Jensen Ackles As Soldier Boy THE BOYS (2022) | 3.04 – “Glorious Five Year Plan”

Finally moved into my rental, and we don’t have internet…but we have a dvd player and I have the complete box set of spn. Physical copies for the win!!

how to successfully kidnap me

Ten Years Gone

3. Invited In

Warnings: Emotional distress Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I didn't proofread this thoroughly, if there's any discrepancies that's my bad.

The driveway was almost snowed over after Novena had shoveled that morning, but wasn’t too deep to stop Dean from pulling in closer to the house. The visibility was only getting worse and it was a miracle that they’d made it back safely. It still baffles her that only living ten minutes inland can affect how much snow her area gets.

“Dean, please stay for tonight. I’d hate for you to get into an accident…”

“I’ll be fine. Driving in a bit of bad weather is nothin’ new to me. I’ll stay until you get inside.”

Such a typical man answer. Rolling her eyes and pressing her lips together in frustration at his comment.

 Huffing out a deep exaggerated breath she says, “That’s unacceptable. You’re coming with me.” 

“Are you detaining me…” Dean lets out a small giggle.

Then he realizes that she’s actually serious, he raises his eyebrows in curiosity. She had a worried look on her face, and it makes him wonder if it’s just for his safety or if there’s something bad hidden beneath those eyes of hers. “Fine, fine. First thing in the morning, I’m outta here.”

Novena nods her head in approval. Dean shuts off the ignition and the pair get out of the car and walk across the driveway to get to the porch stairs. The porch light flickers on once they’re close enough. 

Must be motion-sensored, Dean thinks to himself.

He didn’t see her pull out her keys to unlock her door, she just walked right in.

Weird, who doesn’t lock their doors? 

When entering the house there’s a sign hung up on the stair banister in front of them that states, “No Shoes Beyond This Point!” Dean is self conscious only because he didn’t have time to shower this morning, and he’s been wearing shoes all day.

The house smelled of lavender and cedarwood. There were things everywhere but not in a hoarding type of way. Everything seemed to have a purpose. To the right of the staircase was the living room, an old box tv sat atop a refurbished entertainment center. She motioned for him to walk down the hall and follow her to the back of the house. Pictures littered the walls in the hallway, some of nature and some of her family. 

Then there was the kitchen. It felt like home to Dean.

There were no overhead lights in the ceiling, only smaller lamps everywhere. Again, pictures were covering the walls, cookbooks and coffee mugs sat in built-in cabinets that are on either side of the small circular dining table—with a big window that leads out to the backyard above the table. Plants hanging in front of the window that’s above the sink. A baby pink vintage fridge reminded Dean of the one his parents used to have in Florence, only theirs was light green. And it smelt of homemade bread.

“You want any water? Food?” She asked.

Cinnamon rolls.

“Could I have one of these?” Dean was already taking the lid off of the glass cake stand before Novena had the chance to say anything.

“Mmm, these’re good. You make ‘em yourself?”

A huge grin spread across her face, “I did. Family recipe.” She slid a glass of water to him anyway. 

“Damn. I’d die for these rolls…”

That’s when he heard a thunderous bark come from the other side of the kitchen. A huge, midnight black pitbull was lurking in the shadows, glowing gold eyes shining brightly in the dimly lit room. It made Dean jump for a second time, quickly moving off of the stool he sat himself on. Instinctively reaching for his gun. He almost choked on his cinnamon roll. Trying to cough out the small piece of bread that went down the wrong pipe.

“Sorry about that. Ghost can be very quiet when he wants to be. Come here Ghosty, say hi.”

The dog is cautious, as he should be. Dean was a stranger after all. Ghost slowly lurked towards them, every muscle becoming visible in the more illuminated area of the kitchen, and sniffed Dean’s hand when he extended it out towards him.

Ghost stared intently at Dean, as if trying to determine if he’s worth trusting. If he’s worth being in his owner's home. It almost felt like an interview? The nervous eye contact, heart rate increasing, if Ghost had opposable thumbs, they’d be shaking hands right now. Dean had hoped he wouldn’t smell all of the old blood that remained embedded in his leather jacket and his boots, or sense that he had killed countlessly–or that he had lost part of himself in Hell and in Purgatory…

After what felt like hours, Ghost gently licked Dean's fingers that were lingering in the air and rubbed his head against his palm afterward. Patting his head and taking a big sigh of relief, Dean relaxed back onto the stool, and was met with the sweet, intoxicating laugh from the woman who is too trusting of him. 

