy—your childhood best friend—the best friend you used to take care of, tuck in, protect from monsters…but you can't get your head out of the gutter.

Sam chuckles, taking a sip of his whisky, looking down at you, still being taller than you when you both sit down. “Did I ever tell you I had a crush on you as a kid?” Sam takes another sip of his drink, trying to hide his embarrassment. You're completely and utterly speechless. He did? Like, of course he did when he was a kid—but how ironic, since you like him now.

“I had no clue.” You giggle, taking a sip of whatever was in front of you—trying to ease your anxiety; you're tipsy, but not tipsy enough for confidence. “Yeah, pretty lame, I know.” He shakes his head, a deep laugh vibrating from his chest.

You are too tipsy to think straight, so of course you think it's a good idea to share a secret of your own. “Ya know what’s funny?” You giggle, not even getting out what you wanted to say yet. Sam raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Tell me, ‘Miss Giggles.’” His little nickname for you causes you to giggle even more, not helping your case. After finishing off your whisky, you blurt it out. “I think you’re handsome now… like look at you. So big, so broad… so pretty… and I bet you’re packing.” The last part slipped out; you don’t even know what you were saying—too drunk to think properly.

Sam’s face flushes more, and his smirk drops into a shocked expression, a nervous expression. “Really?” he mutters. You shrug your shoulders. “Yeah, big boy. You’re hot… like really hot.” You slur out.

The silence between you two is unbearable; both of you don't know what else to say. After a few excruciatingly long minutes, Sam scoots his chair closer to yours, placing his large hand on your jawline, slightly caressing it while he looks into your eyes.

“May I?” He looks so innocent—dammit. “I’d—I would like Sammy very much, Sammy.” Your eyes are darting between him, waiting for his response. He gently presses his lips against yours; both of you gradually making it more serious, his tongue asking for passage, you allowing it—moans escaping your chest into his throat, his hand shooting to your waist as a response—yeah… this was going to be a good night.

Sam claims your mouth as his, making out with you as no other man has. The difference is that he actually wants you to feel good. Your one hand tangles into his hair, caressing his scalp, while the other one starts gently caressing his shoulder. Your lips part, both of you out of breath, gasping for any air flowing between you. In this gesture, you breathe in each other's hot exhales, fueling your desires even more.

Without any words, Sam slowly unbuttons your blouse, kissing down your jawline and to your neck, and eventually stopping at a spot that made your whole body shiver, right under your collarbone. He starts nibbling and sucking at this spot—fuck the noises escaping your lips… You hope Dean can’t hear you from a few doors down.

“Sammy—fuck.” You moan out as he releases his suction on your chest, leaving a bruise behind with some teeth marks. His eyes are blown out, proudly gazing at his work. You capture him back to your mouth, biting his lower lip, devouring him. He lets out a whimper—a fucking whimper. You feel his cock grow hard against your body—you stop kissing him to catch your breath, but before you can even find his lips again, he’s completely taken off your blouse, staring down at the pink lace bra perfectly cupping your supple breasts.

Sam’s hands roam your boobs, giving them a squeeze—so mesmerized by how beautiful the lace is on you. “You’re so pretty, Birdie,” he sweetly remarked before sucking and nibbling on your cleavage—his saliva soaked up by the lace, turning a deep pink from the moisture. He continues to fondle your breasts, both of you still in separate chairs, but practically on top of each other.

Your head lolls back, causing a deep moan to arise from you. Sam finally unclips the back of your bra with ease and takes it in his hands, smelling the lace, which is covered in your perfume. Your head tilts back, staring at him, acting like a hungry animal savoring its feast. You take this opportunity to start unbuckling his belt, wanting to get to his hard cock straining on the fabric of his jeans.

Sam’s hand found yours, immediately stopping it from undoing him any further, and he sets down your bra, covered in his spit, right over his bulge still covered with his jeans—and now covered with your bra as well. His hands shoot to your breasts. He starts caressing them like you’re a goddess, placing soft kisses all along them, sucking on your hardened nipples, feeling the pebbly texture against his lips. Your breath hitches, causing you to jolt into him. He moans into your boobs, sending electric shocks right to your clit.

“Sam… please—stop teasing me.” Sam’s darkened eyes meet your gaze, softly releasing your nipple from his tooth-filled suction, finding your swollen lips and claiming them once again.

Your hands find his belt again, finally able to get his pants unlocked—sliding a hand down into his underwear and gently grabbing his manhood, rubbing your thumb over the pre-cum-filled tip. His hands shoot from your breasts to your waist, so rough, so possessive. He groans into your throat, causing you to whimper in response. He thrusts into your hand, cum dripping onto your fingers. He grabs your hand from his cock, bringing your cum-filled fingers to his mouth, licking your hand clean.

You press down on his tongue with your thumb, and his hands fall to your thighs, resting there as he sucks on your thumb, twirling his tongue around the tip. “Sam—Jesus Christ… fuck.” You remove your thumb with a pop. Sam immediately grabs you up into his arms, takes off your pants, and lays you on the bed. “Wanna be a good girl for me?” He smiles, looking at your soaked lace panties. You nod your head, propping yourself up on your elbows to see him. He starts licking your cunt through your panties, the friction killing you.

“Sammy—shit… please don’t tease me.” You beg him, your head falling back, your body unable to prop you up anymore from the pure amount of pleasure rushing through you. “So impatient, aren’t we, Birdie?” God, he has to stop using that nickname.

Sam takes off your panties, bringing them to his nose, smelling you—causing you to whine out. He chuckles at you like this—the girl who protected him and stood up for him, the girl who was stubborn and independent—whining for his attention. He places your wet panties on his throbbing cock, giving himself a few strokes before going headfirst into your pussy, lapping it like it’s a fucking 5-star Michelin meal.

He continues to stroke himself with your soaked panties, making out with your clit. You are now both on the bed, your body propped up on the wall as you watch him jerk into his hand with your panties, and him eating you out. All of this is resulting in plenty of moans and pleas from you, causing him to groan into your clit, sending shivers up your spine.

You finally cum, and so does he, cleaning you up with his tongue, and wiping off his cock with your panties and tossing them aside. He comes up to kiss you, face glistening in your release, kissing you deeply, and tasting yourself on his tongue.

