#cas has scars on both of his bodies. his wings and this human skin. the empty wasn't. kind. as he knew going in.

[theheartchoice]

imagine human!cas in season 9 on HBO  [part 1]

pronouns he/they

the first life human!Cas takes is an Angel who tracks him down enroute to the bunker - it's brutal; hands aching as the rain fails to wash away all the blood, red illuminated by neon signage in the alleyway; he burns Jimmy's trenchcoat

first sexual encounter is a threesome with a man + woman (who both turn out to be rogue reapers who torture and (temporarily) kill him)

first real moment of tenderness is Dean cradling his face (as he's resurrected)

in the bunker Dean tattoos Cas himself - enochian across his left abdomen, an altered anti-possession sigil down his spine

Cas wears Dean's clothes, they're a little snug but still the most comfortable thing he's felt against this mortal skin  

sleepwalks to Dean's bed that one night in the bunker, Dean just holds him; it's the first good night's sleep Cas has had in the weeks since falling

waits until Dean drops him at the bus station to cry for the first time, alone in the night again, before bloodying his fists against a wall

'Steve' works at the Gas-n-Sip by day, by night they're a bare-knuckle boxer in an underground ring; strength + reflexes are diminished without grace but he trains, gets better, is still deadly in hand-to-hand combat

the fights are less about money, more about the adrenaline rush; he'll lose as many fights as he wins for the distraction, needs the physical pain to distract from his emotional pain

Dean blows him that night in Rexburg, lets Cas finish him off with his hands; they don't talk about it in the morning

accrues more tattoos in the months on his own - protective enochian text + sigils, iridescent black wings inked over his back and shoulders inlaid with his life story (what he remembers of it, mostly celestial battles + earthly regret)

gets more than one body part pierced

Charlie tracks him down at Dean's request but doesn't keep her distance, the two of them become friends

wears dark jeans + sturdy boots + layered tops + a black coat; has perpetual scruff; loves the colourful graphic tees Charlie leaves him as gifts

rides a fucking motorcycle

listens to police scanners, laments a time when he could hear radio waves in the air; misses feeling connected to Dean through prayer

the phantom ache of their destroyed wings is ever present

builds a web of contacts: hunters, witches, slumming deities + supernatural creatures

crosses paths with hunter!Victor + journalist!Cassie as he steps into hunting - following leads of Angelic presence/violence

maintains physique in dingy boxing gyms, sparrs with Charlie, fights monsters who get in his way (sometimes they're human)

prefers to feel the pain when injured on a hunt, reminder to be more careful; drinks + pops pills only to numb the worst of it in order to keep working; when the longing + heartache gets too much he tries to numb that too

apprehensive about sex for a while, but has needs: masturbation makes way for hook-ups with acquaintances (some human, some not, a fellow fallen angel among them, genders of all sorts); dabbles in BDSM, sometimes a sub sometimes a dom depending on what he needs at the time

forms his own mismatch band of creatures + hunters willing to help 1) stop Angels making trouble 2) push the earthly Angelic civil war off the tracks before it picks up speed; follows Metatron leads on his own

there's an Ocean's 11 type Heist in here somewhere (with monsters)

hunts with Charlie from time to time; meets Garth post-wolfing; tracks down Claire when her name comes across the wire; meets Jody on a case; becomes frenemies with Crowley; nearly dies multiple times; accrues a patchwork of scars all over his body; nearly turned into some kind of creature more than once

traces the scar on his throat with fingertips, blade-tips, where his grace was cut out

gambles in dive-bars, usually wins even when he loses

stans female pop-stars, uses their names for aliases

undercover look is less FBI more P.I.

actually works P.I. type cases involving monsters; never takes money as payment, only works for intel/artefacts/ingredients/iou/pro-bono

makes PB&J sandwiches in dingy motel kitchens; eats pork rinds and thinks of Dean

talks to animals like they can understand him because as an Angel he understood all language

almost calls or texts Dean a thousand times; drunk-dials Dean more than once; answers more than one drunk-dial from Dean; texts Dean more emojis than words in response to case talk; picks up no more than a handful of Dean's calls - a mix of clipped back-and-forth + trading info about the Angels + Sam

meets another hunter, they work a few cases together; they fuck; the guy reminds him too much of Dean, they part ways 

#HBO SPN #castiel #s9 #human cas #destiel #prompt #mydrabbles #cv #ac #tp #everyone seems to be doing hbo!spn these days and I'm inspired so here we are! :3 #also: Cas uses an alias for the fight club - something derogatory in Enochian

[aetherwytch]

Drop Down (1.9k, destiel, rated M)

He could be anyone, anywhere, having a good ol’ fashioned fuck in the backseat of their car the way God intended. Why sweat the details?

Yes, I wrote almost 2k specifically to facilitate a Star Trek themed dick joke. In my defense, I think the joke is very funny. Also featuring: unfortunate sexual situations, Dean being repressed, and The Gay Angel (long may he reign). AO3 link in the notes.

The suspension in the Impala is creaking a little under their weight. It’s the only thing he can hear aside from their own unsteady breathing—the only thing that exists, maybe, ‘cause Dean’s got his eyes squeezed shut. It’s just sensation this way: nails scraping at his cropped hair, a hand clutching possessively at the base of his spine, skin on sweat on skin. His jacket’s in the front seat somewhere, and both his shirts got shed onto the floor at some point, but he never quite managed to lose his pants, so they’re just sorta bunched around his knees. It’s making it hard to move, and it’s not even remotely sexy, but the little breathy noise he gets rewarded with when he twists his wrist just right is enough to reassure him that, hey, it probably doesn’t really matter. He presses his nose more firmly into the join between neck and shoulder, presses his lips against the jut of a collarbone and gets nails scraping helplessly against his back in return. It’s just bodies, that’s all it is. Bodies doing the things that bodies do. A ribcage compresses, a whine of pleasure hiccuping in and then stuttering its way out again. A thump as a work-booted foot slips and thuds into the closed door. There’s not quite enough space back here, but it’s his baby—leather and gun oil and the persistent smell of coffee from where a cup got spilled under the front seat and never got cleaned up right—and it’s… it’s…

He doesn’t have to look to know whose warm breath is fluttering against his ear, whose long fingered hand is pressed against his waist, thumb stroking the ridge of his lowest rib. Whose hips are lined up with his own, whose legs are tangled with his. Every so often, one of them will rock forward, and their chests will brush. And every time, the brief warm slide of skin is a shock that makes his heart try and crawl up the back of his throat. So no, he doesn’t have to look, but he can see it anyway, because it’s Cas spread out underneath him, that stupid trenchcoat flaring out like limp khaki wings. Doesn’t have to open his eyes to see the scene, it’s burned into his mind like a movie frame left paused on a tv screen just a bit too long. One of Dean’s hands is trapped between them, busy, but the other is braced on the seat to keep him from falling off the bench and onto the floor. Cas presses his head back against the leather, a few strands of his hair now tickling Dean’s wrist, and breathes out something that sounds suspiciously like Dean’s name. His face might be doing something too, like making expressions, but Dean isn’t—He’s not gonna—His eyes are shut. He shifts, drops down a little so he’s resting on his elbow instead of his spread palm, and then buries his hand in Cas’s hair. The tips of his fingers tease at the scalp. It gets a low groan out of the other man, the kind that echoes through Dean’s chest like a hit on a bass drum, and Cas arches up into him, a perfect angle, and—

“Dean, we need to—Ah. Hm.”

Dean’s eyes snap open. The body underneath him is no longer pressed up against him, tip to toe, and has stiffened in a very different way. Readiness. Wariness. Discomfort? Fuck. He peels his face away from where it had been pressed into Cas’s shoulder. He’s practically nose to nose with the angel this way, and Cas goes slightly cross eyed trying to meet his eyes. There’s still a flush of color high on his cheeks, and his hair is, honestly, fucked, just an absolute disaster. And oh, good, Dean’s still got one hand tangled in it, the strands soft between his fingers.

“Um,” Dean manages articulately.

Cas squints up at him, head cocked slightly to the side, but he doesn’t seem to be trying to get out from underneath Dean. Doesn’t seem particularly concerned that Dean’s got his hand on Cas’s dick either, and oh shit, he’s got his hand on Cas’s dick. It had seemed like a great idea 30 seconds ago, but that was before Cas had started looking at him like he was a particularly perplexing mathematical proof that Cas has been tasked with solving.

“Oh,” Cas says, expression suddenly clearing as some vision of clarity reveals itself to him and bypasses Dean entirely on the way. “I see. This is a fantasy.”

Dream. It’s a goddamned dream, Dean can see it now in the way everything that isn’t Cas fuzzes out around the edges. Or it was a dream (not the first one, not since he saw Cas all rumpled at that brothel and his brain had extrapolated, shit happens, it doesn’t mean anything) but now it’s Angel Waiting Room. And that’s really Cas. And he’s really touching Cas’s dick. He jerks his hand away so fast that it smacks against the back of the front seat, and then he fumbles his way backwards, yanking his jeans up and then overbalancing and cracking his head hard against the window. Somehow it still hurts, but that’s probably just his brain punishing itself.  Cas watches the entire thing with mild interest, going so far as to prop himself up on his elbows. His hair’s still going every which way, and his shirt is mostly unbuttoned, gaping open across a muscular chest, and he still hasn’t made any effort to, you know, cover himself up at all, so his dick’s out too, still semi-erect like it’s as confused as Dean is about who’s supposed to be doing what in this particular scene.

“Cas,” he starts, desperate to regain control of the situation. “Buddy.” Oh, God. “Uh. What’s—?”

“I’ve… I believe I’ve found a lead on the Colt,” Cas says, blessedly interrupting him before some other dumbfuck thing comes out of his mouth. “But I had a question regarding warding that Bobby might have some insight on—”

“So why didn’t you ask Bobby?”

Cas blinks at him. “Your mind was more receptive.”

“My mind…” Oh, if he thinks about that too long, he’s gonna lose it. “Look, never mind, could you…?”

To his own utter humiliation, he follows that up with a vague gesture towards Cas’s crotch, and Cas glances down at his lap as well, brows ratcheting up, as if mildly surprised to find it attached to him. He looks back at Dean, a strangely assessing look in his eye.

“You’re sitting on my legs.”

Dean is, isn’t he. He’s not wearing a shirt either, but that seems like a lost cause at this point. Apparently this is just a conversation he’s gonna have to have shirtless. But he plants a hand on the backrest of the front seat and uses it to lever his hips up so that Cas can pull his legs in and swing around so that he’s sitting normally. And then, finally, Cas tucks himself away, although not without a fair amount of fumbling, like he’s never touched his own dick before. Except, shit, maybe he hasn’t. Vessels, right? It’s not like he’s ever seen Cas drink anything, and even if he did, maybe he can just magic the pee away. Seems like someone who can glory, glory, hallelujah shattered bones back together shouldn’t have to use his own hallowed hands to make sure the piss gets in the urinal. Plus, the whole brothel deal derailed long before the pants came off, so for all he knows, this is the first time Cas has had any dealings whatsoever with his dick. Maybe Dean really has just facilitated some kind of dick first contact like he’s the… the Zefram Cochrane of, well, cock.

“Warding?” He asks, normally, in a normal tone. Does he sound normal? Or can Cas tell, like he’s got the equivalent of a big sign over his head that just says I’m Thinking About Your Dick on it in big neon letters.

“Yes,” Cas says simply. And then, because God forbid any part of this situation goes Dean’s way, “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“Nah.” It comes out a few octaves too high to be convincing. “I mean. It’s. No, it’s fine.” Cas frowns at him, unconvinced. “Ok, I mean, it’s a little weird. Right?”

“What is?”

Dean gapes at him, but Cas is just doing that cocked-head-blueyed routine that’s so goddamned earnest. Like he can’t even fathom what might be awkward about walking smack into the middle of one of Dean’s—what did he call it?—oh, actually, that’s another thing—

“This isn’t a fantasy.” He’s very certain about that. “It’s… I was just having a stupid dream.”

Cas stiffens, shoulders pushing back, and his hands, which had previously been resting loosely on his thighs, twitch up to straighten his shirt.

“I’m not sure I understand the differentiation you’re making,” he says, long fingers threading buttons back through buttonholes. “Humans often dream about sexual scenarios, and you are—” A pause that Dean can’t even begin to interpret. “Well, it’s perfectly natural to fantasize about objects of desire, and you find this… vessel attractive.”

“It’s not! I mean—” What the fuck does he mean. “You’re… It’s… fine. You look good.” Fuck. “For a guy.” Nailed it. “But I don’t— fantasize. I mean, c’mon, I don’t—I don’t. And it’s not like—I mean, I’ve got chicks practically lining up for me any time I roll up to a bar.”

When was the last time someone touched him any way that wasn't a friendly slap on the arm or a punch in the mouth? Bobby, when he was fresh out of hell? Anna, in this very back seat, her little hand splayed across the tender skin of the scar on his arm? He can't remember. It makes his palms itch, and he presses them shakily against his thighs. Maybe Cas knows it, too, ‘cause he’s giving Dean that look he gets sometimes. It’s not soft—he doesn’t think Cas can do soft—but it’s a lessening of intensity, like Cas has pushed the dimmer down on that fiery angelic aura of his, the thing that raises the hair on the backs of people’s necks even when he looks, for all intents and purposes, human. It’s the sort of look that makes Dean think that even if he were staring into a mirror right now, he wouldn’t see whatever it is that Cas does when the angel looks at him. It’s the sort of look that comes before things like, You don’t think you deserve to be saved. But all Cas does is drop his eyes to finish with his buttons, and when he speaks, it’s directed vaguely towards them.

“Of course, Dean.” The last button squared away, he folds his hands in his lap. “Companionship is a great kindness in a world not overly given to them. I will ask Bobby about the warding.”

And then Dean’s blinking awake, staring dazedly up at the water-damaged ceiling above his bed. He flops his head to the side. Across from him, the other bed is a tangle of abandoned sheets. On the highway, a semi leans on its horn, and the sound echoes hollowly off the walls of his shitty, deserted motel room.

#destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #fic #supernatural #spn #my fic

[shadowywerewolfqueen]

Djinn Dreams

“Dean,” Sam and Cas called out together as they finally located the missing Winchester. Dean was hanging from the rafters in the middle of the room. His wrists were wrapped in chains and were pulled so far above his head that his feet barely touched the ground. There were multiple IV lines in his arms, each one full of blood being pumped into collecting bags. Dean’s head lolled on his shoulders, a small string of saliva hanging from his open mouth. His skin was deathly pale, and Sam prayed they weren’t too late.

Cas and Sam quickly removed the IV lines and carefully laid Dean on the dirty floor. Sam put two fingers to his brother’s throat and sighed with relief when he felt a pulse. “It’s weak, can you replenish his blood?” He asked the angel who was kneeling next to him.

Cas put his fingers to Dean’s forehead and in seconds, the color returned to Dean’s skin as his body once more had enough blood to sustain it. He checked for any other wounds but there were none. The djinn had done what they always do, knock their prey unconscious, and then drain them of their blood.

“What are we going to do? The djinn could come back at anytime, but one of us has to go into his head to bring him back,” Sam said as his eyes scanned every shadow of the room.

“I’ll go and you stay here. I can enter Dean’s mind without needing dream root and can exit at will,” Cas replied, looking around the room as well.

“Ok, just be careful. Who knows what you’re going to see in there,” Sam said cautiously.