Like mother like son, he couldn’t help but to think.

“I’m surprised he likes you. He usually hates men.” 

“Well, that’s good to know after the fact. Thanks for the heads up…” Rolling his eyes not so playfully this time.

Novena saunters over to him, stands between his spread out legs, and places both of her hands on his face, whispering, “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, scaredy cat.” Gives him a wink and boops his nose. He is so whipped already, his mouth agape and eyes pining into hers. The trance she causes him to go into is irresistible.

“Um–uh, you should really lock your doors. Noticed it when we walked in.” He places his hands at the small of her back, inching her closer to him.

“Attentive now, are we?” Still maintaining that breathy tone.

“Yes, ma’am. Wanna know you’re safe.” What the actual hell? Why did he feel the need to say what he was truly thinking?

Novena was so close. Her long hair that smelled like coconut was tickling Dean’s thighs. He was looking up at her, head inclined to keep his eyes on hers and not her bust…

“Trust me, it’s safe in this town. More so in this house–”

“If it’s so safe, tell me why your ex ruined your car? Sounds dangerous to me.”

Her demeanor changed instantly. Defensively backing away from him, she crossed her arms and looked down towards the ground. Eyes starting to water, cheeks turning pink with anger, voice quivering, “I think it’s best that I get to bed. If it clears up tomorrow, I need to leave early for work.” 

“I, I’m sorry Nov–”

“It’s fine, let me show you to the guest room.”

—

Novena had shown him upstairs to the room he was to stay in, was provided a towel, travel sized toiletries, and pajamas. Dean watched her walk with her arms wrapped around her, as if she was comforting herself, down the hall until she turned the corner to get to her room.

He felt like shit even after his shower. There must be more to the story if she got this upset over a simple comment. The self guilt that radiated from her was worrisome–like Novena should’ve known Vince was going to act that way. Almost as if she couldn’t predict it. How would she be able to? But why did it seem that way? And what makes her think this house is ultimately safer, especially with the doors unlocked?

Dean padded across the hall towards the room, dried off, and put on the clothes he was given. They fit well. He couldn’t help but to wonder if these were her dad’s or her ex’s pajamas. Hopefully the former. Is that even appropriate to hope for since he’s dead? Dean guessed it was the better option, he didn’t know either of them but he already wants to kick the ex’s ass. Novena was better off without any of his possessions around.

Laying down on the bed was like laying down on a woman’s breast. Soft but firm, warm, and heavenly. The only thing missing was listening to a heartbeat lulling him to sleep. Instead, thoughts of Purgatory plagued his thoughts. The sleepless nights, killing over and over again, looking for Cass, almost getting killed hundreds of times whenever he had tried to get rest. It’s safe to say that it’s a long night riddled with insomnia. 

Two hours had passed before Dean knew it. The hum of the radiator in the corner of the room was somewhat soothing. Every so often the house would creek, causing him to be on high alert. Worried that someone, or something was roaming the halls. At times he thought he heard whimpering coming from the other side of the house, which Dean dismissed–phantom noises like that happen more often than you think working in this business. Especially when you protect more people than you can count. Although, it could be Ghost or Novena. He was conflicted on if he wanted to check on her, since he had upset her. At times it wouldn’t be surprising if Dean was losing his sanity by worrying so much. She’d be fine. He would make it up to her in the morning.

Dean was finally drifting in and out of conscientiousness–focusing on the radiator was the trick to ease his brain into submission. 

Then he heard her blood-curdling scream. 

He wasn’t exactly sure where her room was but he was running in the direction she had gone earlier. Looking behind every door until he found her. Ghost was whimpering somewhere at her bedside when he flung open the door. Flicking on the lightswitch Dean saw that Novena was thrashing in her bed. Grasping at her throat. Tears running down her face. Moving swiftly towards her, Dean sat beside her and held her down while whispering her name, and to wake up. That nothing bad was happening. That she was safe. 

The sadness that her sobs entailed was heartbreaking. What happened to this woman to provoke these night terrors? She still wasn’t waking up but she had calmed down slightly. Calling out for both of her parents. The weak “mommy’s” and “daddy’s” escaping her raw throat made Dean tear up. Her inner child called out for her guardians that she had to mourn; he knew how that felt. And all he could do was hold her close to him, murmuring that he was right there whenever she woke up.