Sam is still hard—and you're still craving his cock inside you. He stops kissing you for a moment and looks down at you seriously. “Condom?” he growls into your next kiss, and you shake your head. “I want you in me now.” He smirks, kissing you deeper, tilting your head so he can get better access.

With one swift movement, Sam’s massive cock is filling and stretching you out fully. You whimper out in pain, mixed with pleasure. “Is it too much?” Sam looks down at you, wiping a tear from your eyes. “It's... so good, Sammy.” You pull him back in for more kisses, and slowly he thrusts into you.

Both of you are lost for words, trying to catch your breath. Every thrust is a stretch, hitting that soft spot that makes your body convulse. You are tight around him, causing both of you to reach your climax fast. He works you through yours and lets himself be released into you.

He claims your mouth once more, both of you just taking a minute. Finally, he exits you and kisses down your body, his face between your thighs again. “What are you—fuck.” He’s licking up the mess he made—cleaning you. You shudder again, cumming into his face—and he cleans that up too.

After he’s done cleaning you with his tongue, he trails kisses back up to your mouth, placing a soft kiss on the corner and then flopping down next to you and pulling your back against his chest, placing kisses along your shoulders and spine. “You did so good, Birdie, so good for me,” he mutters into you, both of you falling asleep.

The sun shines through the shitty motel blinds—it’s morning. You slowly wake up, turning over to see Sam staring at you. Gosh, he’s so beautiful. “What a creep!! You were watching me sleep?!” you teasingly say, and he places a kiss on your forehead. “You’re so pretty when you sleep.” He smiles at you, placing a kiss on your cheek now. You blush… jeez, he’s such a dork.

Eventually, after kisses and cuddling, you both get up, clean up the mess from last night, and shower together. It was nice—this was going to go somewhere.

You both meet Dean out at the Impala, and he looks like he slept like shit. “Big bed all to yourself, and you look like you didn’t sleep a wink,” you tease. “Yea, well, I didn’t. Some sons of bitches were boning!! So fucking inconsiderate.” You and Sam give each other a worried look—but both lose it, laughing. “What’s so funny? A guy deserves his sleep!!” This just makes Sam and you laugh even more. “That’s hypocritical coming from you, Dean—the man who always has a girl come to the motels and makes me sleep in the Impala.”

You and Sam laugh even more. Dean doesn’t get it—and he doesn’t want to. “Well, it’s different when I do it… and would you two stop laughing? I’m fucking hungry; get in the car already.” Both you and Sam give each other a knowing look. “It better have not been you two—fucking disgusting.” You clutch your stomach, able to catch your breath. Dean swiftly turns around and slugs you in the stomach. You fall to the ground, laughing so hard you might piss your pants. Sam is crying from laughter. Finally, Dean joins in.

All three of you get into the Impala and go to breakfast…and ever since that day, you’ve joined the Winchesters on their hunts a lot more often, and Dean is still oblivious to why.

The Constellations That Connect Us - Part Two

Cw: nsfw content, mentions of anatomy, kingdom AU!king!dean, lore heavy, not a one-shot, use of she/her and y/n, rivals, to friends, to lovers.

Summary: Dean Winchester swears he couldn’t care less about the visiting Queen of the Eclipse Kingdom. But when he finds her training his knights—and effortlessly beating every one of them—his resolve starts to crack. What begins as a playful challenge turns into a heated battle of skill, pride, and something neither of them can quite name. One wrong move might cost him his dignity… or his heart.

Pairing: fem!afab!queen!reader x king!dean winchester.

Word Count: roughly 1.5k

A/N: reposts are appreciated. If you have any requests, just ask!

Read previous parts here: part one

A few days pass, and Dean hasn't seen you since your arrival. He doesn't want to pester you or make it at all seem like he actually cares about you. No, Dean would rather die. Though there has been chatter around the castle. Maids and cooks talking about how good your manners are, how sweet you are, and how you even healed a knight who came back from patrol half-mauled by a bear—something Castiel could never do. Every time he hears your name, his ears perk up, trying to nonchalantly listen in, not wanting anyone to know that he is interested, not even his own brother.

Dean decided to go supervise the knights in training for once—why not? He heard whispers all day about how interesting it was to watch the new batch being trained. So, Dean heads towards the training grounds located by the castle's garden. As he steps out, he notices a familiar voice—your voice. “Good!! Keep that up, and you’ll be able to take down that bastard Crowley in no time.” Dean stands still, trying to wrap his head around the sight in front of him—you in a tight-fitting training uniform, somehow doing more wonders than the dress he met you in, hugging every possible curve, and you with a wooden training sword, combating one of the many young boys. He looks over to find Arther Ketch—the man who is supposed to be training your men, and he's sitting on a bench—drinking tea?!

You don't even notice Dean's presence; you focus on the sparring in front of you, which you are easily winning. Dean walks over to Ketch, causing him to stand up immediately. “Your highness—,” "Slacking off now, are we?” Dean cuts him off, chuckling, leaning against the bench, towering over Ketch, who wishes he could disappear.

“The Queen insisted on teaching the new recruits some of her skills—claiming it would better help the kingdom.” Ketch takes a sip of his tea, trying to ignore Dean's laser eyes staring down his neck. “And you just let her?” Dean's weight shifts from his right foot to his left, leaning close to Ketch, eyes never leaving you. “Well, in all regards, your Highness, her army is one of the best in the nation—maybe the whole continent.” Dean scoffs, a low rumbling chuckle escaping his throat. “I’m just fucking with you, Ketch, I know.” Ketch audibly sighs, taking another sip of his tea—watching you as you once again take down another trainee without a sweat.