“Probably him relaxing on the couch with an endless amount of beers, burgers, and pie with Dr. Sexy on rerun,” Cas deadpanned.

Sam grinned. “If Dean’s life wasn’t at stake, I’d be busting a gut right now because you’re so right. Now go, find him, and bring him back.”

Castiel nodded once before placing two fingers on Dean’s forehead. The next instant Cas was standing in the middle of a large kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the multiple windows and there were three pies cooling on a rack next to the stove. Cas smiled at the desserts before looking around for a glimpse of Dean.

He was startled when a little girl suddenly ran into the kitchen, screaming, “Papa, papa, pick me up! Save me from the evil monster!” She flung herself at Cas and he just managed to catch her. Her dark brown hair was askew, and her green eyes were alight with laughter as Cas lifted her up. She quickly wrapped her arms around Cas’ neck and her legs around his waist, giggling all the time. “Run papa or the evil monster will catch us,” she cried in between her laughter.

The next instant, Dean rounded the corner and ran into the kitchen, a large werewolf mask covering his face. He howled as he came to a stop, staring straight at Cas and the little girl. “I’m the big bad wolf and I’ve come to gobble you up,” he cried in a fake monster voice before rushing towards Cas.

The little girl screamed while Cas just stood there, utterly confused. Dean stopped just short of running into them. He grabbed the mask and pulled it off his head. His hair was spiked up and a few beads of sweat ran down his face. He looked at Cas, his green eyes full of confusion. “You ok baby?”

Cas didn’t answer, thinking Dean was talking to the little girl. He was stunned when Dean reached out and cupped his cheek. “Baby, everything alright?” Dean asked again as he took the little girl out of Cas’ arms.

He set her on the floor and kneeled in front of her. “Mary, why don’t you go play in your room for a little bit? I think something is wrong with papa and we need to have a grown-up talk. We’ll play more after dinner.”

“Ok daddy, I love you,” she said as she pressed a kiss to Dean’s cheek. She ran over and wound her arms around Cas’ leg. “Love you too papa, hope you feel better.” She squeezed Cas’ leg before letting go and running out the kitchen. He watched her go, his heart beating erratically.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Dean’s dream life was with Cas, settling down and starting a family together. He was prepared for almost anything when he entered Dean’s dream, anything except this.

He was pulled from his thoughts when a pair of strong arms slid around his waist. Dean was staring at him with concerned eyes. “Baby, are you ok? You’re looking at me like I’m a ghost or something.”

Cas couldn’t do anything but stare at the Dean in front of him. He had the same blonde hair, green eyes, freckles, and plump lips as his own Dean, but that was where the similarities ended. This Dean didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders. His eyes weren’t haunted by death and destruction. His hands were smooth, and his arms were free of scars from hundreds of hunts. There were laugh lines on his face instead of lines caused by stress and worry. This Dean was much softer that the muscled hunter Cas had come to know.

“Cas, you’re really starting to scare me,” Dean said frightened.

Castiel haltingly reached his hand out to run his fingers from Dean’s hair, down his cheek, to finally rest against his chin. “Dean,” he whispered.

Dean’s lips lifted at the corners in a small smile. “Hey sweetheart. Everything ok? What’s going on in that head of yours? You’re not still stressing about the parent teacher conference tomorrow, are you? I thought we were just going to relax until we knew what the results of the testing were.”

Cas continued to stare at Dean with disbelief. “This is your dream?”

“Huh?” Dean asked with a head tilt that perfectly imitated Cas’.

“You could have dreamed up any world you wished, and this is what you came up with? You and me?” Cas asked.

Dean pulled away, looking at the angel suspiciously. “Cas, what the hell is going on with you? What do you mean I could have dreamed up any world I wished? I mean yeah, this is better than anything I ever imagined because it’s real.”

Cas shook his head, hating the words he had to say. “This isn’t real Dean; this is all a dream.” He dropped his eyes, feeling his heart breaking. “We aren’t together, and we don’t have a wonderful domestic life with a house and a cute little girl. I’m an angel of the lord and you’re a hunter along with Sam.”

Dean stepped back, glaring at the angel. “Why are you saying that? Did I do something wrong? If you’re mad at me, just tell me, don’t make up some ridiculous lie!”

Cas sighed heavily. “Please Dean, don’t make this harder than what it already is. We both know this isn’t real! You were trapped by a djinn and this world is what your brain made up after being injected with their poison.”

“Liar,” Dean shouted. “Why are trying to take all of this away? I thought we were happy together.”

“I wish we could be! I want you so bad; I have for years but I never imagined you reciprocated those feelings. I do love you Dean, I just didn’t know you loved me too,” Cas said as he stepped closer.

“Of course, I love you, how could I not?” Dean asked as he pulled Cas into his arms. “I have from the first moment I met you,” he whispered before sealing his mouth over Cas’.

Their lips bumped and slid against each other as they traded tender kisses. Cas knew of one way to make Dean realize the truth and it pained him to do so. He brought his wings from the astral plane and let them wrap around Dean in a gentle embrace.

Dean broke the kiss with a gasp as he stared at the black feathers. “Cas?” He whimpered. With a shout, he suddenly bent over, cradling his head between his hands.

“Dean,” Cas cried. His wings instantly disappeared as he reached for his friend. When Dean looked at him, it was with recognition and despair.

A single tear slid down Dean’s cheek as he whispered, “It was just a dream.”

Before Cas could say anything, he was thrown from the dream world and the next moment he was standing beside Sam. He looked down at Dean to see the hunter staring at him with pain-filled eyes. “Cas,” he whined.

The angel helped Dean to his feet, never letting go of his hand. “Dean, I don’t know what to say. I wish I could give you that world.”

Dean chewed on his lip, refusing to look at Cas. “Did you mean what you said?” He finally lifted his gaze to Cas’. “Do you really… lo-love me?”

Cas frown turned into a soft smile and his eyes lit up. He stepped into Dean’s personal space, one arm wrapping around Dean’s waist, the other around his neck. “From the moment I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” Cas whispered before capturing Dean’s lips in a passionate kiss. He poured all his adoration and devotion into the embrace, hoping Dean would understand.

When they broke apart panting, Dean’s eyes were shining as he said, “This is better than any world I could ever dream because this is real.”

“Yes, it is,” Cas replied before once more kissing his human.

Tagging: @lonewolf34500 @notwithd @flowersforcas @starrynightdeancas @cockleslovesdestiel

#My writing #writersmonth2020 #my OTP #destiel #djinns

[pbandcas]

It All Ends the Same

Done for @bend-me-shape-me ‘s SPNAdventCalendar prompts! Warnings: Self destruction, angst, Dean has self worth issues, referenced drug use, bittersweet ending Pairing: Endverse Destiel Read on AO3 Master Post Day Six: Christmas Curse 

It All Ends the Same

“Dean?” Cas’s voice was quiet behind him and the hunter sighed. Poking at the dying embers he shuffled over just enough for Cas to sit beside him if he wanted.

He knew the offer would be accepted before Cas even realized he was moving. “What, Cas?” He asked, once the other was seated beside him. The space between their bodies simultaneously too much and not enough. Dean wondered when this rift happened. When did they let themselves drift apart like this?

“What are you still doing out here?” It was a simple enough question to pull him back to reality. He knew Cas meant nothing by it, that he couldn’t possibly know. How could he when Dean never said anything? How could he when Dean refused to let him in. Refused to let him close enough to understand the weight of his own thoughts. Yet at the same time, the question still picked at a scabbing wound mercilessly. What was he doing out here? What did he gain by stewing over this every year? What more could he hope to understand.

Shrugging he shoved the stick into the dying fire again and muttered, “It’s the 23rd.” As if that could explain it all. As if that told the former Angel why the night haunted his dreams and memories for the past 3 years. As if that could make the hurt disappear.

Cas was silent beside him for the longest time and then, “Sam wouldn’t want this to haunt you.” Dean stiffened and his fist clenched around the stick. Yeah. Sam. “You can’t keep doing this. Remembering is one thing, but Dean. You’re obsessing. You’re letting your memories take over and drown you.”

“How is it any different than you lamenting about the fall.” It was curt and sharp and Dean knew it was a low blow. But he was hurting. He was hurting and Cas was getting too close again and he couldn't-- He couldn't let that happen. Beside him Cas seemed to fold in on himself.

“It’s different because this is still hurting you. Every year you think about it and it hurts you.” Dean could feel Cas’s gaze on him but he refused to look over. Instead he watched the embers glow and pop. Eating away at the charred wood like a disease. “It’s a curse on your very soul and I ca—“

“Falling wasn’t a curse on you?”

The world grew still around them and Dean finally looked over at his companion. Cas was no longer watching him or the fire. Instead he was staring at the long scar across the back of one hand where it disappeared up his sleeve. His expression was distant and his voice thick when he finally spoke again. “No.” He looked up to meet Dean’s eye then, “No, it wasn’t.”

With a huff Dean leaned forward to fold his arms across his knees. “No?” Shaking his head he let his eyes fall back to the ground. “Why is it I don’t believe you?”

“Because you never believe me, Dean.”

The pure sound of disdain in his tone made Dean smile. It was just so Cas. The smile slipped the next second though. It was so very Cas. Except… it was the Cas that didn’t exist anymore. It wasn’t his Cas. It wasn’t the Cas who gave up his wings. The Cas who was forced to live as a human now. The Cas that found solace in drugs and alcohol. The Cas who’d follow any order blindly if Dean was the one giving it. “How do you not see this as a curse?”

He felt Cas shift ever so slightly closer to his side before he murmured, “Because I still have you.” Dean let him move a hand to rest over top of his own. “Why does the 23rd haunt you, Bee?” Dean huffed and rolled his eyes at the nickname as he turned one hand over to tangle their fingers together. It was too close. Too close, too close, too close but Dean couldn't help it. He wanted and needed and Cas was right. There. He was right there and so willing to give Dean all the comfort and hope he needed. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't do this. Not to Cas.

“Christmas is about family, Cas, and every year it reminds me that my family is gone. Every year it hits me, again and again that Sammy is gone. That mom and dad are gone. That my whole god damn family is gone.” He sucked in a ragged breath, yanked his hand away from Cas’s and then choked out, “So yeah, it is a fucking curse. Every Christmas I’m cursed to remember I’m fucking alone.” It felt like a knife twisting in his heart. He'd rather hurt him this way though. He'd rather hurt Cas now, and keep him here.

The sharp sound of a hand connecting with skin cut through the night air. Dean’s mouth dropped open as he brought his hand up to press against his stinging cheek. Blinking rapidly he leveled a disbelieving look at Cas.

The man’s face was drawn back in hurt and frustration and Dean could see his hands shaking in his lap. “Shut up.” Cas growled finally, “Shut the fuck up, Winchester. Yeah, they’re gone. Okay. I’m not going to sugar coat it because you’re a fucking big boy. They’re gone, but you’re not fucking alone.” He was though. He was and it was all his fault. Because if he wasn't, then it meant someone else would get hurt. And that someone else always seemed to be Cas.

Pivoting his body, Cas grabbed Dean’s cheeks and forced him to look him in the eye. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it. “You do this. Every year. You seclude yourself. You pull away, you push me aside when I try to help. What the hell am I then? If not your family, what the hell am I? You say you’re cursed to be alone every Christmas? Well whose fucking fault is that, Dean?” He pressed their foreheads together and let out a shaky puff of air, “I’m right fucking here.”

He wouldn't hurt Castiel.

The raw emotion in his eyes made Dean look away, swallowing hard. “That’s not what I-”

“Finish that sentence and you can stay outside tonight.” Cas cut in sharply, eyes narrowing as he forcibly moved Dean’s face to look at him again. “It was what you meant. It’s always what you mean.” There was a bitter note to his voice that made Dean flush in shame. It hurt. It hurt a lot, because he knew it was the truth. It was the truth and Dean hated himself for it.

Cas gave him everything. His energy, his wings, his Grace, his life. His love. His devotion. And what did Dean give him back? A slap to the face. He took all that love and threw it back in Cas’s face because he was too ashamed and afraid to hold it too close. He brought his hands up to cover Cas’s before he slowly pulled them down and took a step back. “You’re right.” Cas gave him a sad smile even as Dean watched his face crumple.

“You’re right.” He repeated as he dropped Cas’s hands and took another step back. Clenching his jaw he met blue eyes briefly before turning on his heel and stalking away toward their cabin. It was a stupid thing to do. He should have stayed. Should have talked about it. He should have fixed whatever broken thing had settled between them. Yet at the same time he knew Cas would forgive him. He always forgave him, and Dean would continue to push and push and push.

Instead he walked away. He walked away as the hitch in Cas’s breathing rang through the frozen air. He walked away because that’s all he could do. He didn’t deserve the kind of loyalty Cas bestowed on him. He didn’t deserve it because he couldn’t bring himself to give it back. Because if he gave it back, he wouldn't be able to stop. If he gave it back, Cas would get hurt. Instead he walked away. Even when he knew it hurt the fallen Angel every time.

About an hour later Dean heard the door open and shut again with a quiet click. He didn’t bother looking up from his spot on the bed as the soft footsteps grew closer. He merely set the worn photograph down on the side table and pat the mattress beside himself. Cas sunk into his side in an instant and the smell of weed stung his senses.

Sighing, he tipped his head to the side and pressed his cheek against the crown of Cas’s head. He did this. He caused this distress and disenchantment in the once mighty warrior. He wasn’t strong enough to say yes then, so now he wasn’t strong enough to save Cas. Turning his head, Dean pressed his lips to smoke scented hair and just breathed. He let the strong smell of leaf litter, and camp smoke and weed wash over him. He mourned the loss of ozone and morning rain. Of honey and peppermint.

He longed for the time he could press his nose into soft brown hair and smell home. “I can’t call you family, Cas.” He muttered after a moment of silence. Cas remained still and quiet where he was curled into his side. Dean wondered vaguely if Cas was too stoned to even register he was speaking. To his own disgust he hoped that was the case. Cas didn’t need to know. It’d only hurt him more. It’d only hurt them both more. That was after all, the curse Dean was forced to carry.

“I can’t call you family because then you’ll leave me too… and I… I don’t think I could stay alive without you, Angel.”

#destiel #Endverse Destiel #deancas #spn #supernatural #my writing #Endverse #I just really like the idea of Cas calling Dean 'Honey Bee' #And then shortening it to just 'Bee' #dean winchester #castiel #SPNAdventCalendar2020 #day 6: Christmas Curse

[chaoticdean]

I know when you go down all your darkest roads

Monday 9  — prompt: undercover

Dean and Castiel go undercover as a couple going through couple therapy, in order to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain. 

~ 2.6K

Warning: this story will be coming in at least 2 chapters, the second part will be posted next Monday as part of the Monday 10 prompt (free choice). Feel free to ask for me to tag you in any updates :) 

Host : @bend-me-shape-me, @helianthus21 & @pray4jensen ♡

READ ON AO3

Going undercover as a couple would have been a brilliant idea to catch the monster they are after if only he wasn’t going undercover as a couple with Cas.

Not to get your ideas twisted, the situation felt more like a dream than a nightmare for Dean, which was the whole damn problem. It was far too easy to lose himself into the false pretense of them being an actual couple, to the point where he actually craved the connection. 

“Dean? Are you listening?” Cas asks, and Dean realizes he’s been zoning out for two minutes.