—

tags! @ambiguous-avery @aylacavebear @jackles010378 @deans-spinster-witch

A lot of the girls on here really need a huge, huge comforting hug from a man with big arms & it's evident more and more each day

Crying and puking, Google maps made the Gulf of Mexico say Gulf of America

jensen is in italy right now and he isn't living in austin anymore since 2 years or so, he lives in connecticut.

Dang I didn’t know that! Rip to that fantasy. Thank you for letting me know lol!

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

In the Fields We Lie: ii

Warnings: Physical altercation. Mentions of relationship abuse (physical and verbal), nothing extremely graphic. Angst? Longing?

Word count: 1.6k

—

England

18 December 1915

Saturday

It was early in the morning when Dean was woken up by someone knocking too aggressively on a neighbors door. The sun was already taking over almost every visible surface of his home, he grabbed his glasses and peered at his clock that was sitting on the dining table: 07:13. Dean groaned at what time it was and immediately slammed his head back onto his pillow, but with his luck, was met with arguing not long after he had closed his eyes. If the voices didn’t sound so close and so familiar, he wouldn’t be concerned; with Fran coming home last night in distress, Dean needed to make sure everything was okay. He bolted out of bed and pressed his ear to his door.

“Francine you don’t know what you saw, please listen to me–”

“My name, Richard, is Franny. And I know exactly what I saw.” She was enraged, “You were whispering to Myrna all night, you think I didn’t notice…”

“Of course I knew that you caught on to that,” Richard said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I was only being secretive while talking with her because I was asking her what type of ring you’d like...”

Dean knew that he was lying, Fran never has anything nice to say when it comes to Myrna, especially because–

“Really!? Really…you’re going to stand here and lie to me straight to my face? If you really knew me you’d actually listen when I tell you that she goes after every guy any of her friends are interested in! That’s why I didn’t want you talking to her!” Fran yells. Breathing heavily–her voice breaks when she says, “It makes me uncomfortable. We’re not friends. She wouldn’t know the first thing about me.”

“You’d be surprised at what she knows about you, Francine.” With every response Richard gives Franny, his self-righteousness comes out in bigger waves than the last.

“I bet she knows you exceptionally well then, considering your face was between her legs last ni–”

There was a brief pause before Dean heard quick footsteps and a thud. Then faintly heard, “Listen here you bitch.”

He was up and running before he knew it. The door to the flat was open when he reached his friend. Richard had her by the throat. Pinned up against the wall. It broke Dean’s heart to see Fran so frightened. She was pulling at Richard’s hand, unable to get a good breath in. Rage overtook Dean at the sight of what Richard was doing. No one had time to say a word before Dean ripped him off of Franny, and proceeded to do the same thing to him that he did to the woman before them. Giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Dean snarled quietly forcing Richard against the wall, “No. You listen to me, Dick. If you ever touch her again, I will kill you. If you even step foot near Fran again and I know about it–you will regret it. Get the fuck out.” With that, he throws Richard out of her flat by his throat and closes the door.

He turns to Fran, examines her throat, and asks her if she’s okay. Fran has tears that are threatening to escape her eyes but she only nods up and down. Dean knows not to ask any more questions. Instead he offers his time and his flat whenever she needs it. All she can do is nod, her throat is slowly closing up from holding in her anger, her fear. He gives her a squeeze on her shoulder and heads towards the door.

“Thank you, Dean.”

It’s the faintest he’s ever heard her voice.

He turns around and gives her a small, warm smile. “Of course.” I’d do anything for you.

—

England

23 December 1915

Thursday

Dean hasn’t seen or heard from her in almost a week and he can’t help but to worry. Richard hasn’t come by again, at least that Dean knows of. There’s been no commotion on their floor since the argument. Maybe she’s staying with family?

It’s been a quiet week at work as well. Mimi lost her grandson on the Western Front. She won’t talk about it. Won’t talk at all actually. She hasn’t been able to look Dean in the eye, which is understandable. Rena, who is happiest in the silence, finds it to be excruciating. The grief is palpable. Everyone has lost something at this point.

He walks into work in a fog. There’s been talk about a conscription being introduced too. There’s simply not enough men volunteering to keep the armies going, so they’re going to start forcing people into the war if they’re healthy. Dean fits the description, and so does his little brother.

Sammy.