“Come on? That's all you got?” Laughter erupts from your chest. Gosh, it is like music to Dean's ears…and watching your ego inflate even more? Yeah, it does things to him. “I’ll show her how it's done.” Dean takes off his cape and overcoat, stripping into only his base layer–a skintight suit, just like your training outfit, but different colors. “Be careful, Dean. I've been watching her for a while—shes good, like really fucking good.” Dean waves off Ketch’s comment; he's the king of The Kingdom of Letters, and he’ll be damned if you beat him. “Hey, sweetheart, wanna have a real challenge?” Dean announces, and all of the trainees who aren't being totally obliterated by you salute him. You help up the boys you were fighting, patting them on their shoulders, “Good job, boys, now it's time to watch and learn.” Your gaze finally falls to Dean. You walk up to him… and he's big—not only does he have a few inches on you, and he's just broad in general…much bigger than the trainees you just took on. You lean up to him, whispering in his ear, “My condolences in advance.” Dean smirks down at you, “I wouldn't stay so cocky, darling, you might just be humiliated.” You roll your eyes, smirking at the challenge presented to you. “And no cheating—no magic or anything.” You nod, extending your arm out for a handshake, which he firmly grasps, shaking on the terms.  Ketch throws Dean a sword, and he catches it without even looking. “I won't need magic to beat you.” Your smirk grows, and you quickly get into position. Dean's heart might have skipped a beat, but he shakes it off, quickly getting prepared. “Ok, get ready, set, go!” Ketch announces, and Dean immediately starts sprawling with you, causing you to be on the defensive side of things, which you don't mind.

Everything he throws at you, tricks and all, isn't phasing you one bit. His smirk disappears, confusing how you are able to dodge and block every move—almost like you knew what he would do before he acted upon it…but that was impossible, and you promised not to use magic.

Finally, you get bored and decide to wrap things up—in one quick motion, catching him off guard, both of you flying to the ground as his weapon is launched into the air, falling far, far away from him. You sit there, straddling his chest, pinning him down with your body, and touching the tip of your wooden sword to his chest. “Checkmate,” you smirk down at him, leaning into him as your grip on your sword loosens, knowing you have won. Dean's heart was beating so loudly, he feared you could hear it, like seriously—you on top of him like this, skin only separated by two thin pieces of fabric—you beating him in battle, gosh, you're gorgeous...he can't deny it.

Dean notices your grip faltering—seizing his chance and flips you over, grabbing your sword and touching the blade to your chest. “Checkmate, my ass—I just made it a stalemate.” he notices your eyes widen, surprised, and you laugh. He got you to laugh. “You would have been dead!” you laugh underneath him. His cheeks immediately flush up—watching you laugh underneath him. You notice he's distracted, so you wrap your legs around his waist, using your body weight and strength to flip you both over again, grabbing the wooden sword from his hands and putting it against his throat,slightly choking him. “There. Double checkmate,” you smirk down to him, causing Dean to be speechless—his eyebrows furrow, causing a little wrinkle to form, it's a beautiful sight.

“No—you’d be dead.” Laughter rumbles from his chest, deep and gravely. “Well, you would have already been dead, so I guess now you are double dead.” He watches as your lips grow into a snarky smirk, proud of yourself. Shit, this isn't good…you’re turning him on—he's hard.

You take a moment to catch your breath, still straddling him, breaths shallow, almost resembling moans. Your close proximity causes heat to pool in your lower belly. You then feel his hardened cock on your thigh. You blush, quickly pushing up off of him. “Sorry—must have gone too far—” you rub the back of your neck, not knowing how to react to this. He stays sprawled out on the ground for no more than a moment, quickly sitting up, faced away from everyone, and giving Ketch a gesture. Ketch walks it over with his coat, noticing the… situation, and seeing how both of them are flushing—not from exhaustion but from embarrassment, and maybe something more. He gives Dean a douchey smirk, handing him his coat. “You did really well.” You awkwardly smile, placing your hand on his shoulder, and a golden light flows from your hand, fixing the small cut Dean got in his leg while falling down. His whole body feels lighter—like you cured years of pain. “Thanks.” He spits out. You look away fast, trying not to stare at his massive bulge, “I think I need to rest. See ya.” You dash off, hiding behind the nearest wall you could find in the castle, sliding down to the floor, trying to catch your breath. Shit. This isn't good—but maybe it was an accident… yeah…he didn't mean that to happen…it doesn't mean anything… right?

“She totally wrecked you.” Ketch helps Dean up, dusting him off and helping him hide his hardened cock. “I let her.” Dean snaps back, causing Ketch to lose it, clutching his stomach, trying to breathe, but failing as his laughter won't stop. “Yeah, yeah, get it all out, buddy.” Dean smacks his back with force, causing Ketch to choke on his own laugh. “You are all dismissed. Come back tomorrow bright and early.” Ketch chokes out to his students, and all of them disperse fast. “I can see why you like her, Dean.” Ketch finally catches his breath, standing up and helping Dean get back into his kingly outfit. “I don't—whatever it doesn't matter.” Dean rolls his eyes, but Ketch knows better than to believe him. “Whatever you say, your Highness.” He teasingly says, noticing Dean look in the direction you ran off to. This was much more than Dean was leading on, and maybe much more than you were as well.

(to be continued)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x afab!fem!reader

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: When Dean leaves the bunker on a “solo mission”, Sam and the reader finally find themselves alone after years of quiet longing. What starts as a frustrating shower mishap soon turns into an unexpected moment of vulnerability and passion. Between laughter, tension, and long-suppressed feelings, the two finally cross the line between friendship and love, discovering that some risks are worth taking — especially when the reward is each other.

CW: friends to lovers, cursing, smut, 18+ content, minors dni, praising, unprotected piv, female anatomy, male anatomy, mentions of oral – m receiving, mentions of fingering – f receiving, size difference/kink, overstimulation, dumbification, cock drunk reader, love confessions, pent up feelings, mutual lust, fluff, aftercare, use of sweetheart, darling, etc.

A/N reposts and likes are appreciated! let me know if you guys have any requests or ideas. Feel free to support me with Cash App!

Sam and you had secretly liked each other for a very long time, but neither of you wanted to ruin the friendship you have. Dean, annoyed by how oblivious you two were, decided to leave the bunker to go on a solo mission, leaving you and Sam alone, hoping by the time he got back, maybe you’d figure it out.

Sam’s nose was deeply buried in one of the many lore books located in the Men of Letters’ library. You decided to shower — an everything shower, which wasn’t uncommon for you at all, as you take hygiene very seriously. But just when you are about to rinse out your shampoo, the water shuts off, which was weird because this had never happened before. Like, seriously, a 100-year-old bunker and the one time it malfunctions, you just have to be covered in soap and shit? You yell to Sam, trying to get his attention, but it fails since the walls are so thick, plus you are on the other side of the bunker. So, you throw on a bathrobe, your hair still filled with the scent of your vanilla-scented shampoo.