“Yeah, sorry Cas. You were saying?”

“Sam thinks we’re hunting an Algea. They were the personified spirits of pain and suffering, grief, sorrow and distress, bringers of weeping and tears. The Algea were related to Oizys…”

They’ve been here for 12 hours, trying to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain. So far, 2 people have died here, at the Greystone Retreat in Nashville Tennessee, and the best way they found to try and bring it down was to go undercover as a couple having issues with their marriage.

Which would have been a brilliant idea, if Dean fucking Winchester wasn’t such a sucker for Castiel. 

But choices were made, and his feelings for his best friend didn’t weigh heavily over saving dozens of people from a murderous maniac supernatural being. So obviously, when Sam pitched the idea, he and Cas were both immediately on board.

“You’re not listening to me.”

Cas’s voice suddenly breaks through his mind and he looks up to him from where he’s sitting on the bed. His tone isn’t questioning, it’s acknowledging.

“Silver kills it, a bullet through the heart. Right?” Dean finally answers, locking with Castiel’s cobalt blue eyes.

The angel is wearing a very different outfit from what he’s used to — “if we’re gonna sell the part about you and me being married, you’re gonna have to wear anything other than this dirty trench-coat and freaking suit that I’ve seen you in for a decade, Cas” Dean had said — and boy oh boy was it a mistake to request for him to wear this.

He’s wearing one of Dean’s pair of black jeans, the hems carefully folded to fit him perfectly, a pair of brown boots and a fitted navy shirt three buttons down that made his eyes pop.

And Dean’s going to fucking lose it at some point, because how the hell is he allowed to look this good while wearing Dean’s clothes? It feels like everything has been designed to fit every distinctive part of him in the most perfect way, and Dean is absolutely fucked.

Castiel finally sits on the chair facing the hunter, looking almost as distraught as Dean seems to be.

“What’s wrong with you? You seem very… agitated, yet not entirely there with me.” He asks, tilting his head in that particular gesture that was so Cas.

“I’m fine, Cas. I’m just tired. I’m gonna try and get some sleep if you don’t mind, you can keep on with the research if you want to.”

“Actually, I was thinking…” he stops, hesitating, his eyes flickering to the king-sized bed Dean is sitting on, “We should probably sleep together to maintain cover, if either the Algea during the night or the staff tomorrow morning comes in?”

Dean feels simultaneously like his heart has dropped ten stories and is gonna burst on fire. It didn’t occur to him that they might have to literally take their cover to bed.

He’s suddenly not entirely sure that this is either a dream or a nightmare.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice brings him back again, and he’s left staring into the angel’s blues.

“Y-yeah you’re right” he stutters, trying to keep his face neutral while his stomach is making loops inside, “we never know. Are you actually gonna sleep?”

A decade ago, Castiel didn’t need to sleep and would have gladly kept on doing research — or flown out to god knows where angels went after midnight— until the brothers would’ve been up and ready to go. Today was a different story, and he actually needed some sleep every now and then to recharge his angelic batteries. Judging by the yawn that just escaped his mouth, Dean figures tonight is one of those nights.

“Yeah, I think I might. Did you pack anything for me to sleep in? I think my sweatpants stayed in the bunker” Cas says with a soft smile.

Dean sighs, checking through his duffel bag to bring out a pair of navy sweatpants that seems to be there specifically for Cas — God bless Sam, but also fuck him a little, cause the color of these sweatpants completely matches Castiel navy shirt and God the things this color does to Castiel’s entire appearance should be fucking illegal.

Castiel thanks him and calls dibs on the shower, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts for 10 minutes, which he uses to check his emails, text Jack to make sure the kid is still alive and well watching Netflix in the bunker, and text Sam. When Cas comes out, wearing nothing but the damn sweatpants, his hair still wet from the shower sticking in 12 different directions and his chest entirely exposed, Dean feels like his eyes might drop to his feet and his head might explode. Thankfully, Castiel doesn’t seem to realize the effects he has on Dean.

“Can I borrow one of your shirts? I’m afraid I completely forgot to bring anything to sleep in. I can sleep like this if you don’t have a spare one” he says, rubbing his face in a way that makes him look inherently human.

“Yeah, sure. Here, take this one” Dean answers, tossing him an old well-worn Ramones shirt that he’s sure has been his for more than two decades. 

Watching him put on his shirt, Dean is suddenly convinced the whole damn universe wants him dead. The thought of Castiel going back to his god-awful suit that hides his broad shoulders and, quite frankly, each of Cas’s most flattering body parts after this is almost insufferable right now. 

“I thought you were going to the shower after me? Dean, are you alright?” Cas asks, visibly concerned by his partner’s apathy

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Jesus fucking Christ, for the last time, I’m fine!” Dean answers, trying to keep himself in check cause now is not the time to fucking lose it, Winchester.

But even the cold shower he inflicts himself with doesn’t seem to help with anything. When he gets back into their room, Castiel is already in bed, cuddled up into one of the cushions. If he didn’t know better, Dean would think he was already asleep. Silently slipping under the covers next to him, Dean lies on his side to watch him. The angel smiles softly. 

“D’you keep wondering if I’m okay because you’re the one who’s actually not okay, Cas?” Dean asks, his voice low, watching the Angel for any kind of reaction.

“I think couple’s therapy is getting to your head, Dean.” Castiel chuckles, trying to sound offended. 

“Bite me, Dr. Seuss.”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking” Cas answers with a dramatic roll of his eyes that makes Dean smile even wider  “Should we sleep now?”

“Yeah, yeah sleeping beauty. I’ll turn the lights off.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“‘Night, Cas.”

***

Dean wakes up screaming from a nightmare, the room still dark and Castiel hands on his shoulders. Nightmares from his time in hell don’t occur as much as they used to, but when they do it’s fucking pathetic how they turn Dean into an absolute mess. 

“Dean.”

Castiel’s voice acts as a calming balm over the scars of Dean’s mind. He’s turned on the bedside table’s light, and Dean can see how concerned he is when he looks into his eyes. 

“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe.”

Dean sits up on the bed, suddenly realizing he’s covered in sweat and fuck, his head hurts like hell. One of Castiel’s hand finds its way to Dean shoulder, anchoring him to reality while he presses his face into his palms.

“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe.” Castiel repeats, and as much as Dean hates feeling vulnerable, he’s okay with feeling vulnerable with Cas right now. 

Castiel’s hand moves to his back, softly massaging his skin into soothing circles. He feels his body moving beside him, and suddenly Castiel’s face is pressed into his shoulder, his whole body against him. 

“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe.” Cas says again, like a mantra. 

Dean closes his eyes again, listening to the calm in Castiel’s voice, enjoying the warmth of his body. After a while, his breath goes back to normal and he opens his eyes again, turning his face so that he can see Cas’s. The angel looks at him, although not moving from the spot on his shoulder where he seems completely content. And not removing his hand from his back either.

Not that Dean would actually complain.

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas asks, although he seems to already know the answer.

“Not really.”

Castiel gives him a small, reassuring smile, and starts removing himself from Dean’s personal space. The spot he occupied on his shoulder feels cold and the traces of his hand on his spine left tingles on every square of his skin. Dean reaches out, pulling Castiel’s wrist before the angel gets back to his sleep position.

“Cas, I don’t… Can you…”

There’s a beat in the room, and Castiel’s face softens. Dean has never asked Cas — or anyone in four decades — to stay with him after a nightmare. But he also never shared a bed with Cas in over a decade of knowing him, and the fact that he just spends half the day posing as his husband might have given him wings. And he could swear he sees a glimmer inside those ocean blues.

“Of course, Dean.”

The hunter falls back onto the mattress, and suddenly Castiel is there against him. It takes them a minute to adjust to each other, Castiel finding his spot in the crook of Dean’s neck, tucking his head right below his chin. Dean instantly wraps his arms around him, breathing in his scent — cheap shampoo, a hint of citrus and something he can never quite figure out —, his heart still thundering beneath Cas’s cheek.

“This is how it should be every other night” is the last thought that comes to Dean’s mind right before he falls back into the dark limbos of sleep again.

***

The unpleasant sound of an equally unpleasant alarm clock suddenly rips Dean away from a very comfortable sleep. Coming back to his senses, he quickly assesses the other body pressed against his, the other arm tucked around his waist, the face breathing hot against the skin of his neck, and the events from last night come back in waves.

His nightmares, Castiel’s soothing hand and voice, Dean basically asking him to cuddle back to sleep —

Shit. 

Lost in the sensations, Dean doesn’t realize right away how something seems to be going on below his waist.

And Castiel is starting to move against him.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Dean rapidly strips aways from a very sleepy angel, grabbing his jeans and tee-shirt to cover his prominent boner, and makes his way to the bathroom. The whole thing must have lasted 15 seconds tops, and suddenly he is alone with his dignity and half-hard cock. 

Jesus Christ, let’s hope this cold shower does the trick, cause there’s no way he’s taking care of this 5 feet away from the reason why he’s like this in the first place.

Thankfully it does, and it takes Dean about 10mn to get back to the room fully showered and dressed, although still dizzy. 

Castiel is still in bed and judging by his face, grumpily so. 

And to Dean’s demise, he looks freaking fabulous. His bed hair is glorious, and the visible scruff on his face makes Dean want to crawl back into bed with his angel.

Control yourself Winchester, he thinks, briefly wondering when he started thinking of Cas as “his angel”. Probably somewhere between last night’s cuddle and 10 fucking years ago is the only answer that comes to mind.

Not that anything happened between them inside that bed, other than a reassuring presence in each other’s personal space.

But damn, Dean would do anything for this to happen over and over again.

Maybe he should.

“Morning, sunshine.” Dean says while sitting back on the edge of the bed, putting on his boots.

Castiel turns on his side to look at the hunter’s back, studying Dean’s movements.

“Dean, I love you, but it’s entirely too early to be awake.” Castiel sighs, and Dean’s heart explodes against his ribcage.

“It’s 8 am, what the fuck are you even talking about? Aren’t your angelic batteries charged up enough yet?”

“Not even remotely close. I feel like I’ve been rolled over by a garbage truck, while simultaneously being ripped apart by a shredder.” Cas says, his voice indeed sounding very tired.

“Oh, fancy.” Dean reacts, glancing at Castiel’s face and meeting his eyes “You’re gonna be okay, though?” He asks with a tiny smile.

“Yeah, yeah. Go get breakfast I’ll join you in 10.”

“Not sure it poses as a steady couple if we show up at separate times.”

“But I thought the whole point was to appear as a struggling couple?”

“Yeah, okay. See you in 10.”

Dean gives his partner a smile as he grabs his jacket on the back of the chair and leaves the room, letting Castiel struggle with his morning grump. He makes his way to the facility’s breakfast room, which is surprisingly crowded. The buffet is filled with stuff that makes the hunter’s stomach growl, and by the time Castiel joins him — wearing that damn navy shirt that makes Dean’s heart grow 10 times again — he’s already on his second set of pancakes. 

“Anyone talked to you yet?” He asks, dropping on the chair facing Dean

“Nah. Here, I got you coffee. Figured it wouldn’t hurt your garbage-truck-slash-shredder body struggle.” Dean says with a smile, pushing a white paper cup towards the angel.

Castiel smiles at Dean softly, which Dean realizes he’s been doing a lot recently, and accepts the cup with a nod. 

“Did you sleep okay? You know, after the.. nightmare.” He asks, carefully trying not to step into Dean’s feelings. 

“Yeah. Thank you, Cas. For… well, you know.” Dean says.

He’s about to continue when the face of an employee of the facility appears in his field of view, and he immediately put on the mask of Dean Cartellone, who has been married to Castiel Cartellone for 2 years. 

“Mister and Mister Cartellone! How is it going this morning?” The man asks with so much enthusiast in his voice it actually makes Dean’s brain tweak. 

“Slowly” Cas grumbles into his coffee, clearly wanting nothing more than being left alone.

Dean gives him a look, and quick smile at the man, challenging his voice with as much enthusiast as the man — Steve, as the name tag said.

“Good, thanks Steve. What’s the program this morning?” 

20 minutes after, Dean and Cas find themselves sitting on a couch in front of a therapist, and now Dean’s fucking convinced this was the worst idea they’ve ever had in a decade. 

#monday 9: undercover #spnstayathome #LOOK AT ME I'M ON TIME #undercover destiel #sharing a bed #nightmare #comforting cas #hurt dean #assholes in love #idiots in love #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #Dean Winchester/Castiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #destiel ficlet #deanscas fic #ficlet #spn #supernatural #read on ao3 #jus writes: SPNStayAtHome #jus writes: I know when you go down all your darkest roads #writer of destiel #jus writes

[holylulusworld]

Lead on – Part 8 - Strike One to Ten

Request: I had this idea of reader going to Stanford and liking Sam and he kinda leads her on knowingly but goes for Jessica and then years later Sam and Dean meet her like killing a vampire nest by herself with a samurai sword made with vampire blood and she looks so badass with an awesome tomb raider kinda get up and then she’s Crowley’s daughter with an angel and lucifer’s granddaughter so half angel/half demon

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Crowley, Jody Mills, unnamed demons

Warnings: angst, half angel-half demon reader, pissed Crowley, arguments, possessive Sam, light smut, fluff, unprotected sex

A/N: I used the spell Rowena used in the show but changed the effect it has. 😉

Lead on Masterlist

“Daddy, daddy…daddy…” You chuckle circling your father, your Katana in your hand. He tried to attack Jody to make you obey, but this time the Winchesters and you were way faster, due to the fact you used your wings instead of Dean’s beloved car.

“Dude, never again…” Dean groans. “You are flying way to fast…”

“I’m an excellent flyer!” You retort pointing a finger at Dean who is holding his stomach, shaking his head furiously. “No, you’re not. Castiel was way more…careful…”

“You want careful, Deano? The man wearing the Mark of Cain and driving a death trap without airbag is lecturing me about safety…” Grinning you blow Dean a kiss before you slide your sword over your fathers’ cheek, cutting deep into his flesh.

“Can we get back to business, daughter? I want you to come back or I’ll kill all your friends.” Crowley warns unimpressed by your sword or Sam’s boring looks.

“Daddy, you don’t get it. I want to stay at the bunker. I want to be a hunter, that’s what I’m good at and I want to be with Sam.” You mutter wielding your sword in front of your father’s face.

“That’s impossible! The daughter of the king of hell can’t be a hunter, Y/N. Follow my orders!” Crowley is glaring at Sam, ready to attack the tall hunter but you push him away, snapping your fingers to keep your father in place.

“I have to show you my powers in that case.” The demons holding Jody and one of the girls in a tight grip start smirking as Crowley nods, but you snap your fingers once again and they turn into dust.

“No! Not again. Do you always have to kill my best men?” Your father groans. He’s not amused at all, fighting against the invisible restraints holding him.

“Daddy, I don’t want to kill you, but you have to stop going after my friends. I’m happy and I don’t want to come to hell. Let me shine, let me be the way I am for once. Sam makes me feel good…happy. I want to be close to him.” You whisper releasing your father. “Please don’t force me to kill you, dad. I’m still mad at you but in the end, you are my father. For once, act like one…”

“Y/N…” Crowley’s eyes dart between you and Sam who is moving in front of you, ready to defend you against anyone, even against the king of hell.

“She’s my only daughter, Winchester. If anything happens to her if you hurt her again both of you will die. I’ll drag you down to hell and make your life … well hell.” Crowley states and you squeal pecking his cheek.