Dean could not imagine losing him. Could barely stand being away from him now, but after their mother died a few years ago–John couldn’t cope with seeing Dean everyday and had kicked him out for simply resembling Mary. Sam manages to sneak away to see him every other week. He turns eighteen in six months and graduates soon after that. It’s been eating Dean alive. If he couldn’t protect him…

“You alright there, love?”

Rena had placed her hand on his shoulder and he barely felt it. He looked up at her, worry had replaced her usual scowl. This was the first time there was a maternal spark in the older woman's eyes. He nodded, giving Rena a pat on her hand that still rested on him. On a day like today, it was an unspoken rule, that if nothing was said, there would be no further questions.

The day was slow. Every minute felt like hours. Every thought blended together into an anxiety-ridden mess. What would happen next? Who would get pulled into war first, Sam or Dean? Would he have enough money saved up for Sam by the time he’s of age? What was it like on the fronts? Would he ever see Franny again if he was sent away?

Dean didn’t want to die for nothing. More importantly, he didn’t want to die with nothing.

—

England

25 December 1915

Saturday

The dress that he had been working on for Franny was almost complete. It’s been in the works for months and it’s a relief that all he had left to do was get the precise measurements for the bust, waist, and hips. He was about to put the dress in a nicely decorated box that Mimi gifted him, when there was a knock on his door.

His heart was pounding so fiercely against his ribcage, he thought they might actually break. The sudden adrenaline rush made him feel lightheaded. There was no time to conceal the garment before she walked through the door. Dean had gone still.

“Is that for one of your clients, Winchester?”

His words got stuck in his throat. There, on her neck, where Richard had choked her–were faint purple and yellow bruises. Her eyes drooped with defeat when she realized that Dean had seen the mess that was made.

If only he knew about everything else. Franny kept the thought to herself, she didn’t want anyone dying today.

“My god, Fran. I–I didn’t realize he had grabbed you that hard.”

They both walked slowly towards each other, stopping once their feet were only inches apart. Tears stained her flushed cheeks. Her under eyes, the color of the night sky. Her hair disheveled, and she tried to fix it while Dean was taking in her appearance. The insides of her palms had been scabbed over from where her nails had dung in. He had only seen this one other time, seen her like this one other time…

Has he hurt you before?

The question was clear in Dean's eyes.

Yes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry about me. I didn’t want you to go after him. He said that he wouldn’t do it again…”

He was past the point of boiling over with anger. It wouldn’t help anything. Wouldn’t help her. So Dean did what he could to calm her down. He took her hands in his, rotated them so her palms face upward, and planted tender kisses to each indentation. All while looking into her eyes.

This is what a man is supposed to do. This is how a man is supposed to touch you. Dean was pleading with his unwavering stare.

It may have worked. Franny slowly pulled her hands free and wrapped them around Dean’s waist. She breathed him in and rubbed his back in a soft circular motion.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my darling. Lets run you a bath, yeah?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Afterwards I’ll tailor your Christmas present.” He points towards the dress hanging on the mannequin that’s in the corner of the room.

He swears he saw the light brighten in her eyes. There's more purpose in her steps towards the tub like she wanted to get it over with already.

I can’t believe he made that for me.

—

The measurements were almost perfect. The bust was a tad too big for her but it fit like a dream.

“Were you secretly taking my dresses while I showered, Dean? It’s bloody accurate, this.” Gesturing to her new piece of clothing.

“You forget, I do this for a living. I’m good at guessing people's sizes.” Dean says with a needle between his teeth, winking cheekily at her.

Only a few more needles to place, and then she was free to take the dress off. But as Dean was feeding one through, it pricked Franny’s breast.

“Ow!”

“Shit, I’m sorry. You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know, sweetheart? What can I do–“

Franny brushed a strand of Dean’s thick blonde hair out of his face. Shock had kicked in, his face going pale at her gentleness.

“Kiss it better, like you did my hands?”

“Fuck.”

—

A/N: If I need to fix my warnings at all, please message me. Keep in mind this is an au!dean, he's a sweet boy. He still has his humor and trauma from is dad, so some things are staying the same!

tags! @aylacavebear @daylighted (again, I hope it's okay that I tagged you guys <3)

if you think dean winchester DOESN'T eat pussy then you need to see a therapist

Jensen Ackles as Soldier Boy THE BOYS (2022) | 3.08 – “The Instant White-Hot Wild”