You walk to the war table where you find Sam sitting, calmly reading his book, titled ‘Is the Loch Ness Monster really real?’, which is so in character for him it's almost comical. “Hey, Sam.” Your voice cuts through the air, trying to get his attention, but of course, he can’t hear a thing you’re saying… he’s too enveloped in his reading.

“Sammy? Hellooo?” You now wave a wet hand in front of him, a droplet of water falling onto the old page, causing him to finally turn around. He looks at you, in your little bathrobe, soap still all over your hair, body freshly shaved… a beautiful sight.

“Hey! Finally…the water turned off, can you fix it?” You tilt your head, looking down at him, a rare occurrence since he always towers over you—but Sam can barely hear anything you’re saying. He’s too focused on the fact that the robe is slipping off, revealing part of your supple breast.

Your gaze shoots down at where he’s staring, causing you to quickly turn around, re-tying the bathrobe tighter, and turning back around swiftly. But to your surprise, he’s right there, inches away from your face, having a good amount of height on you, staring down at you. “Yeah, I can go look at the controls.” His face is flushed… is this because of you? You're already red from the hot shower, let alone now blushing from embarrassment, so he notices how red you are.

“Sorry about—never mind… I’ll come along so I can see how to fix it next time, if there is a next time.. With my luck, there will be.” Sam chuckles, nods, and then both of you head off to the control room, which is dusty, dull, and kinda scary. No one ever goes into it.

Immediately, it’s evident that you just need to reset the controls, so he does. “That should do it.” Sam smiles, trying not to look at you, secretly hoping you don't notice the massive bulge forming in his pants.

“Thank you, Sam.” You place a hand on his shoulder, and his hands find your hips, resting there like it’s an automatic response. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—“ he finally looks at you, really looks at you, and notices you don’t run away or tell him off. You just look into his big hazel eyes with yours, so lovingly. You feel his hard cock against your leg…shit. “Tell me to stop and I will.” His eyes dart between yours, looking for any sort of reaction out of you.

“Sam…” you shudder out, your hand finding his cheek, caressing his stubble, which probably accumulated there from the lack of shaving that day. His hands start roaming over your body, finding the opening of your bathrobe, slipping a large calloused hand underneath your breast. Your breath hitches, automatically arching into him.

Sam leans down, capturing your lips in his, softly kissing you. His tongue begs for access, and you permit it, gently opening your mouth to let him dominate you. He groans into your mouth, causing a few faint moans to arise from you. His hand moves down to your ass, as the other continues to caress your breast, now his thumb rubbing over your hard nipple. You let out a moan into his mouth, causing him to kiss you more frantically, grabbing harder on your ass.

You pull away, reluctantly, not wanting to lose this. “D-Do you want to join me in my shower?” You mutter out, eyes darting away from his gaze, cheeks flushed up as your damp hair still drips onto your shoulders. Sam nods and lifts you up into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he continues to kiss you, walking to the shower.

When you get to the bathroom, he sets you down, your feet hitting the floor as your bathrobe does too. You start unbuttoning his flannel and discarding it. He unbuckles his pants, and they fall to the ground with his underwear. You gaze down at his manhood, hard, huge against his body—fucking beautiful. He briefly breaks this kiss, turning on the shower and lifting you into it. You fall to your knees, water falling between you as you take his cock into your mouth, lightly placing kisses along the head. “Jesus—fuck, sweetheart.” He groans out, tangling his fingers through your hair, not to guide you, but to ground himself. You take what you can in your mouth, caressing the rest with your hands. His hips start to jerk into you, not on purpose but on instinct—hitting the back of your wet, hot throat. You get a few moans, groans, and even begging whimpers out of him. “Oh—fuck… I’m gonna—“ Sam comes right into your mouth, the water from the shower washing some of it away, but the rest you swallow.

Sam helps you up, pushing his body against yours,causing you to feel his still hard cock on your core, twitching on you, still sensitive from moments ago. His hands shoot up to cup your face, pulling you in, kissing you deeply with his tongue, tasting himself on you, and moaning into your throat.

Soft noises of pleasure escape your lips, his one hand trails down your body as his mouth does the same, kissing along you as he excavates to your boobs, sucking on your nipples, nibbling and kissing as he goes. His hand finds your clit, using his calloused hands to rub you and finger you at the same damn time, somehow—even curving his fingers so he hits a spot that makes you squirm each time.

“S-Sammy.” You moan out, causing him to growl against your nipple, sending shockwaves through your whole body, heat pooling in your belly. His fingers continue to thrust into you—continuing to rub your throbbing clit, and soon enough, you are grinding on his hand, riding out your own climax.

Sam removes his fingers from your cunt, licking off your slick. Your pussy trembles, you whine like you’ve lost something dear. “I know, baby, I know,” Sam mutters against your neck as he sucks a love bite right below your pulse.

He gently but possessively lifts you up, aligning his throbbing cock to your entrance, and gently pushing into you, using your climax and his pre cum dripping dick as lube. your breath caught as he pressed closer; his size is a bit of a struggle for you to take. “God baby, you’re so tight for me.” He practically whimpers. Finally, after some time, taking it slow, you’re able to fit him fully inside you—a painful but desirable stretch. Both of you stay like this for a moment, kissing each other, hungry and ready.

“Tell me if it hurts too much, ok sweetheart?” You nod, arching into him as the first thrust happens, slow and considerate. The unholy noises slipping from your lips only make it harder for Sam to keep gentle; his purples are blown out—his fingers digging into your hips, which will totally leave bruises in the morning.

He continues to thrust into you, hitting the spot that makes you whine and drool each and every time without missing. You moan into his mouth, eventually not even having the strength to keep your head up, resting it on his shoulder as he fucks you silly. “You cock drunk, darling?” Sam chuckles as you twitch on him, coming close to your release.

Multiple whines and moans are all you can get out before screaming his name as you cum on his cock. Sam works you through your orgasm, only then finding his own release, shooting hot sticky love into you.