“Awesome, daddy. Now go back home and maybe I’ll visit you soon.” Your lips curved into a dirty grin you jump into Sam’s arms, biting his neck playfully. “I guess this means I can have you anytime, Samuel…”

“Sam…it’s Sam…” The tall hunter groans and you chuckle into his neck, biting his neck harder to the point of pain. “Brat, stop biting me.”

“Make me, Samuel…” Dean shakes his head, scrunching up his nose as you start grinding against Sam once again. “Or you could just spank my cute ass and give it to me good.”

“Hmm…later. Do you want to let Crowley get away with his threats or shall I end him?” Sam whispers into your ear and your core aches. “You would kill for me, Sam?”

“I would to anything for you, Y/N. Your decision…” His hazel eyes search your face as you kiss the corner of his mouth, humming against his skin. “Let him go. This is daddy’s last chance; he won’t get another.”

“You heard your daughter, leave and stop acting like the selfish bastard you are. For once, act like a father and stop forcing your daughter into something she doesn’t want to do.”

After your father disappeared you give Sam a cracked smile, knowing Crowley will never change, not for you. “Let’s get rid of this ugly Mark now, Sam. I want Dean to be free of the little devil.”

“I got a little devil too, but I like her,” Sam smirks waiting for your reaction but you just look at him for a while. You didn’t recognize it so far, but Sam became a man. The boyish young guy is gone and got replaced by a man with scars and wounds that never healed. “Something wrong, Y/N?”

“No, just checked your ugly face. Not bad for an old man…” You tease gently cupping his cheek with one hand, stroking the skin with your thumb. “I’m sorry for what gramps did to you, Sam.”

“Don’t go all soft on me now, my little brat.” Sam smiles letting you capture his lips in a soft kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck as you press your body against Sam. “Not bad either. We should get going, Sam…”

“Yeah…little devil needs to go to bed earlier tonight,” Sam whispers between kisses. 

Nipping along his jawline you feel his heart beating faster and his mind cloud with images of you naked underneath him as he makes love to you, not just rails into you.

“You little sap, Samuel. Maybe I have to rethink my decision to keep you as my sex slave.” You chuckle.

“You’re mine, brat.”

“You kept on telling so…let’s see if you can keep up with me, Winchester…”

----

“This might hurt a little.” You tease preparing the spell to free Dean of the Mark. “This spell will send the Mark to its origin. It was created to keep the ‘Darkness’ at bay. Means God’s dark little twin.”

“Wait…uh…god has a sister?” Dean cocks a brow as you nod thoughtfully.

“Yeah. It was only them back then. Before anything else existed. The big shiny guy created the world, humans and all. His sister got jealous, wanted to destroy his new ‘toys’. He locked her away with Luci’s help. Gramps got the burden to carry the Mark and it changed him.” Dean nods lost in thoughts.

“You mean Lucifer became evil due to the Mark of Cain?” Sam asks glancing at his big brother. Remembering how he acted as a demon.

“Got no clue if gramps was an asshole all the time, but the Mark of Cain didn’t help, I guess. Now let’s do this and later I want to ride you hard, Samuel…”

“That’s not a spell from the Book of Damned.” Sam’s eyes meet yours and you sigh, nodding.

“If we use the spell from that book we might free ‘the Darkness’, ‘k. We don’t want risk this shit to happen so we ‘give’ the Mark back to Luci…” Smirking you grab Dean’s shirt locking eyes with the tall hunter. “No more playing with dangerous things, big boy.”

“Promised.”

“Good, now I need the ingredients I prepared over there and your blood, Sam.” You explain and Sam cocks a brow. “Why?”

“Don’t act all shy now. I saw your cock, ass and everything in between, give me your blood.” Rolling your eyes, you cut Sam’s finger when he’s not looking.

He’s cursing, giving you a hard look. “Tell me about the blood and this spell, now!” Sam orders and you lick your lips. “Fuck, I love your dominant voice, Sam. Now let me finish this and we can fuck…”

“Guys, not right now.” Dean groans but you ignore his outburst, simply mixing the ingredients.

“Y/N…?”

“Fine, I have to sacrifice a part of the person I love, satisfied, Winchester. I could’ve cut your hair or something, but I thought blood is way more effective…sexier.” Muttering you check the spell once again, ignoring the smile all over Sam’s face.

“Love…huh?”

“Don’t annoy me right now. I have to concentrate to get this right…” You hate the smile on his face or the way he leans closer to place a soft kiss to your hair. “Winchester, last warning…”

“Go ahead, princess.” Sam whispers and your core aches. “Not now…”

----

Ab manu Dei! 

Ab manu hominis! 

Ab cruore cordis mei ad fusuro in aeternum! 

Tolle maledictionem tuam, ab hoc viro! 

Ending the spell Rowena translated you watch the Mark glowing before it disappears. A smile crosses Dean’s face feeling the darkness fade.

“I feel…like myself again.” He says hugging you tightly only to earn himself a glare from Sam. He doesn’t like seeing his brother touching you a bit.

“Dude. Calm your Alpha instinct down. Hell, you make me all wet when you act like a caveman, Samuel. Go to your room and get naked. I’ll conquer your cock in a minute or three hours.” You chuckle and Sam relaxes, not stopping to watch his brother, tho.

----

Your eyes darken seeing candles lit all over Sam’s room. Smooth music is playing and rose petals lie on the bed.

“Dude, did you watch too many rom-com movies?” Grinning you start stripping your clothes off. “Going to fuck you so hard, Sammy.”

“I want this to be special, not just fucking, Y/N. I want to feel you and want you to feel me…” Sam says, and you roll your eyes but your heart flutters.

“Strike one to ten for being a love-sick puppy. Now let’s see how I can cure you from being all cutie pie. Want to devour your sexy body right now.” Lower lip trapped between your teeth you crawl toward Sam, dragging the blanket off his naked body. “Hmm…hard for me as always…knew you can’t get enough of me…”

----

 “She made it?” Castiel asks. “Without side-effects?”

 “So far…none. Y/N mentioned the Mark will return to its origin. I hope nothing happens, Cas. Luck was barely on our side over the last years.”

----

Sam’s body is draped over yours like a warm blanket. He’s a completely different lover tonight. There’s no rush, no roughness only the feeling of Sam holding you tightly and the slow strokes of his cock.

You wanted to flip him over and ride him hard but his eyes, his goddamn hazel eyes kept you from doing so. Now you wrap your legs around him, grabbing his biceps to meet his agonizedly slow thrusts.

“I love you, Y/N.” Sam moans into your neck, leisurely rocking into you. You remain silent for a moment, just letting his words sink in. “Y/N?”

“For fuck's sake, I love you too, asshole now shut up and let me enjoy this rom-com sickness.” You curse moving your hands to his back to press his firm chest closer to your breast, causing Sam to shudder on top of you.

His lips nip at your neck, sucking another mark into your skin as he feels your walls tighten around him. “You like it, all the rom-com sickness…” Sam whispers and you paw at his back, cursing his name when he fills you with his spending’s.

----

“Will you stay with me and show me your deep love?” Sam chuckles as you snuggle into his chest. 

“Dude don’t think I will not slap your ass. Now shut up and let me sleep, asshole…”

“Brat…”

“Pervert…”

“I love you ...”

“Same...”

SPN Forever Tags

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#Sam Winchester #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction #request fill #lead on masterlist #dean winchester #castiel #crowley #smut #angst #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam x reader #sam x you #sam winchester series #sam winchester x y/n

[shealynn88]

Love is Not a Victory March

Rating: T (language) Words: ~800 Warnings: angst Summary:  This love blasts in on razor wings, hauls him out of Hell, scars him out of the gate, tells him he’s nothing. Tells him he’s everything. Written for: @drawlight who requested song prompt “Hallelujah” - this was so much fun, thank you!

on ao3

The Bible lies about a lot of things.  But Corinthians, Dean thinks, is the worst.  The most insidious. Because love, he knows, is not patient.  Or kind. Or slow to anger.  It is a force of fucking nature, and it burns everything to the ground.

When Dean loves it’s an inferno.  It destroys everything. His family.  Himself. Anyone unlucky enough to get in the blast radius.  And so he swears off it early. Family, of course. Can’t help it, can he?  But anyone else? Hell no. He’ll take care of them.  He has to do that anyway.  Why the Hell else would he be here?  

But love?   Fuck, no.  That’s for people who aren’t killers, through and through.  That’s for people who aren’t themselves bombs and blades and gunpowder waiting to go off.

He doesn’t even see it coming - he’s blindsided completely, because he thought it would be soft, like that poem about fog and cat feet. That he would see the threat before it took root.

Fuck, no.  This love blasts in on razor wings, hauls him out of Hell, scars him out of the gate, tells him he’s nothing.  Tells him he’s everything.

Brings a holy blast radius of its own.

Dean hates until he suddenly doesn’t, until that fire burns a new color, until it’s made of lips and hands and desperate groans in dark corners.

Pleases, and sweethearts, and gasps and moans, and his name in a language that’s been dead for the entire history of the human race.  His name on lips made of flesh and Grace and all the things he’s never deserved.

The first time they kiss it’s knives and fire, and it’s supposed to be goodbye because Cas is going to die at the hands of another impossible being.  They grasp each other like it’s the end of the world, because it is. Like every other damn day. They burn together like those monks, immolating themselves in protest.  Cas is a force of Heaven in his arms, burning, biting, hard and soft and wanting and needing and when has Dean ever been able to say no to someone who needed him?

Never, that’s when.

Love is supposed to be never having to say your sorry, but they have to apologize forever, for the scars they inflict and the pain they cause, and it’s as close to hate as you can get without quite tipping over the edge.  They gut each other, knives and words interchangeable. Dean uses teeth to hurt, against skin, against syllables, making marks he wants to be permanent. Paint this motherfucker in blood, because whatever side they’re on, they belong to each other, and it’s the hardest thing Dean’s ever done.

“You’ve made me weak,” Castiel agonizes.  “I’m small, now.”

“You don’t have to be small for me,” Dean promises against his lips, fingers too tight.  “I don’t need you to be less.”

He never is again.  Never less than an atom bomb on the verge of exploding.

If he could go back, he thinks he’d never choose this kind of torture.  It’s Hell all over again, carved to the bone, exposed and moaning, possessed in ways Heaven never planned.  They own each other, down to the soul, the grace, scarred on an atomic level with that poison love. It torments them both.  They’re as likely to carve one another up as they are to fall into each other’s arms, pressing bodies together in desperation, until the chasm between them opens up again, throws them back into the tsunami of great beings’ whims.

They are puppets.

“Cas,” Dean breathes.

“Dean, please,” Cas asks, eyes closed, long fingers grasping.

He’s forgotten his body, lost the memory of skin on skin and shared breath, the sharp knife of fingernails and teeth and missed you, needed you.

Dean reminds him.

A momentary respite - hands, not swords.  Fingers against shoulder blades, where wings might be if they were somewhere else.  Mouths breathing each other’s air. Desperate and wanting. It’s never enough but they take what they can get. It’s cold.  Broken. It’s always been broken, and it’s not what either of them would take, left to their own devices. They might take their time, learn each other slowly, luxuriate in one another.

But love doesn’t wait for the right moment.  Love demands.  Love tears and burns and destroys.

Love rebuilds and scars over wounds that no one could recover from.  No one, but for love.

They leave each other shattered and they keep coming back, because love demands a price.  It takes its pound of flesh and comes back for more.

Because love is every single circle of Hell.

Love is everything.

Tagging: @all-or-nothing-baby

#destiel #destiel fanfic #sheawritesfic #supernatural fanfiction

[writingkeepsmewhole]

I Know You.

This is the last part of Different Worlds. I hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you so much for reading it. I hope yall enjoyed the ride and like how it ends. Please let me know. 

Dean wakes up.

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings:Fight, blood, language.

@anatheweirdo @wintersoldierbaby @thatonestarrr @littleraton @moonlight-on-her-skin @dusklivingnightmare @princessflwers @hobby27 @1800-fight-me @we-are-band-sexuals @negan-jdm-winchester @seppys-return-to-madness @kwinchester24 @me-han10 @salt-n-burn-em-all @tftumblin

Part 1  Part 5

I woke up to a pounding head and my limbs numb. Opening my eyes I was laying on a table alone in the warehouse. I let out a groan sitting up. I hiss in pain at the scratches and bruises covering my body.

Hearing footsteps I look up to see Sam standing there holding a take out box.

“Sam?” I ask making sure I wasn’t going crazy.

“Oh my gosh Y/n your awake hey!” He says rushing over to me.

“What happened?” I ask him everything foggy.

“You got trapped in Dean’s mind along with him. You've been out a few days.”

“A few days?” I ask shocked feeling like I was only gone a day at most.

“Yeah, we've tried to keep an eye on you.”

“Why?”

“Because you almost died dearie.” Rowenna says walking into the room.

“I don’t know what you did in there but you took every hit on the outside as well.” She says walking over to a table of books and herbs.

“I don’t remember getting hurt though.”

“Being inside someone else's mind is tricky. If Dean got hurt so did you.” “Oh my gosh where is Dean?” I ask sitting up.

“He’s still asleep…”

“If he doesn't wake up soon he my be trapped forever.” Sam says sadly.

“Why did I wake up if he didn’t?” “You did what you needed to do.” She says handing me a cup of something green that has stuff floating in it.

“Drink this should heal you up.”

Taking it from her Sam stops me by grabbing my wrist.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Is she wanted to kill me I think I would be dead already.”

“Oh I like her very much.”

I smile at her and drink the contents of the cup it tasting like burnt coffee and soy sauce.

Fighting back a gag I roll my head at the taste.

“That was horrible.”

“Good means it’ll work.” She says taking the cup back.

“You need to eat, drink some water and you should be fine.”

“Here you can have mine.” Sam says handing me the box he was still holding.

“Thanks, but you eat it. I’m not hungry.” I say trying to get off the table my knees buckling. Sam being the only thing stopping me from falling.

“Sorry.” I mumble.

“Don't be. Eat.”

“I want to check on Dean.”

“He’s fine you need to build up your strength.”

Sighing I take the food from him and start eating.

I didn’t even finish half off it before I felt full but I downed the whole bottle of water he gave me.

“Can I go now?”

He nods taking a step away from me as if to say I’m free.

I push myself up from the chair and walk towards the cell. My heart stopping when I see Dean laying on the floor not moving.

“Don’t be dead.” I whisper to myself.

Opening the door I move to sit next to him letting go of the breath I was holding seeing his chest rise and fall.

“I can’t get inside his head.” Says a deep voice beside me making me jump.

“Cas you scared me.” I say looking up at him.

“Forgive me. I forget humans need to hear me approach.”

“Yeah that would be nice thanks.”

“I am happy to see you are awake.”

“Don’t matter much if Dean is still being tormented inside his own head.” I say taking Dean’s hand.

“You are worried for him?”

“Of course I am. I worried about him when he was just someone on a TV show. Now that he is real. That he is in front of me it only makes it worse.” I say touching his cheek it was hot.

“He has fever.”

“He’s had it since you went under.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. We wait.”

“For what?”

“To see if he wakes up, to see what he wakes up as.”

“What do you mean?”

“He could become the beast he was before mindless or as himself. He even might not wake up at all.”

I say nothing not knowing what to say. The sound of flapping wings telling me Cas left. I stay there until Sam drags me back to eat again. Rowena giving me another nasty tonic. The next day going the same way, and the day after that.

I was sitting at the table with Sam eating cold pancakes when a groan bounces off the walls.

“Sam?” Dean calls making us look at each other then snap to the direction of the cell.

We both stand up as Dean stumbles into the room bent over and holding his head. I stay frozen in place as Sam rushes to his side helping him stand up.

When his green eyes meet mine I hold my breath not knowing what to expect. Not knowing if he’ll even know who I am.

I gasp when he takes the long stride, pulling me into his chest. My eyes filling up with tears when he says my name his face buried in my neck.

“I heard you.” He says pulling away from me him looking me over.

“What’s wrong?” He asks wiping my cheeks.

“I’m just really happy to see you.” I say brushing my face with the back of my sleeve.

He grins and surprises me by bending down to press his lips to mine. I kiss him back my heart pounding. The kiss is short and sweet him pulling away just to hug me again.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks making us take a step away from each other.

My face hot.

“Okay enough. I feel like my skull is on fire but other then that I’m good.”

“What do you remember?”

“Not much. Getting cursed, being locked up, her. I mostly remember her.” He says looking over at me making me blush.

He smiles and takes my hand.

“I think you two could fill in the blankets better than I could.”

“Okay let's go get some food.” Sam says clapping his hand on Dean’s back.

“Sounds go to me.”

“So you are from a different world?” Dean asks me us sitting in a booth at the back of a dinner.

Sam leaving us alone to talk.

“Yeah.” I say shrugging. Glad Sam left out the part of me being in love with him.

“You went in my head?”

“Yeah. I had to help you accept all your past, everything you did wrong I guess. The last thing I remember was talking to you, you when you had the mark of cain and you as the beast. It’s foggy after that.”

“See that’s what I remember best. You were right all of us had to lay our guns down.”

“What do you mean?”

Taking a breath he lifts his sleeve up showing me a faint scar of the mark of cain. It white like it been there for a long time.

“I don’t know what I got from the beastie side of me but I woke up with that.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I became one with my demons I guess.” He says pulling his sleeve down.

“But enough about me. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t you want to go home. Back to your family?”

Biting my lip I look down and shrug.

“Hey-.” He says lifting my head up to look at him.

“Talk to me. You talked plenty before.”

Blushing I roll my eyes.

“Because you couldn’t.”

“Well pretend I can’t now.”

Sighing I tuck my hair behind my ear.

“I just… I don’t want to go back.”

“What about your family?”

“How long do you think I’ve been here Dean?” I ask looking up at him.

“A week or so?”

“Try two months. My family most likely thinks I’m dead. Besides…”

“What?”

Licking my lip I take a breath.

“I love you. That’s why I was picked to save you. In my world your and Sam’s life is a TV show. It’s pathetic I know but you got me through more than you know. Now that I know your real. I can’t go back.”

The silence wraps around us making my heart beat fast.

“I’m sorry.” I say pushing myself from the booth leaving him alone.

I ignore Sam calling my name as I walk down the sidewalk. Everything that has happened going threw my mind. Being took from the boat, living with Dean in a cell for months, kissing him, being trapped in his mind, waking up alone, and now the silence after telling him I loved him.

I don’t know why but I was thankful they left me alone and didn’t come looking for me. I barely paid attention to the setting sun. But when I found myself sitting in a park, nothing but the night around my I started to regret being alone. The full moon the only light.

Standing up I tried to remember which way the dinner was. I didn’t have a phone I was pretty much lost.

Hearing footsteps I turn around seeing a man jogging. When he sees me he slows down and takes out his earbud.

“You okay?” He asks me softly as if not to scare me.

“Yeah I’m just… I’m kinda lost.” I say honestly looking around me then back at him.

For a split second I swear I see his eyes flash or glow.

“Want to use my phone?” He asks pulling it from his pocket and handing it out to me.

“Sure thanks.” I say reaching to take it.

I let out a scream when he grabs my wrist roughly pulling me towards him. His eyes glowing.

Not knowing what I was up against I yank my arm away from him a pop ringing through the air as I start to run.

I don’t get far him grabbing my shoulder ripping through my shirt and slicing into my skin. I scream as I’m throwing to the ground him penning me there bearing his teeth at me.

“Werewolf.” I say, fear in my voice.

He smirks at me lifting his hand ready to tear my heart out. It seemed like it went in slow motion my heart pounding my brain telling me to fight. It reminding me of the pocket knife Sam gave me in case Dean hurt me.

I barely get to it in time to stab the man in the hand it letting out a howl. I pull the knife out and stab it into its neck blood spraying me. Yanking it out I push it deep into its chest having no idea if I hit it’s heart or if the blade was even silver.

I push him off me and take off running not knowing where I was going just hoping I was going to survive.

I stumble out into the road headlights blinding me as the brakes scream.

“Y/N!” Sam yells suddenly beside me.

“Come on let's get you home.” He says helping me to the car lowering me into the backseat.

That the last thing I remember before it goes black.

I wake up when someone pulls me from the car. I was being carried. Opening my eyes I see the familiar face of Dean.

“I’m sorry.” I mumble my shoulder throbbing my whole body cold.

“For what?” He asks walking down steps making me realize we were in the bunker.

“Running off.”

“Just be happy your alive.” He says sitting me down in a chair.

“I got everything!” Sam says rushing in holding a first aid kit.

“Your awake.”

“Seems that way.” I say feeling dizzy hot blood running down my back.

“I’m gonna take this off okay?”

“Okay.” I say watching Dean leave the room. It making my heart clench at the sight.

I must have passed out because I wake up in Dean’s room. I was banaged up and sore but I was alive. I get out of the bed and walk down the hall.

“You can say what you want but she killed a werewolf alone Dean. She can take-.” Sam’s voice cuts through the air.

“She almost died!” Dean barks back.

“It’s not safe in our world..” He says as I keep walking down the hall.

“You can’t make this choice for her.”

“She won’t remember she even had one…”

I walk into the map room them quickly shutting up. I sit down as soon as I make it to a chair. I was hunched over in pain holding my arm. It most likely dislocated.

“Your going to send me back huh?” I ask looking up at Dean.

He doesn't say anything clenching his jaw.

“So that’s it huh? Just get Cas to wipe my memory, zap me back to my world?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because that’s what you always do.” I say my voice cracking.

“You forget I know you Dean. You did the same thing with Lisa, Benny, hell even Crowley. You push everyone away if you think you put them in danger.”

Feeling tears run down my cheeks I push myself up from the chair to walk closer to him.

“I killed a werewolf because I learned from you. I can take care of myself. I helped you fight a curse. I can survive in this world. If you want to wipe my memory fine but can you live with it? Knowing that I’m out there?” “You’ll be safe.” He says looking at me his eyes dark.

“Yeah but I’ll be miserable. I belong here with you and you know it.” I say swallowing the lump in my throat.

“You almost died tonight.”

“But I didn’t.”

He closes his eyes and runs his hand over his face.

“Why? Why do you want to stay?”

“Because I love you. I know you think that’s impossible but I do. You make me happy.”

“What if I can’t protect you?”

“Then teach me to protect myself.”

“Your stubborn huh?” He asks locking his eyes with mine.

“Only a little.”

Smiling he takes a step closer to me.

“You get trained before you go out alone?”

“Deal.”

He bends down and brushes his lips over mine then presses his forehead to mine.

“I love you too.” He whispers making me blush.

“So umm welcome to the family?” Sam asks clearing his throat making me smile.

He was right this was my family. I was home.

#dean x OC #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic #dean fic #dean fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic #Supernatural Dean Winchester #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fluff #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean #supernatural fic #supernatural #SPN Dean #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn fic #SPN #I know you

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Beautiful

“How long has he been sitting there?”

Dean starts; he’d been watching Cas and hadn’t heard Sam behind him.

“Five hours.” Dean practically spits out the words. “He won’t eat. He won’t move to a more comfortable chair. He won’t even take his damn pain pills. And he can’t tell me that doesn’t hurt, I know what a broken collar bone feels like. He’s just so--” Sam opens his mouth to say something--Probably something all-knowing and not at all helpful, Dean thinks--but Dean raises his hands in surrender, taking a few calming breaths.

He turns again to look at Cas, perched on the edge of a hard wooden chair at the war room table. It’s been nearly half a year since he fully lost his grace, but it’s still a bit startling to see him without his trenchcoat, or even a suit. The white of the sling is stark and bright against the soft navy of his worn long sleeved henley. His hair’s grown out some; it’s not nearly as long as Sam’s, but it’s starting to curl at his collar and around his ears. He shouldn’t cut it, though, Dean thinks. It suits him.

“You gonna talk to him?” Sam asks, and Dean realizes he’s been staring, completely lost in thought.

“I tried. He wouldn't even look at me. But that was,” he looks at his watch, “about three hours ago. Maybe he’ll listen now.” Dean takes a drink of the beer he’d forgotten he was holding, then makes a face. It’s warm. And flat. How long have I been standing here?

Sam makes a face Dean can’t quite understand, starts to say something, then thinks better of it. After a beat he settles on, “Good luck.” As he walks off toward his bedroom Dean thinks he hears him mutter, “You’re both gonna need it,” but why would Sam say that?

Dean drinks the last of his beer before he remembers it’s not good anymore, grimaces at the taste, then sets the empty bottle on a ledge. His steps are soft and silent; he feels like he’s approaching a skittish and wounded bird. Or an angel with broken wings.

“Hey Cas.”

“I could hear you and Sam, you know. I may not be an angel anymore, but I still have ears.” He doesn’t turn toward Dean, addressing his statement to the wall.

Dean can’t help but laugh, breaking the unnatural silence in the room. “I’m glad you didn’t lose your sense of humor with your grace.”

The change in Cas’s posture is slight, but it’s enough; even from behind him Dean can see that he’s smiling. Or at least relaxed a little.

Instead of sitting in a chair next to Cas he leans against the table in front of him and a little off to the side. He can see Cas’s face better this way. Cas isn’t smiling exactly, but one corner of his mouth is turned up. Better than nothing, I suppose.

Dean hesitates to break the spell of Cas’s even slightly improved mood, but…

“You’re going to be okay.”

Cas’s head falls forward and his shoulders slump, and he hisses in pain at the thoughtless movement.

“Cas,” Dean says softly, trying to meet Cas’s downcast eyes, “it’s going to be okay.”

Cas’s face is bleak when he finally looks up. “Dean. I’m…I’m…” He waves his uninjured arm, indicating not just his injury but all of him. His words come out in a tumble, fast and angry. “I once led armies. I glared and beings cowered. Other angels feared me. And now I am small. I am frail, and weak. I am…” His gaze drops, and all the vehemence leaves his countenance. “Now I am broken.”

It takes everything in Dean, but he doesn’t look away, and he holds his expression steady. “You’re injured,” he says, his voice even. “You’ll heal.”

“I’m human,” Cas says bitterly. “There’s no healing from that.”

The space between them is no more than a few feet, but the silence that follows Cas’s words could hold galaxies. New stars are born, planets are formed, other planets fall to dust, stars go supernova, black holes form--life and death and everything in between--and still Dean and Cas feel the space between them grow.

Into the stillness Dean says, “I thought you’d adjusted. Accepted.” His voice cracks, breaks.

“I thought I had.” There is only truth in Cas’s voice.

Cas waves his uninjured arm again. “Look at this, Dean. Look at my hand.” Having gained Dean’s attention, he stops waving and shows Dean the back of his hand.

Understanding washes over Dean. “It’s a scar, Cas. I have more of them than I could ever count. Hunters seem to have more than most.”

“But until half a year ago this vessel--”

“Body,” Dean interrupts. “It’s not a vessel anymore. It’s a body. It’s your body.”

“And that’s exactly my point!” Cas cries in frustration. “When this was a vessel, it was pristine. Perfect. For years. Now that it’s just my human weakness, I’ve got marked up skin and a broken bone. In only six months. What’s going to happen in a year? In five? In twenty?”

Dean moves to sit directly in front of Cas and reaches out and takes his hand, which he’d begun flapping in agitation again, in both of his. Cas immediately stills. Dean rests Cas’s palm on his, then traces the scar with a fingertip. “It’s just the outside, Cas.” His voice, like his touch on Cas’s skin, is feather-soft. “A scar, a million scars, could never change the fact that you are--”

Halfway through the sentence his heart begins to pound and his brain begins to panic. Am I really saying this? Is this truly what I want? It’s only a few words, but these words could change everything, maybe I should just--oh god, look at those eyes, I’ve been looking into those eyes for so long, how could I ever stop? Just finish the damn sentence, Dean. Don’t let go.

“--beautiful.”

Cas’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and Dean finds it impossible to breathe while he waits for Cas to say something. To say anything.

Hesitantly, Cas says, “Beautiful?” Then, as if to convince himself, “It’s the vessel, that’s what you see.”

Dean squeezes Cas’s hand and looks straight into his eyes. “No. I’ve always been able to see you. Always.”

“Beautiful.” This time he’s looking at Dean, and the word is infused with such raw emotion that Dean feels heat rise to his cheeks.

Heart still pounding in his throat, Dean tugs on Cas’s hand until he stands, wincing at the pain that crosses Cas’s face. After a moment he manages to say, “I’d really like to kiss you now. Would that be okay?”

Cas stammers out a few incoherent noises before giving up entirely and just nodding.

Dean’s had many kisses in his life. Many were good. Some were great.

Not a single one compares to this.

Cas’s lips are soft against his, hesitant at first but quickly becoming more sure. Their hands are still tangled together but Dean pulls one away--once Cas allows it--to run a thumb along the rough stubble on Cas’s jaw. When he reaches the softness below his ear and threads his fingers through soft, slightly curling hair, Cas breaks the kiss to breathe Dean’s name. Dean leans forward to kiss him again. He wants to crush them together, to erase any space between them, but he’s painfully aware of Cas’s hurt shoulder.

And there’s time, he realizes when they stop to look into each other’s eyes. There’s plenty of time. Every other kiss in his life had been fleeting, a moment stolen from a long, hard life. But these kisses...kissing Cas feels like coming home.

“Now,” Dean says, full of mock sternness, “I’m going to take you into town and buy you dinner, and then you’re going to take your pain pills.”

“My shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore,” says Cas, slightly out of breath.

“Yes it does.”

“Yes it does,” Cas concedes. “But I don’t mind nearly as much.”

Lacing their fingers together, Dean smiles and says, “Let’s go for a drive.”

***

Supernatural Hiatus Creations || week eight | ships

#lirael writes #spnhiatuscreations #destiel #first kiss #hurt/comfort #injured!cas #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #destiel drabble #i've been trying to write this for days #i'm not sure it's what i imagined #but it'll have to do #because i need sleep #and i can't be trying to write it in bed anymore!! #hahahaha

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 23 - Begin the Begin

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 1393

Summary: Lucifer is a dick. Castiel has some trust issues; fortunately, he also has the reader. With the rift closed, everyone lets loose back at the bunker.

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“Careful there – last step’s a doozy.” Cementing a callous grip around your bicep to prop up the feet faltering on the final bus stair as you flounder into his looming person, Lucifer’s unkindly grin-framed chuckle singes your cheek. He resists your off-balance efforts to wriggle away, fixing his fingers further into the denim fabric of your jacket and the bruisingly insulted flesh below until a panged whimper rouses in your throat and unshed tears blear your vision. The sound of suffering sparks a ring of red round the merciless pitch of his pupils.