Both of you take a moment to catch your breath. Sam has you leaning against the shower tiles, softly kissing your jawline and whispering praises into your ears, “You did so good, baby, it‘s good for me?”

He finally gently exits you, his seed dripping from your legs into the drain. He helps you stand up in the shower, your legs trembling from overstimulation. He makes sure to hold your waist, propping you up so he can take care of you—following up on his aftercare routine.

You stay quiet, smiling, exhausted. “Did I go too far, darling?” Sam’s voice sounds concerned as you can barely stand up or stay awake. “It was so good, Sammy.” You chuckle, causing a deep laugh to rise from his chest, vibrating against your body.

Both of you are completely washed up now, and Sam got you dressed in a cute pair of panties and one of his shirts, which is too big for you, and so comfortable.

He sets you down in your bed, cuddling up next to you and throwing a blanket over both of you. “You don’t know how long I wanted to do this.” He mutters against your neck, caressing your waist as he places kisses along your spine. "'Such a shame then…been wanting to do that for a while now too.” You chuckle out, and Sam chuckles with you. Both of you should have just taken the chance, but none of that matters anymore.

“Guess this makes you my girl.” He whispers in your ear. You roll over to face him, placing a kiss on his nose. “No take-backs.” You look up at him, gazing into his mesmerizing eyes. He smiles at you, moving a piece of hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “Love you.” Sam kisses the corner of your mouth, causing you to blush. “Love you too, ya dork.” Sam moves back a little, acting offended. “Dork? How could you?!” Both of you burst out laughing and slowly fall asleep in each other's arms. 

Pairing: castiel x afab!fem!reader

Summary: A reckless solo hunt leaves you dying in the woods until Castiel answers your desperate prayer, saves you with a dangerous soul-bonding use of his grace, and turns you into his unwilling-but-undeniably-in-love celestial soulmate under your brothers’ watchful eyes.

CW: Smut, 18+ content, angst—but i kiss it better, minors dni, piv, female anatomy, male anatomy, grace play?, wing play, use of pet names (i.e., birdie, sweetheart).

Word Count: 3k

A/N reposts and likes are appreciated! let me know if you guys have any requests or ideas. Feel free to support me with Cash App!

God, how did you end up here? This was supposed to be an easy solo mission without your annoying brothers micro-managing everything you did. How did it end so poorly?

Right now, you’re bleeding out about half a mile from the barn where you killed five vamps—though it was supposed to be just two. You took down four before the last one stabbed you through the abdomen and fled. You barely made it to the forest; you'd be damned if you died in that run-down shed surrounded by vampire corpses.

You slid down a tree, lying on the cold, hard ground, leaves all around you, the wind colder than usual for this time of year, and there was blood all over your body, slowly but surely leaking out of your abdomen. The roots of the tree are sticking out of the dirt, pressing under you, causing sharp pains to be sent throughout your whole body. This was it. This was the day you die.

A tear falls down your cheek, taking a bit of dried vamp blood with it. This isn't how you wanted to go. Sure, you wanted to go out with a bang like your brothers. But secretly? You hoped to grow old and die, not even having the cognitive ability to know you were dying. But here you are, coughing up blood, bleeding out on the cold, hard, root-filled ground, under a tree that had seen better days. At least the sky is clear; you get to see the stars one last time. You wished your brothers well, silently, and said your final goodbyes.

You shut your eyes, embracing the cold fate ahead of you. But of course it’s not that easy. The sound of wings fluttering around you causes you to open your eyes, and as you look up you see a figure looking down at you. It is in fact a worried, frantic Castiel. Shit, you must have prayed by accident. “You're hurt.” Castiel frowns; it's laced with deep concern as he kneels down to you, using his grace to heal you. You groan, feeling the warmth of his power touching your fatal wound. “This isn’t working.” Castiel's eyes never leave you; he's trying so hard to heal you. “Your brothers told you not to go out alone—I told you not to go out alone.” He looks disappointed, frustrated, his brows furrow, causing the little wrinkle on his forehead to become prominent…one of your favorite sights.

“It's… my time, Cas,” you mutter out, struggling to look at him without your vision going double. “No, I won't—I can't let you go.” Castiel continues to try to help you, but no progress is being made. “Cas… tell my brothers… I'm sorry.” You weakly reach up to touch the sleeve of his signature beige trench coat, the one that he always wore. He shakes his head at you and continues to try to heal you. “No, you can say it to them yourself once I heal you.” His hands strain as his grace isn't able to heal you fast enough, the wound unable to close, it’s too deep—blood keeps gushing out. “Cas… it's ok… I… I love you.” Your grip on his sleeve loosens and your arm falls to the ground, your eyes fluttering shut. “Birdie… no—no, no.” Castiel starts to panic, seeing the light from your eyes fade away.

In a frantic hurry, an idea arises. He takes your pocket knife and cuts his throat, grace seeping out. He leans down to you, forcing the grace into your mouth. It disappears, going straight into your body. After he thinks it's enough, he heals his own wound, ripping off your shirt to see if it worked. Slowly, a blue glow emits from your wound, flowing from your body. Your breath steadies, relief washes over Castiel's face. He saved you. The blood has stopped; you look… peaceful. He lifts you up in his arms, cradling you like something sacred. With a flap of his wings, you two are back at the bunker, where Sam and Dean see Castiel holding an unconscious you, covered with more blood than you should be.

Sam rushes over to Castiel. “Cas… is she ok?!” He notices the blue glow coming from your deep wound. Dean skeptically looks at his sister, as if he almost knows it's not fully you. “She's fine. I saved her.” Castiel smiles lightly, looking down at you. “Saved her how?” Dean walks over to Sam, looking at their sister's limp body, softly breathing. “That wound… it's deep… and why the fuck is it glowing?” Sam nods, looking at Castiel for answers. “She would not heal. I gave her some of my grace, and her body accepted it.” Dean's eyes widen. He looks mad, concerned, and also relieved. Sam runs to get medical supplies to help quicken the healing process, and Dean runs a hand through your hair. “So you made her a monster?” Castiel sets Eva down on the couch, gently releasing her from his grasp. “I didn't have a choice, Dean—I couldn't let her die. Not after… not after what she said to me.” Castiel looks into Dean's eyes. “I did what I had to.” Sam comes back running with a med kit, grabbing a few big bandages, some wrap, a needle with thread, and other things to suture the wound. Dean huffs, pissed at Castiel, but also glad his little sister is safe and sound… but is it even her anymore? “Sammy, Castiel turned our sister into some sort of angel-grace human monster.” Sam looks up at Dean and Castiel, immediately looking back at you, tending to your wounds as the blue light still glows from inside you. “Dean, we'll figure it out… all that matters is that she's alive.” Dean scoffs and looks at Castiel.