Boot having missed the step as though it were a mere mirage of solidity, dazed both by the clumsy landing jolting up your spine to slam together teeth and the sulphur tinge suffusing his breath, you can’t tell if you were accidentally shoved from behind by another refugee eager to exit, or if the fall is some devilish retribution for the ill-advised slap of his head earlier.

You immediately regretted the action given the oddly cool effect on his demeanor and Cas’ worry-wrought glance at you, the crevicing of his brow seeming to entreat why. You know angels – all angels – represent a threat, with archangels’ whims and propensity to power trip as stand ins for God plying the worst type of peril, but the escape from this world into that other where everything is different, the connection you share with Cas and the rawness of his reciprocated feelings, these experiences dulled the gravity of danger, lessened your wariness, and subdued the common sense required to contain a stupid reflex to swat the devil to stop his incessant rambling and chaotic driving like the buzz of an irritating fly – a mistake of being too familiar. Regardless of the how of the tumble, no sentiment of thanks stirs on your tongue for the rudely firm rescue.

Hearing the tumult, rift-bent regard revolving to check on you, Cas bristles; a protective gleam of blue ignites in his irises when he sees Lucifer’s coarse clasp. Unhesitating to sacrifice himself in your defense, he wedges a shielding arm into the sliver of space separating you and flicks the angel blade into his inflexible fist. “Let. Her. Go,” he growls, cadence clipped, through the set of his jaw. Shoulders squaring, wings bereft of their full-feathered glory – somehow more inimitable in menace given the scarcity of plumes and jagged scars illustrating the seraph’s tenacity for surviving defeat to rise again and again – swish up and out, shadowing out the sun-filtered sky behind in a starkly silhouetted show of warning.

Brown crusts of leaves churn in a tornadic uprising around you, giving the distinct impression of a gale wind driving downward from above and betraying the divine origin of the upheaval in the electric tingle charging the air.

Not wanting to risk spoiling his own escape and father-son reunion with a confrontation over an inconsequential human, Lucifer’s grasp loosens; palm lifting, the digits splay in appeasement and move to scratch through his hay-hued hair as though nothing untoward happened. “Just sayin,’ it’d be a real shame to stumble this close to safety.” It’s uncertain whether he’s referring to you, or administering the advice aloud to himself; he shrugs, clears his nose with a disinterested sniff, and shoves the offending deeper into the dirty blond tufts.

Castiel’s wings shudder, reluctantly rumple and withdraw, skeptical in their rustling retreat of the devil’s duplicity.

You touch trembling fingers to your angel’s balled fist, tender trace of the tips over his knuckles and tucking of them into the tractable palm assuring him you’re okay.

“Cas, Ketch – show ‘em how it’s done!” The urgency deepening Dean’s directive to demonstrate the leap between worlds for the others to follow leaves no time for further speculation or contests of celestial machismo.

Locking his hand fast around your wrist, Cas leads you toward the wavering bolt of energy, nudging you ahead by the waist as you near.

“Okay then, catch you two on the other side.” Lucifer issues a promissory salute and inserts himself into the horde of apocalypse deportees – patience isn’t a virtue in his vocabulary, but sometimes a cat must wait for the opportune moment to pounce on an unwitting mouse.

The last either of you sees of his sinister smirk before being engulfed in the rift’s golden glow, Sam halts him mid-stride with the butt of a rifle, and whatever words the Winchester utters blunt the edges of his engraved smugness.

* * * * *

The celebratory atmosphere of the bunker thrills with conversation, clinking of liquor laden glassware, and the soft metal pop and fizz of beer bottles opened. Arms looped round his waist, you snuggle the seraph listening to Dean relate the detail of Gabriel’s dauntless and unselfish change of heart to go tête-à-tête with Michael in a bid to buy time. Cas rests a palm over your shoulder, fingertips absent-mindedly stretched in seeking out the exposed rim of a rose-flushed spot near your collarbone, skin gilded with a mark of passion he place there hours ago and a world away.

Sam approaches, thick amber whiskey sloshing in his glass as he scales the steps.

Tongue dryly swiping over your teeth, you’re reminded it’s been over a day since you properly ate or drank anything substantial. You sneak a caress beneath Cas’ suit coat, tickling his torso through the white cotton of his dress shirt to garner his attention. Peering up into his inquiring blues, you ask, “Babe, you want a beer?”

The term of endearment curls up the pouting corners of his pink mouth in fondness, brightening the solemnity veiling his aspect as he processes the loss of Gabe. He wags his chin to indicate no, missing the warmth of your body as he watches you wander into the map room where the beverages sit by the case upon the table.

Once you’re beyond earshot, he fetters his focus to Dean. What he’s longing for is good news, not bad. “And what about Lucifer?” Ever since the bus, he’s been unable to shake the nagging apprehension founded in the archangel’s sudden silence in response to your rebuke. When the devil isn’t deluging the air with snake-tongued syllables, he’s seething, and that kind of meditative thinking means one thing – trouble. He felt immense relief to witness the rift close without Lucifer reentering this world, yet doubt lingers, darkening the lightness of manifest victory.

“Sam handled it,” Dean indicates his brother with a nod.

Cas looks to Sam for confirmation, searches his fatigue-pallid and unsmiling face for decidedly absent tell-tale signs of a long-awaited cathartic triumph.

The younger Winchester’s conflict-infused hazels briefly meet the heavenly blue and break off with a nebulous bob of the head to stare into the whisky.

The angel determines the silence to mean that whatever ultimately happened remains unknown because when Sam stepped through the rift, Lucifer was left alive. Why – when they had the chance to kill him after he was wounded by Michael – is beyond the Cas’ comprehension. His mouth molds to form the word what, as in, ‘What happened?!’ Less question, more exclamation.

“And hell, buddy,” –Dean claps his friend on the back, so hard Cas shuffles his weight foot to foot to reset his wobbling knees– “you came through with a personal win, too. You got the girl!” The hunter means it, he’s happy for him; he’s also distracting from Sam’s palpable distress by keeping the angel from probing for a deeper explanation.

Your laugh – easy and relaxed, unburdened and free of fear – as you exchange a few words with one of the refugees, the young woman, Maggie, they travelled through the vampire infested tunnels with, strikes Cas’ perception through Dean’s posturing for positivity. Finding you across the room, the foreboding flees from his features to mirror your merriment when you sense the heat of his gaze and flash him a smile.

Dean’s right, he realizes – he does have you; the angel simply isn’t used to trusting anything in life save the eventuality of failure. Exhaling his unease in a purgative sigh, he breathes in the bolstering recognition of the good winding her way through the throng of people toward him as Bobby calls for a speech, thanking Sam and Dean, and welcoming them to the family as Cas welcomes you into his arms, pressing you to his vessel’s steadily drumming heart.

Next: Ch. 24 - Heaven is a Place on Earth

#castiel x you #castiel x reader #castiel reader insert #spn x reader #castielxreader #castielxyou #you x castiel #reader x castiel #cas x reader #cas x you #castiel fanfic #castiel fanfiction #castiel x au!reader #spn fanfic #cricket writes cas

[dontmesswithnerdangels]

Character Sheet

repost, don’t reblog !

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

FULL NAME. Castiel (Angel of Thursday) NICKNAME. Cas, Cassie, Feathers, Clarence, Angel, giraffe, about a million others, depending on who you ask. GENDER. Technically, Cas is an angel and therefore genderless. He currently resides in a male vessel and identifies mostly as male out of familiarity and to make things easier on the humans around him. (Uses he/him pronouns, but I doubt he’d be too offended any which way.) HEIGHT. 5′11′’ AGE. Very, very old, but nonetheless fairly young for an angel ZODIAC. I'm not entirely sure how this applies to angels. Castiel does not know his own birthday. (Though it was on a Thursday, obviously.) It was before such things were celebrated, and angels have never participated in birthday celebrations anyway.  SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English, Enochian, a wide variety of others (probably almost all human languages, including several very ancient ones; he’s been around a long time.)

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 ! (I’m mostly actually describing his vessel here, since Cas’s vessel has since become sort of his true earthly form after multiple reincarnations and stretches of time as a human- Jimmy has been in Heaven for a while now.)

HAIR COLOR. Dark brown EYE COLOR. Blue SKIN TONE. White, but somewhat tanned BODY TYPE. Pretty average, somewhat muscular VOICE. Deep, gravelly, serious. However, his “true voice” (as an angel) is extremely high-pitched and screechy, as is characteristic of all angels. Too high for humans to take in without severe pain. DOMINANT HAND. Right POSTURE. Very good. Not quite as stiff and awkward as some of the other angels now that he’s gotten more human.  SCARS. Humans can’t see them, (just shadows of them) but his wings are a real piece of work at this point. Scarred everywhere, messy, missing feathers, really damaged. TATTOOS. Enochian on his ribs making angels unable to track him through normal means.  BIRTHMARKS. None MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). Blue eyes, dark hair, trenchcoat and blue tie, black wings

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Heaven HOMETOWN. Heaven SIBLINGS. All the angels PARENTS. God 

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION. Soldier/Garrison Captain/Unofficial Guardian Angel/God/Gas Station Worker CURRENT RESIDENCE. Lebanon, Kansas  CLOSE FRIENDS. Dean, Sam, various others depending on the timeline (Jack, Bobby, Charlie, Gabriel, Kevin, etc.)  RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Single FINANCIAL STATUS.  Angels don’t have money- when human, extremely poor  DRIVER’S LICENSE. I think he must have a fake one- courtesy of Dean, I’m sure CRIMINAL RECORD. He’s in a whole lot of trouble with Heaven for SOOOOO many reasons VICES. pride, unhealthy food, rebellion, power, self-damning thoughts/behavior, alcohol (on rare occasions)

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. pansexual PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch  PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch (the mun does prefer playing sub though, to be 100% honest) LIBIDO.  Cas isn’t normally super sexual, tbh. Angels weren’t exactly made for that. However, Cas isn’t your everyday angel, and he may be super into it if it’s with someone he has a particular emotional connection with. (He does like new things, and really likes the emotional intimacy and seeing his partners excited.) He developed more of a sex drive after being human for a while. TURN ON’S. emotional intimacy/confidence/touching his wings!!!!/rough play/but also gentle tenderness/praise (he’s so sick of not being good enough, literally, this will melt him)/teasing/roleplay/power dynamics TURN OFF’S. emotionless hook-ups/being asked to hurt others in any way (he does not trust himself enough)/any severe pain to his wings/toilet stuff  LOVE LANGUAGE. Acts of service RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. Cas seldom gets into relationships and takes them very seriously. He cares deeply about the people he loves and would go to the ends of the earth for them, and would quite literally die for them. He tends to be a little insecure about initiating things because he doesn’t have exceptional social skills and is never quite sure when/if he is wanted. Because of his amassed mess of insecurities, any kindness he is shown is taken quickly to heart, as is any demonstration of hatred or cruelty. Cas can be the most devoted lover out there, but if you upset him, he’s likely to withdraw substantially, potentially disappearing for long periods of time after a fight, or going totally silent. He doesn’t always realize that humans like things to be stated out loud either- the “I love you” may be strongly implied, until he is sure it is welcome. If his partner expects him to pursue a relationship in the human sense, said partner may have to explain certain customs and the way a relationship technically works.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. Angel with a Shotgun- The Cab HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Spending time in nature, reading, people-watching LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. Mainly left (though technically everyone is both-brained, the psych major mun feels obligated to mention. But I catch your drift.) PHOBIAS. Losing control of himself, abandonment, failure SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. Since screwing up MAJORLY several times, Castiel’s self-confidence has plummeted. He can fake confidence fairly well, and will use that in dealing with other angels, or any enemies. However, he has been tricked and failed and stumbled too many times, and has thus become very afraid of screwing up and failing the ones he loves again.  VULNERABILITIES.  Love, abandonment, rejection, emotion, morality, naivety

Tagged by: Crowley! (@thekingsparty) Thank you~

Tagging: I have a few of these to do, so whoever wants to! If I’m following you and/or writing with you, I’d love to hear about your characters. :)

#cas #headcanons #about cas #spn #castiel rp #spn rp #tagged

[hannahindie]

Intertwined

Characters: Cas x Reader Word Count: 2,513 Warnings: Fluff, Cas being the sweetest thing in the world, and all the smut. Smuuuuut smut, smutty smut. Smut. If you’re wondering what that means, it means if you’re under 18, you best just move right on along. Nothing to see here. A/N: This is my first fic for Smut Appreciation Day 2018. I haven’t smutted this much ever. Between this and the next two installments chock full of appreciation..well, I don’t know. You can thank @escabell for the song inspiration: Intertwined by Dodie. The song is beautiful, and the video in the link is...well, it’s really weird, but awesome in its own right.

Thanks go to my twinny @pinknerdpanda and my dear sweet @amanda-teaches for beta’ing this, and the rest of the smut. It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it. Love you!

As always, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know!

Cas has seen many wondrous things in the millenia he has existed. He’s seen men rise from the ashes and dust, watched great civilizations built with magnificent fanfare only to collapse into rubble. He has fought in battles both great and small, seen nations fight together and against each other. He has seen humans grow, and watched them explore, even finding their way to the sky.

He has watched all of this with a kind of awe, a benign curiosity, but nothing, nothing, will compare to watching her sleep.

The light from the rising sun shines through the thin curtains and her skin practically glistens as it catches the minuscule hairs on her arm. He thanks his father for the ability to see such detail, things that the human eye could never perceive, because he wishes they could see her the way he does.

She is warm against him, her feet tangled with his and her hair spread across his chest, and he can see a hundred different shades in the soft strands. There are times he wishes he could also sleep, but, then, in these moments...there was not enough time in the day to fully appreciate every curve, every freckle and scar. His fingers brush along her bare shoulder, barely gliding over her, and he watches as small bumps form, following his touch along her arm.

The sheet has fallen away and is pooled around her waist, exposing the full slope of her breast pressed against him, her chest rising and falling in even breaths as she sleeps. It is mesmerizing, and he isn't sure how long he has been lying there, watching the simple movement. His hand wanders down her arm, to her elbow and back up, then slips over to her breast, his thumb tracing along the pebbled flesh as he goes in gentle circles.

She buries her face closer to his chest, nuzzling against him as she shifts, and he finds a comfort in the movement. Though he normally isn't one to seek out safety in another being, he has found it in her, a shelter from heaven and hell and everything in between. He feels an ache in his chest as he stares down at her, how her long lashes cast shadows on her cheek, and he leans down and gives her a gentle kiss, his lips brushing her eyelid so carefully he almost doesn't touch her.

Her eyes flutter open and she looks up at him sleepily and smiles, “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“What time is it?”

“Just past sunrise.”

“Mmm…” she stretches, rolling over as she arches her back and stretches her arms and legs out. He feasts on the sight, refraining from touching her until he knows she wants him to. Her eyes are shut but she smiles, a small one that turns up the corner of her mouth. “You're staring at me.”  

He smiles back, “Yes, I am.”

She opens one eye and looks at him, her arms over her head, “Is there a reason you're staring at me?”

He rolls over so that he's holding himself above her, hands on either side of her head, but still not touching. “It is my duty to admire the beautiful things my father created.”

She laughs, and he thinks the sound is even more beautiful than the heavenly host. “Smooth, Wings, very smooth.” She grabs his hips and pulls him flush with her, giving him a coy smile. “I think that maybe you have another reason.”

He leans down and kisses along her neck, sweeping her hair out of his way as he moves down and across her collar bone, “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Mmhmm…sure. So last night doesn't have anything to do with it?”

He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing, “I am not sure I understand.”

She arches her back, pushing against him and biting her lip when she feels him against her. “You mean after months of us dancing around this, you're not wanting more?”

“I would be lying if I said I was not anxious for you to wake.” He kisses her, a gentle brush of his lips against hers. “I have waited my entire existence for something. Since I discovered my own free will, watched humans love each other with reckless abandon, I ached to understand why. And then I met you, and the things that I questioned, the things that did not make sense, suddenly did. If I could lay here, intertwined with you, for the rest of our days, I would accept that fate in an instant.” He kisses her again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping along her bottom lip and he smiles against her, “I could write novels about how sweet you taste. But, since we do not have eternity to lay here, I think I am going to make the most of it.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

His eyes lock with hers and, for a moment, he realizes what it must feel like to be left breathless. “I am going to savor every moment.” He pulls the sheet away from her slowly, letting it drift in soft waves at the foot of the bed, then leans back on his haunches and tilts his head as he stares at her.

“What?”

He grasps her ankles and slides his hands up over her calves, past her thighs, then stops at her hips, his thumbs creating dimples in the soft flesh. He looks up at her, his eyes traveling slowly to meet her gaze, and lets the feeling wash over him; what he realizes is love. He has known a variation of this feeling, recently associating it with how he feels for Dean and Sam, but this is different. This is even more consuming, a fierce, nearly overwhelming need to protect her over everything else, regardless of the consequences.

“I love you.” He whispers it, not positive that she even heard him. He isn't sure if it's too soon, if he has made a mistake in blurting it out. He begins to worry when she just looks at him, wide eyed and silent.

“I love you, too,” she says with a kind of wonder as her eyes search his. He moves up her body, his hands leaving her hips and traveling up her sides and to her breasts. She sighs when he cradles them, gently squeezing before lowering his head and drawing one of her stiff nipples into his mouth.

He swirls his tongue, sucking gently, and he feels her fingers bury in his hair, grasping as she moans quietly at the motion. “Cas…”

He switches sides, kneading her breast gently as he suckles the other one, nipping and tracing his tongue around the pebbled peak. He is trying to take his time, but the sinful sounds coming from her mouth are making it difficult. He releases her with a quiet pop, then moves downward, trailing kisses down the valley between her breasts, down her stomach, and planting small ones on her hips, nipping gently at the soft skin and leaving tiny bruises.

“Cas, please,” she mewls, wiggling her hips in an effort to find some kind of friction.

“I said I intend to savor every moment. Which means I will be taking my time.”

He spreads her legs, grabbing behind her knees so that he can hook them over his shoulders as he lowers himself further. He kisses the insides of her thighs, working his way closer and closer to her mound. Her hips buck up again and he pushes her back down, gripping her tightly as his mouth brushes over her. “We went very quickly last night.” He licks a slow, steady stripe along her folds, using the tip of his tongue to just barely part her entrance before swirling it around her clit. He closes his eyes as he relishes the sweetness of her, her arousal like honey dripping onto his tongue. “I want to learn every part of you, find what gives you the most pleasure.” His tongue moves back down, pushing further inside her as he moves back and forth. He curls his tongue as he pulls out, flicking it against her clit once, twice, three times, before slipping a long digit inside of her.

She groans, gripping the sheets as she tries to control herself. “That’s perfect, don't stop…” she trails off as he adds a second finger and curls them towards himself.

“Tell me what to do, Y/N.” He adds his tongue to his thrusting fingers, sucking her clit between his full lips, flicking it with his tongue.

“Do whatever you want, anything, just do something. Please Cas…”

He pulls away from her, and she whimpers, disappointed in the sudden emptiness she feels. That soon disappears when he slips between her open legs, barely pressing his cock against her entrance. He puts his hands on either side of her head, his lips next to her ear.

“Say my full name.”

“Mmmm...what?”

“I want you to say my full name. Say it.” He pushes a little harder into her and she gasps.

“Castiel…”

He slips inch by tortuous inch, “Say it louder.” He pushes in suddenly and she goes from gripping the sheets to digging her nails into his back.

“Castiel!” she cries out and he stills, letting her adjust to him. It is nearly impossible for him to not just lose control, but he forces himself to move slowly. He pulls out then pushes back in, methodical movements specifically to test what makes her moan, what makes her cry out for more. “Please, move,” she asks with a strangled moan. “I need you to move.”

He does as she asks, moving faster as he reaches down to circle her clit with his thumb. The room is silent aside from breathy moans and skin hitting skin. He can feel her begin to clench around him, and he drops his forehead against hers, “Y/N…”

“Flip me over,” she whispers, her hand against his cheek. “I want...I want you to fuck me from behind.”

He leans into her, then turns his head and kisses her palm. He pulls out, his cock aching to be back inside of her, and flips her over onto her stomach. She lays flat, her arms above her head as she waits for his next move. He pulls her hair away from the back of her neck and moves it over her shoulder, exposing her back. He leans forward and kisses just under her hairline, moving down her spine.

She gives a happy sigh, “That feels good.”

Cas flattens his palms against her back, his thumbs close to the middle, then moves outwards, smoothing them out towards her shoulders before moving back in. He moves down, trailing his hands along as he goes. He wants to feel all of her, wants to memorize what her skin feels like against his, what she tastes like, where every freckle and scar are. His hands move to her hips, digging in as he lifts her ass up and he sits up on his knees.

He lines up with her entrance, then slowly sinks in, “You feel very good.”

She moans and laughs at the same time, “So do you.” Her head drops to the mattress, “So, so good.”

He leans over her, trailing kisses down her back as he moves, dragging along her sensitive walls and drawing out breathy moans as he picks up speed.

He can feel her beginning to flutter around him, and he finally loses control, slamming into her over and over again, practically growling with every thrust.

“Cas, I'm going to come,” she pants out, meeting his thrusts with her own desperate movements.

“Castiel...and you are not going to come just yet. I want us to come together...I want to see your face when it happens.” He pulls out and she wants to weep she is so close. He rolls over onto his back, shifting her so that she is straddling him. Her dripping cunt is resting on his shaft, and she moves up and down it, sliding along it as she grasps her breasts.

“You want me to ride you, Castiel?” He nods, his eyes heavy as he watches her move. She bites her lip, pinching her nipple as she fondles herself, and she can feel his hardness twitching against her, “Do you want to feel how my walls clench around you when I come?”

“Yes, more than anything.”

She reaches down and grasps his cock, hot and straining in her hand, then slowly lowers herself onto it. She hisses at the familiar burn as he slowly disappears inside of her, then begins to bounce up and down, leaning back on her palms as she swirls her hips.

Cas is in awe as he watches her move, her breasts bouncing with each movement, the light sheen of sweat glistening in the morning light, the way her head falls back, her eyes shut and lips parted ever so slightly.

“Cas, I’m so close, please…”

“Not yet. Together, Y/N.”

She opens her eyes and smiles at him wickedly. Without breaking eye contact, she balances herself on one hand, and repositions her free one right above his cock. As she slides up and down, she wraps her hand around him and squeezes tightly, fucking him with her hand and her cunt. Cas’ head tilts back and he swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Look at me, Castiel.”

He looks at her again, and groans when he sees her hand shift from him to her clit, rubbing and swirling around her sensitive bundle of nerves. Her movement spreads her open more, and the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her, the accompanying wet thrusts are too much.

“I am very close, Y/N. So close…” He can feel her tighten around him as her fingers and his dick work her closer to the edge.

She lets out a strangled cry, and her climax pulls Cas along with her. He growls out her name, gripping her hips so tightly as he thrusts into her that he is sure there will be bruises the next day. She collapses on top of him, her head to his chest as he grows soft inside of her. He wraps his arms around her then slowly rolls her off of him. She curls up into his side, nuzzling him.

“Did you learn what you wanted to learn?”

Cas nods, brushing her hair from her sweaty forehead, “I believe I did learn a lot, though I am always ready to further my...education.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, lingering as he tries to memorize everything about this moment.

“That's good.” She yawns, and drapes her arm over his waist, “I vote we stay in bed all day.”

Cas smiles, leaning his head back on his pillow, “I think that is a very good idea.” She quickly falls asleep again, and Cas keeps a silent watch over her as she dreams.

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[ezilyamuzed]

Everyone Needs A Sam - Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

Summary: Two Sam’s in the Winchester family is better than one. Reader is Named Sam, or sometimes called Red, a nicknamed given by Dean.

Warnings: Language. Mentions of Menstruation (you know because some people get grossed out). It gets a little smutty here guys...talk of masturbation! 

 A/N: So writing this was realllllllyyyy hard. I don’t know what I did to myself with coming up with this, but it was a major challenge that hopefully I overcame?

As always comments and feedback are welcomed (GIVE ME LOVE). Any errors are completely my own because I am human. If you want a tag in this or anything pop into the ASK box. Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

“I’m not Sam!” Dean yelled only to hear to Samantha’s frantic voice escaping his lips to his ears.

“What are you…” Charlie began to ask in confusion before hearing the loud bone chilling scream of a man in the room next door. Dean and Sam’s room. They both ran out in a sprint towards the chaos unraveling.

 _________________________________________________________

His lips worked their way over your body, tenderly and slow. You could feel his hot warm breath hitch while you started to ache at the slightest touch of his calloused hands pulling you into him. All logical and reasoning draining from you down to your core as you begged for more. You wanted him. You needed him.

Still within a dream, you were shifting around on the firm mattress in reality as it played out in your thoughts. Your legs rubbing together while shaking at the thought of him taking you with heat and passion in his eyes. Those green eyes. Turning to your side, you could feel something growing hard between your legs, making you move even more causing you to squeeze the hard member with your legs, only to find a surge of pain now snapping you awake.

“Fuck!” you seethed between your teeth, only to look down and see that what you had felt within your dreams was standing proudly under the boxer briefs covering your torso. “AHHHHHH!!!!”

Sam jumped right out of a dead sleep, frantic and confused to what was going on around him.

“I HAVE A DICK!” you cried while leaping out of the bed him a frenzy.

“Dean. What?” Sam laughed before the hotel room door burst open displaying a frightened Charlie panting, along with your face on your body next to her staring with blown open eyes.

“THAT’S NOT ME! KILL IT!” you pointed angrily at the doppelgänger moving itself more into the room.

“Red?” it cried, making you step back in bafflement.

“Dean?” you sobbed.

“What the hell is going on here?” Sam thundered, bringing your attention back to him.

“I’m Sam,” you cried. “I’m not Dean.”

“I am Dean,” you heard the sound your voice cry out.

“Wait, wait. You two switched bodies?” Charlie blurted in shock.

“What is going on?” you trembled while moving your hands to feel the face you were stuck in. The scruff was itchy and scratched into the palms making you startled, while also feeling the weight between your legs still stand firm. “AND WHY WON’T THIS GO DOWN?!”

“That’s called morning wood there, Red,” Dean laughed. It was weird hearing your voice coming out and hearing it with someone else’s ears as you stood there thoroughly now within a panic attack. “You must have had some interesting dreams. You gotta clean out the pipes.”

You shot a hard look to him, only to see the sly smile rising across his face, your face. “Sam, this happened to you before. Fix this!”

“I um,” Sam anxiously muttered. “I don’t remember how.”

“What!” Dean and you both yelled simultaneously.

“Look guys, we will figure this all out,” Charlie exclaimed, trying to calm down the room. You watched as Dean now scurried to the bathroom doors.

“What do you think you are doing?” you yelled again.

“I have to pee like fucking race horse,” he answered while doing a little dance.

“YOU WILL NOT!”

“Look, Red, if you want a mess or bladder infection later, than whatever. You do that when you are in your own body. I’m going pee,” he snapped while shutting the door to the bathroom behind him.

“FUCK! You better wipe front to back!” you commanded towards the wooden door. “Sam. Charlie. We need changed back now!”

“On it,” Charlie quipped while turning and exiting out of the room in a hurry.

“Yeah, on it,” Sam added while gathering up bits of clothing and following right behind her out the door.

“You better not be playing around in there,” you growled towards Dean still behind the bathroom door.

Dean being inside of you like this, was not how you imagined it. A wave of envy and disappointment ran over you, as you realized that while he was feeling you, it was not really you. Why did this happen to you? Who could have done this? The list of usual suspects coursed through your mind as you watch the bathroom door open moments after the distinct sound of a toilet being flushed.

“That was messy and interesting,” Dean joked while moving to sit on the unmade bed.

“Don’t be enjoying this,” you grumbled. “What the hell did you do last night after I left? You must have pissed someone else off besides me.”

Watching him shrug up your shoulders and lean back, he let out an audible sigh. “We had maybe two more drinks and came back here. I passed out as soon as I hit the bed. What did you do?”

“I came straight back to my room,” you answered in reply. The words of the stranger last night now coming to the forefront of your mind. “Oh crap. A women, in the parking lot said something about men being pigs and how it would be nice if they could see what it what is was like.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“No,” you shook your head. “Dean, we need Cas.”

He let out a heavy sigh before squeezing his eyes shut to pray, while Sam and Charlie now returned through the door.

“Breaker. Breaker-1-9. Cas get your feathery ass down here. Shit has it the fan.”

The sound of the whoosh of wings entered the room as Castiel appeared before you. He furrowed his face in confusion while looking towards your face, Dean’s face.

“Sam has a penis,” he stated in bewilderment. “Dean has a vagina.”

“YUP!” Sam grinned, finding amusement that he was not, for once, the brunt of the Sam joke that could be often found in Cas’ words.

“Cas, dude. Change us back,” Dean pleaded.

“This is a powerful spell,” Cas replied calmly. “It may take a few hours to gather up the essential materials.

“Yeah, well for Dean’s sake you have about 2 days or Aunt Flow is going to give him a rude awakening,” you commented while leaning up against the wooden dresser in the corner, a small grin planting itself on your lips as the silver lining to not being a girl for once raised in your mind.

“Twenty one hours, to be exact,” Castiel corrected.

“Wait. WHAT!” Dean yelled while jumping up from his seat. “FIX THIS NOW!”

“There was a women at the bar last night. Outside in the parking lot. I think she did this,” you disclosed.

“We will find out who that was. Get the surveillance tapes while Cas gets what he needs to switch you back,” Charlie stated while grabbing Sam’s arm. “Don’t worry Dean. We will change you back.”

“Oh you could wait a while,” you laughed. “It would be nice not to feel the cramping, the bloating, and misery for once.”

Dean stared at you petrified with fear as you laughed while shaking your head. Sam, Charlie, and Cas all left quickly, leaving you now to literally sit with yourself in a hotel room.

“Don’t worry, they will come through,” you reassured him, seeing his breath becoming harsher. A whiff of alcohol, mixed with man farts, grease, and sweat hit your nose. You raised an arm, and took in a deep breath. “Dude you stink. What they hell did you do last night?”

“Got drunk after being yelled at for no reason!” he cried with forceful emotion.

“Touché.”

“Why did you even do that? You know I don’t think about you like that. You are amazing and…and...and why the hell do I want to start crying?” he sobbed.