“If it makes you feel better, it's probably more of a soul bond.” Castiel's voice cuts through the tension in the room. “The fuck does that mean, Cas?” Dean crosses his arms, looking down, making sure you are still breathing. “We… are connected.” He smiles lightly, looking down at you, his hand moving a piece of your messy hair out of your face. “So you are 'soulmates'?” Dean chuckles at his comment. Castiel opens his mouth to interject, but Dean cuts him off. “Thank you, Cas… thank you for saving my little sister….” Dean kneels down and starts helping Sam patch you up.

Hours go by, you are soundly sleeping, all bandaged up, with a light blue glow still shining through the bandages and wraps around your abdomen. Your brothers are sitting at the war table, drinking a few beers, an looking into what Castiel really did to you, seeing if there is any lore. Cas is sitting on a chair by the couch you lie on, caressing your cheek and running his hand through your hair. Now when he touches you, it's almost like he can feel your feelings… a bit of pain is radiating on him, the same side you were wounded. Cas assumes this is part of whatever he did to you.

“So, get this,” Sam's voice breaks through the silence in the bunker. “It seems like you two are spiritually connected now, and it's called ‘Soul Sharing.’” Dean perks up from where he was, totally not looking at ‘Busty Asian Beauties’ instead of researching. “Are there any negative side effects? Is it curable?” Dean takes a swig of his beer and waits for Sam's response. “It's not 'curable' so to say… it's permanent—but it's not a bad thing,” Sam continues. “You guys can feel each other's pains, emotions, and can understand each other on a deeper level now.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Oh, great, my little sister and Cas can feel the same things now. That's not weird.” Sam shakes his head and continues reading off the lore he found. “This ritual can only take place if both parties have a deep love for each other.” Dean slams his bottle down and looks at Castiel with a killer glare. “Oh great, my best friend wants to bang my sister.” Cas turns to face Dean, not moving his hand from your head. “Bang your sister?” His head tilts, clearly not understanding the slang. “Bang means fuck—” Dean is about to finish when he notices your eyes fluttering open.

Castiel immediately feels you waking up, like he's waking up too. Sam and Dean get up and run towards the couch, looking down at you as you groan, sitting up, looking at Castiel in confusion. “Where am I? Is this heaven? No, probably hell, since I'm still stuck with you two helicopter parents.” “Hey!” Dean chuckles at you, just glad you’re awake. Castiel helps you sit up, and you feel the pain at your side. You lift up your shirt and notice a blue glow coming from the bandages that are on you.

Everything starts to flood back… you were supposed to die. “I… I was dying… what happened?” Sam kneels down to your level. “Castiel saved you—he bonded your souls.” You give Castiel a look of confusion. “You what?” Castiel's hands shoot up to your face, caressing your cheeks. “I saved you… I couldn't let you go—not after you said those words to me.” You look at Sam and Dean, confused, but then it hits you, and your face turns as red as the blood that was on it just a few hours ago. The feeling you are feeling right now, as his skin touches yours, it's like electricity flying through his fingers to your face. “I don't even want to know… Sam, let's go for a drive… leave these two soul-connected weirdos alone.” Sam nods, smiling at you, and before leaving, they both pat your shoulder.

As the door shuts behind them, Castiel takes this as the opportunity to explain everything they know about the soul bond.

“Is that why I feel your touch inside of me?” Castiel smiles so sweetly at you, still caressing your cheek with one of his hands. He nods. “And this can only happen when… when both parties love each other?” Castiel sheepishly nods again, seeing the blush migrate from your cheeks to your ears and neck. You cup his face with your hands and bring him into a soft, loving kiss. Castiel kisses you back, much hungrier than you started. His tongue asks for passage; you open your mouth, allowing him to fill you. His hand shoots down to your hip, and one tangles in your hair. Your hands slide down from his face to his shoulders, holding onto the collar of his trench coat.

You both break away from the kiss at the same time, like you knew the other needed a breath. “Darling… that…” You cut him off. “I could feel you wanted it—wanted to kiss me.” His gaze is locked onto your lips. “I feel… you want me too.” Both of you smash back into each other; this time, the kiss is lustful, sloppy, trying to get every inch of your mouth claimed by him. You feel a spark in your chest, a warm feeling filling your whole body. This must be because of your bond. Castiel grabs you in his arms and, without stopping the kiss, brings you to your room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

You break the kiss. “Cas… I—” “I know. I know you need me. I need you too.” Castiel's lips find yours again; this time they slowly trail down your neck, finding a sensitive spot on your collarbone that only you know about. “Cas—how did—” You can barely get out any words between the whimpers and sounds of pleasure escaping your lips. “I just do… I can feel it.” Cas mutters against your skin, the vibrations sending pleasure up your spine. You can feel his clothes bulge against your torn jeans, the friction like heaven itself. “Cas—” “I know, I know, I'll take care of you, baby.”

This is like no other feeling you've ever felt. It's like lust on steroids. You can feel his lust inside of you, his love radiating off of his skin onto yours as he places kisses all down your chest whilst he unbuttons your shirt, revealing your lace bra. He stops for just a moment, reveling in the sight in front of him. His eyes darken, blown out, and he goes straight back to placing hot kisses along your chest, now on your cleavage, biting the lace as he goes. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, grinding slowly into him, unable to feel the wound you just had a few hours ago.

Soft moans and pleas escape your lips. Castiel groans and moans against your skin. He sets you down on the bed as you take off his trench coat and unbutton his shirt, as he continues to place love bites and marks along your chest, nibbling along the way. He easily unclasps your bra, and it falls onto your lap. He moves down to your hardened breasts and starts sucking on your right nipple while he caresses the left with his calloused thumb. All of this stimulation, paired with the extra feelings heightened by the grace link you have, makes you cum in your pants, right there and then.

Castiel looks down at you, pleased with himself, and he takes off your jeans and looks at the mess you made, slick seeping through your lace panties. “Castiel—oh f-fuck.” You scream out as his mouth finds your inner thigh, placing hot kisses and nibbles up each side until he gets to your underwear, pulling it down with his teeth. You grip onto your bedsheets, moaning louder now as he finds your clit, lapping stripes up your wet pussy, devouring it like it's his last meal. “Cas—mhmm~ r-right there!” He continues to make out with your clit, inserting a finger into you, causing your hips to jerk into his face. He makes a soft moaning sound, and sticks another finger in, still eating you out like you are the best fucking thing he's ever tasted. Your hands find his hair, not to guide him, but as something to ground yourself. He continues to finger you, finding your good spot immediately, causing you to grind into his face, but he's not complaining.

You look down at him, covered in your slick, enjoying every single minute of this. Finally, you release right into his face, and he helps you through it, moans filling the room. He licks you clean, pulling his fingers out and licking those next, trailing kisses up your body, up to your lips where you taste yourself on him. He pulls away, looking down at you. “You taste so good,” he chuckles. That's it, it's his turn. You wrap your legs around his waist and flip him over, causing him to groan. You straddle his legs and unbuckle his pants, precum leaking through already. You move down the bed, kissing his bulge through his boxers. He whines, taking off his boxers, and his cock springs out, hard and glistening with cum. “Already came?” You smile, slowly stroking him in your hand, looking him in the eyes. He nods, noises slipping out of his throat as he covers his mouth. You take him in, tongue curling around the tip, before going down as far as you can, and what you can't take in your mouth, you stroke with your hands.

“R-right there, Birdie.” His head falls back, and his wings, which he always hides away and which are always invisible to you, flare out, knocking over a book on your nightstand. You don't stop, continuing to suck him until he releases into your mouth. You clean him off with your tongue and make your way back up to his lips, kissing him with his cum still on your tongue. He groans into you, wings wrapping around your body, touching your back, fluttering so sensually. You release the kiss and look at him, lying beneath you, drool connecting you two from your kiss. “Can… can I touch 'em?” you whisper into his ear as you nibble him. “P-please.” You continue to nibble on him as your hands lightly caress his wings. He arches into the air, shivering at your touch. He flips you both over in one swift moment, pinning you under him as his wings sprawl out in the air all around you. They are beautiful, brown and black… gorgeous. “Condoms… where do you keep condoms…” He licks his lips, causing heat to pool up in your lower belly. “Top dresser—” you barely get out before you hear his wings swoosh; he moves so fast you couldn't even tell. He rips open the condom and places it on his throbbing manhood, wasting no time inserting himself into you. You arch into him, nails digging into his back. His wings flare in the air as he continues to thrust into you. Both of you are so overstimulated by this point, both so close. You grab onto one of his wings, touching it so softly as he continues to thrust into you. He groans into your mouth as you touch his wing, causing him to thrust harder. His hand finds your clit, caressing it as he smashes into you.

Finally, you both hit climax, his hips shuddering into you as he rides out the last high. Castiel flops on top of you, both of you out of breath. His wings sprawl out like a blanket over the two of you. He places soft kisses on your shoulders and slowly exits your body. You shiver at the loss of him, but he lies next to you, embracing you and placing kisses along your back.

“That was… amazing,” he whispers into your ear, placing kisses on the lobe. “It was.” You chuckle. Castiel snaps his fingers, cleaning both of you up, changing the sheets, and clothing you both in comfortable clothes. You both lie there, embracing each other, and nothing else matters but that you two are together. “I love you.” He mutters against your neck. “Love you too.” You close your eyes, falling fast asleep.

Cw: sfw (for now), kingdom AU!king!dean, lore heavy, not a one-shot, use of she/her and y/n.

Summary: In a kingdom losing faith in its lonely king, Dean Winchester finds his world turned upside down when the fierce and enchanting Queen of the Eclipse Kingdom arrives to form an alliance—and maybe steal his guarded heart in the process.

Pairing: fem!afab!queen!reader x king!dean winchester.

Word Count: roughly 1700.

A/N: reposts are appreciated. If you have any requests, just ask! feel free to support me with cash app!

King Dean Winchester, King of the Kingdom of Letters, was a man known for his stubborn ways. Even at 33, he still lived in solitary loneliness. He was not one to go out and try to find a potential mate, because most of the nobles in the kingdom only wanted him for his money and status. He just wished that, like his brother, Prince Sam, he too could find true love. Sam married a commoner, Eileen Leahy, which in itself took a lot of convincing to the royal council, since she wasn't just a commoner, she was deaf. But Sam loved her so very much, so she became his princess regardless of what the council said. Dean supported them wholeheartedly, and his word was final. However, since allowing a commoner into the royal family, the kingdom has weakened. Citizens, nobles, and commoners have lost faith in their king, especially since he has not fought in his own battles for a few years now. No one really knows why. Was it out of fear for the Dark Kingdom, ruled by King Crowley? Or perhaps it was because he could not find it in himself to potentially die without finding his person, the love of his life, his soulmate, the one thing that would relieve all of his baggage and pains.

The Kingdom of Letters was once one of the leading kingdoms, alongside the Dark Kingdom and the Eclipse Kingdom, which were both renowned for their magic. The Dark Kingdom had a handful of Dark Sourcers, Witches, and warding implemented, making them a hard target to cooperate with, as well as a truthful pain in the ass to deal with, since they were trying to invade the Kingdom of Letters for their magical relics and ancient knowledge.

Since the Kingdom of Letters was on the trajectory of crumbling, not only because of the lack of faith in their king, but also King Crowley's attempt to overthrow King Dean, Prince Sam saw it as his duty to reach out to the Eclipse Kingdom, in hopes of forming an alliance with the Queen, who was rumored to be unmerciful in battle, and one of the only kingdoms who have successfully stopped The Dark Kingdom from invading their land. The Eclipse Queen was rumored to be a young, beautiful warrior. So sure, Sam secretly hoped that maybe the Alliance would turn into more of a permanent thing, with Dean and the Queen, not only for political reasons, but also for the well-being of his brother.

So there she was, coming up to the castle in her golden carriage. Sam had sent the letter to their neighboring kingdom and gotten a response. The Eclipse Queen was coming and would stay for a few months to become an ally and a friend. Dean looked out of one of the many windows in one of the many hallways in his huge Palace, looking down, seeing a cloaked figure with luxury items and clothing on, walking up to the palace steps, being greeted by his little brother.

“My king, The Eclipse Queen has arrived, Prince Sam has requested that you wear your best, and meet him in the study as soon as possible.” Dean rolls his eyes, turning around to look at his head knight, his personal helper, and one of the only citizens of The Letter Kingdom who could use a bit of magic. “Cas, what did I say about using those stupid formalities with me?” Dean groans and starts walking to his chambers, with Castiel following closely behind him. “Apologies, Dean.” Cas keeps up with him, following Dean into his room. “It’s fine.” Dean groans as Castiel helps him in his kingly robe and Crown, which he never wore. “This is so stupid…a unity with one of the kingdoms we've been at odds with for centuries? Can't wait for this to bite us in the ass.” Dean scoffs and adjusts a couple of rings on his fingers as Castiel flattens the coat down his body. “Give it a chance, Dean, and maybe something really good will come of it.” Castiel pats Dean on the shoulder, as Dean gives himself one last look in his golden mirror to make sure he looks "appropriate" or whatever Sam would say. “Yeah, let's hope so…God, I bet she's gonna be a bitch.” he sighs, and walks out of his chambers, Castiel attempting to catch up.

As Dean approaches the study's grand doors, he hears… laughter, from his brother?! Before Castiel can even open the door for Dean, he flings both doors open with a single push, the sound breaking through the laughter. In the study, he sees Sam sitting with Eileen, and on the chair across from them, a beautiful woman, stopping mid-laughter, causing her smile to be truly genuine. Her eyes meet his, a spark shoots through Dean's body…holy shit she's…

“Achh em, I present to you, King Dean of The Kingdom of Letters,” Casitel announces, but Dean doesn't even give him a pinch of his attention, his eyes still locked with the beautiful lady sitting there, so casual but so proper. Sam shoots out of his spot and quickly breaks the tension. “Thank you for joining us, Dean. This is the Queen of The Eclipse Kingdom–” he's cut off by Dean's gruff voice, slicing through the air, “Y/N L/N.” he smirks. She stands up, brushing off a few crumbs from her skirt; she seems to have eaten the tarts Elieen baked for the visit, still having a bit of jam on the corner of her mouth. Her eyes once again lock onto Dean's, so sincere, so calming—nothing like the rumors. “It is a pleasure to meet you, King Dean.” Her voice is velvety soft, filling Dean's head with nothing but thoughts of her.

Dean steps forward to her, and, bowing down, kisses her hand—shocking everyone, even her. “No need for the formalities.” She said, following him up as the sting from the kiss still lingered on the back of her hand. “Ya got a little something on your face,” he gestures to his own face, showing her where the jam is. She quickly wipes it off, smiling the whole time, even though her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She's even more beautiful up close. “For future reference, sweetheart, just call me Dean.” He smiles at her, and a tinge of blush creeps up along her ears. “Same here, just call me by my name, no need for formalities, since my goal is not only to become an alliance, but also to become your friend.” Dean's heart is practically beating out of his chest; he can't believe the woman in front of him is real, and a Queen of a powerful kingdom, nonetheless.

Sam clears his throat, Dean snapping out of his trance, sitting down in an empty chair next to the Queen. “Y/N was just going to show us some of her magic. It's good you came when you did, Dean.” Elieen signs as she speaks, and looks at Y/N. To Dean's surprise, Y/N signs back while saying, “Ah, yes, thank you so much for reminding me.” Before Dean can comment on her sign language skills, miniature constellations shoot from her fingers, filling the air between them all as Sam, Dean, Elieen, and Castiel look up in awe. She moves them around, changing the shapes of the constellations, and spelling out “Nice to meet you,” and then making constellation animals; it's like a whole performance. “Holy cow,” Dean mutters under his breath, looking away from the constellations and back at her. She's smiling so sweetly, she seems so happy to be here. She is absolutely nothing like what he thought she'd be. All of the constellations turn into mini fireworks and explode, making little noises. Eileen and Sam clap immediately, but Dean, though, is still so star-struck, literally, he only remembers to clap when Castiel taps his shoulder. “I’m glad you liked my little party trick.” She smiles and then looks directly at Dean. “Party trick? You call that a party trick?” he scoffs in amazement. “Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart.” She giggles…shit, it's like a siren call, music to Dean's ears.

“I’m surprised you are so…laid back.” Dean adds, and Sam gives him a look of “dude, why would you say that?” but instead of becoming defensive or offended, she laughs. She laughs a kind of laugh that most men spend their entire lives looking for, and she's right in front of him. “Why’s that?” She smiles at him, his heart beat rises. “Well, uhh, y’know…everyone says you're unmerciful, and a scary bad ass.” he looks at her, hoping he didn't offend her—but once again she laughs, wiping away a tear from her eyelashes as she laughs more. “And I heard you were a stubborn jackass who doesn't greet his guests, so I guess we are both half wrong.” Half wrong?! What does she mean by that? “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?” he smirks at her, seeing if she'll bite. “Well, you obviously greeted me, but you do seem like a stubborn jackass.” Sam chokes on his champagne, shocked at how bold she is. “And I am unmerciful, but that is to my enemies, like King Crowley.” Dean chuckles, “You minx.” She shrugs and takes a sip of the champagne that was poured for her by Castiel, who was trying to do everything he could to make the meeting go well.

She slowly rises from her spot, stretching as she finishes off the champagne in her glass. “It was really nice meeting all of you, but I am exhausted. It was a long trip, so if you don't mind, may I be shown to my sleeping quarters?” Dean looks a bit disappointed, wanting to get to know her more. She catches onto this, and as Castiel leads her out of the study, her hand grazes his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Dean, we can mingle more tomorrow.” Her touch sends electric bolts through his whole body…shit, he's blushing…and he can't wait to see her again.

(To be continued…?)