A quick chuckle rolled through you as it dawned on you that while Dean’s thoughts remained intact with the body switch, he was now feeling the hormones coursing through. You moved towards him and wrapped him in an embrace. Your body felt so small compared to his large arms you were controlling, but you fit snuggly. Almost perfectly together.

“That is hormones, Dean. They are a bitch.”

“Why do I all of the sudden want ice cream, potato chips, and something with Channing Tatum in it?”

Hysterical laughter rumbled through you while he buried his face deep into you. You worked your hands through your long Y/H/C hair flowing around him, while the tears melted unto your shirt. He pulled back with a disgusted look.

“God I do smell awful!”

“Told ya,” you smiled.

“Go take a shower!”

“Um, what?” you questioned in surprise. Showering the stink off was one thing, but showering the stink off of someone else’s naked body that you had just so happened to have dreamt about touching your skin in a heat of passion was not something you thought you would be doing. You felt a slight twitch from the still semi-hard appendage between your legs.

“Shower, now. I don’t want to smell that if we are stuck like this for a while. Just pretend it’s someone else if you need to,” he said until he felt the stiffness hitting his leg. “Better make that a cold shower.”

You hesitated while looking into his eyes, your Y/E/C eyes telling you to go ahead with it. You mumbled fine, while you made your way to the brightly tiled room. Turning on the water, you reluctantly waited outside the curtains standing in front of the mirror gliding your hands over the rough features staring back at you that was all Dean. The crinkles in the corners of his eyes. The little scar on his chin. You pulled the dark blue shirt that he had worn over your head and basked in the glory of the rippling muscles that were hidden underneath. Taking a deep breath, you knew the moment of truth was now inevitable. You were going to see Dean’s cock- up close, and VERY personal. Sliding the boxers down in a quick motion, you kicked them off to the side before you allowed your gaze to shift downwards. There it was. Long, round, and hard with its pink tip staring straight towards the heavens that only grew more as you could feel the excitement from your thoughts running down you. It was all more than you had even imagined. 

Stepping into the shower you felt the tepid water pound against your aching muscles as you reached for the soap. Working your way from to top to bottom, ignoring the middle for now you tried to think of anything but what you were doing. What makes the best apple pie? The fresh, juicy, warm and moist…Nope, never mind that won’t work. Um, Wendigo’s. Yeah, Wendigo’s would do the trick with their grotesque features. Last time you had seen one, Dean had pushed you back with his strong arms, caging you away from the danger that lurked nearby. It had given you a rush of excitement staring into his intensely focused green eyes as you worked hard to calm your breathing from being found. SHIT! That’s what you had been dreaming about last night, how you longed for him to just take you right there even in the face of danger. You hadn’t thought of him in that way until then, but the heat of the moment had controlled your senses.

You bit your lip while now left with the task of cleaning the area of Dean that consumed all your dirty thoughts. The suds of the soap filled your hands as you gently touched the throbbing member, instantly hitching your breath. Slowly and carefully you worked your way around it, allowing the soap and water to do their jobs. Your hands moved a little faster as you felt electricity consuming you in pleasure. You wanted it, you wanted to feel it. Pumping the calloused hands now up and down the shaft you could feel your toes curling as you muffled out a groan. The pulse moving swiftly through had startled you as you now lost your balance on the slippery floor, causing you to fall back while a hot stream came spurting out.

Dean must have heard the booming and loud vibrations of a body hitting the floor, as he pushed the door open in a frantic, looking down at you, laying naked below him.

“I…I was just cleaning it and it went off,” you cried in embarrassment, while trying to cover yourself up.

He laughed in hysteria to your comment, while kneeling down to help you up, making sure you were okay in the process. You pulled the discarded clothes that were around you close to your front while reaching for his hand.

“You know I have seen that all before, right? I mean it’s not like you have any surprises for me underneath there.”

“Not on me you haven’t!” you sneered while he struggled to lift you up.

“Jesus Red, you are heavy.”

“Yea, well I kind of gained an extra 60 pounds overnight,” you sarcastically retorted now standing fully naked in front of him. You felt the heat rise to your face as the vision of him seeing your real body in this state appeared in your thoughts.

“Let’s get you dressed and put that thing away,” he grinned while leading you out to the main room. He tossed you a pair of boxer briefs, a plain white t-shirt and worn out jeans that you had often appreciated how perfectly they framed his derriere when he wore them. You put them on, one by one, smiling at the realization of how comfy they were while propping yourself on the bed. The gurgling of your hungry stomach echoed through the room, just moments before you heard a similar one coming from Dean’s.

“We need food,” you informed while holding your hand to your midriff.

“Yup. Pizza, sound good. Oh and maybe some of those peanut butter pretzel thingies you always get. Oh, and…”

“Dean, you are starting to sound like a pregnant chick,” you snickered.

“Yeah, well excuse me if this is all a bit overwhelming,” he huffed. “Let’s go to the diner across the street and get something. I’ll go jump in the shower real quick.”

“Excuse me?” you snapped up from your spot. “You are not taking a shower in my body.”

“Well if you want me to stink up the place and ruin everyone’s breakfast then fine, whatever lets go. You don’t exactly smell like roses yourself in the morning.”

You grunted lowly while waving him off. “Fine. You have two minutes and I’m dragging you out. You better not be enjoying this.”

“Oh, trust me Red, I’m not,” he said while shutting the door behind him.

You nervously waited on the bed as you heard the water rushing and hitting the floor on the other side. What was he going to think when he saw you? Fully saw you. True sometimes your clothing left little to the imagination, but this was different. You felt so insecure at what he must be thinking and doing, as you sat pondering all the what ifs. He didn’t take long as you heard the water finally turning off. Either he really didn’t want to see and touch your body, or he was trying to just be as swift as you had requested. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open along with the front door in unison shifted your focus back and forth between.

“Hey I need my…” Sam stopped dead in his tracks as he looked to the bathroom door. There standing dripping wet was your body, completely nude in front of him.

“Jesus Dean!” you yelled while rushing to cover him up with a blanket. “Ever hear of a towel?”

“Whoa!” Charlie exclaimed, stunned at the glimpse she had just seen while trailing behind Sam.

“Get clothes on Dean!”

“I’m trying to,” he snapped back while moving to his duffel.

“Here, I’ll get you some of Red’s clothes,” Sam stammered while pushing his way back out.

“Well…now that everyone has seen Sam naked, maybe we can get back to work,” Charlie winked at you while Dean scoffed and went back into the bathroom.

“Seriously?” you groaned. “Really Charlie?”

“Hey, it’s not their faults you are stunning. Everyone seems to want a little bit of a Sam,” she laughed.

You rolled your eyes as Sam came swiftly back in, casting his gaze down to the floor in embarrassment. He handed you your bag before quickly turning on his heels back out. Charlie grinned again to you while she followed him out. She knew something more than you did, but what was it?

“Dean. We are alone,” you called out while taking out some of your more comfy articles of clothing from your bag. He peaked out the door before coming out fully, clutching tightly to the blanket wrapped around him.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered while looking at the clothes you had picked out for him.

You shrugged your shoulders while seating yourself down on the bed. “It’s whatever. I mean, I live with you guys. You all were bound to see me naked at some point, even if it was accidental. I guess it’s a bit of relief that I didn’t have to see the stunned faces staring back at me.”

“Yeah, that was…I didn’t like that,” he rasped. “I felt so…vulnerable.”

“Welcome to the world of women,” you laughed.

“Is that how it always is?”

“Shame, embarrassment…pick an adjective,” you replied. “I mean, sometimes there are brief moments where it all disappears when you stare into the eyes of the right person. The one whom you want to see you fully.”

“I think I know what you mean,” he said looking up through the long eyelashes surrounding his gaze.

“Anyways,” you shifted away. “I’m sure with all of your experience of taking off girls clothes, you know how to put them on as well?”

“I can manage,” he giggled while picking up the pair of pink panties that you had opted were the best for everyday wear. “Um…panties? Really? Can’t I just go commando?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to in those jeans. Not with all the craziness circulating through you right now,” you replied. “You might…um, just trust me. Plus I happen to know for a fact that you’ve done this before, and liked it.”

He gave you a look of shock, confusion, mixed with embarrassment while you burst into laughter. “Dude, you disclose way too much personal stuff when you drink.”

You turned away while he got dressed, although it was your own naked body in front of you. But still, it wasn’t just the outside you would be looking at. It would be Dean, trying to carefully cover you up while proceeding like a gentlemen in this more than fucked up situation.

“All done,” he stated. “Why does everything feel so tight?”

“The bloating has begun,” you breathed. “They better hurry up.”

________________________________________________________

“So Sam…what is going on in that large mind of yours?” Charlie asked inquisitively, cocking up an eyebrow to him while they drove along the roadway in Baby towards the address they had pulled from a license plate that the witch had been standing next to while the surveillance camera recorded her. A crappy lead, but at least it was something.

“Nothing,” he lied. “Just, let’s find this witch and stop her before anything else happens.

Everything that was going on around him was making Sam sick to his stomach. His brother was trapped inside Samantha’s body. The same girl that he had started to evolve feelings for that were beyond just friends. Now when he looked at her, he could only see his brother staring back. When he moved to look at his brother’s face, he realized that nothing would ever be quite the same between all of them again. The notion especially true when he saw her naked body in front of him, growing in embarrassment over the situation. That wasn't fully her though, no that image would now before forever associated with Dean.

 The witch had chosen them to switch for a reason, which was probably the same reason why Samantha often particularly harped on Dean that he had been trying so desperately to ignore. She might actually have feeling for him. They might actually be right for each other.

“We will find her,” Charlie spoke up, shaking Sam out of his thoughts. “Then you can go back to secretly pinning after Red.”

“Charlie,” he sighed. “While I hate admitting this, I might not be the guy for her.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out his cellphone to flip to the picture he had taken the morning before. Dean and Samantha, cuddled up together in a blissful slumber. He handed it over to Charlie as she focused on the picture.

“This might not mean anything Sam,” she softly replied.

“Look, those are two of the few people that I have in this world that I would do anything for. Whatever happens after this, well, maybe it was just meant to be,” he firmly stated.

“You’re a good man Sam.”

 Bitch, Gimmie (You asked for it):  @waywardbaby @snffbeebee @curly-haired-disaster @waywardnerd67 @dean-winchesters-bacon @jaylarkson @ladywinchester1967 @hobby27 @wildefire

#everyone needs a sam #sam winchester #dean winchester #charlie bradbury #Dean x Sam X reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #fan fic #spn fanfic #Castiel #this is really random and crazy #what am i even doing

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 18 - The Good Soldier

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader, AU!CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 1545

Summary: Conflicted and captivated by the reader’s affectionate attachment to Cas, sympathy stirred in affront to duty, AU!Castiel strives simply to be a good soldier.

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One broad hand fastened around your throat – the thumb poised perilously between jaw and jugular, your pulse pounding beneath the roughened pad – the other fist digging uncomfortably into the meat of your thigh to secure your squirming figure to the chair, sneering face suspended mere inches from yours, Castiel studies with macabre fascination the panicked astonishment dominating your demeanor in reaction to the callous caress of his lips that arose in such stark contrast to the fondness feathering your features only a moment ago as you remembered the other of him.

The inquisitive gleam of his blues diminishes, brow of his scarred eye twitching at a sudden swished onslaught of wings disturbing the dust-swirled firmament of the abandoned gas-n-sip where they hold you; this close, the minute muscular movement and the tenseness electrifying his fingers where they bite to bone conveys his unpleasant surprise at the unannounced angelic arrival.

“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie.” An angel suited up less tactically for combat and more for a Napoleonic era gala – sporting, as he does, a well-fitted navy waistcoat lined in crimson satin, capped in ostentatious gold fringe detail at the squared shoulders, streamers of useless buttons shining along every available seam, with neatly pressed crisp white jodhpurs, and polished black leather boots peeking out beneath spotless spats – dryly tsks your captor’s name from where he manifested in an unoccupied corner; evidently the officers comprising this angelic garrison are permitted certain liberties when it comes to their garb and mannerisms.

Unanticipated and unwelcome – thick lashes lowering in recognition of the tenor tone, Castiel subtly cringes into his coat collar; the unforgiving crush of his fingers constricts deeper into your muscle and neck in his effort to maintain a charade of composure.

“Cuh-cuh,” you choke on an airless cry of his name invoking mercy. Fringes of consciousness dimming, the cracked whimper vibrates and dies in your larynx where cruel reflex compresses blood flow and threatens to cave-in your windpipe.

Sniffing a sigh, blinking wide, something verging on abject agony tinted with a shade of pity – an expression defiant to his ruthless nature – bares itself to you.

At the brink of blackout, you see in that shift of stormy color something of your angel – the one who rebelled against Heaven at the cost of losing everything he knew, who endures unending doubt, who understands you can’t go home again, who loves humanity, who loves you, who struggles daily to determine what is right and good in the world and to do the rightest in a world of wrong.

You glimpse for a split second through the black barriers shrouding this angel’s heart what might have been and what is – an iteration of your Castiel who was denied choice; and in your heart, if it be the last thing you will ever do, purity of love forgives him of fault.

He feels that balm of forgiveness pall his skin as the life ebbs from your body. He feels . . . regret. Grip slackening, his grace diffuses through your offended flesh with enough reflected heat to sooth and save, though not wholly heal. It’s closer to an act of kindness than you would have thought him capable – closer than he thought himself capable.

Harshly coughing to garner Castiel’s obviously divided attention, swaggering forward a few steps into the naked wash of the overhead fluorescent bulb weakly illumining the center of the space, palm resting on the hilt of a sword hinged at his hip, the flashy newcomer glances about the grimy walls converted into an improvised interrogation chamber with a lip curled in unguarded disgust. “When they informed me I could find you in the trenches, I didn’t imagine you were in an actual pit,” he complains in a lilting French accent drifting on conversational. “This place is utterly abhorrent; I honestly don’t know how you manage.”

“Balthazar,” Castiel growls through a row of clenched teeth. The seraph’s benevolence, like the gentleness of his grace, slips ephemerally away. Nostrils flaring, mouth malignantly jolting into a smirk, he narrows his blue-lit focus on you in ominous intimation he is not done sifting through your memories – especially those memories concerning the him for whom your heart beats with curious rapidity. “Can’t you see we are occupied here?” Breaking backward to confront the angelic intruder, his grip on your body and mind dissolves leaving you dazed and gasping. “You disrupt my work.”

“Never one to waste time on niceties, eh?” Balthazar casts you a disinterested cocked glance.

Absent angelic influence, the dull hot ache of faded bruising throbs in your thigh. Burning air punches into your lungs through an abraded throat. If you could direct the lumps of jelly defining your legs into motion, you’d attempt to flee. As it stands, or rather, slumps, you sit secured by physical half-insentience. Judgement impaired by the shock of disorientation, you instinctively pray to Cas – your Cas – for help.

Hearing your voiceless plea to the other – the yearning of spirit, the faith you have in his ability to save you, the desperate need for him – the Castiel brooding before you stiffens as a surge of sympathy taints the blood bounding through his vessel’s heart.

Balthazar shrugs in affront to the stone-wall of seraphim silence. “As you prefer, all work and no play – Naomi requires a report.”

“And?” Castiel prompts in a rising clipped tone, covering for the fact that every sinew of flesh and fiber in his vessel revolts with rigidity in shield against the softness of emotion striking him from within your soul.

“And,” –Balthazar’s eyebrows arc askance and knot– “what?”

You pray louder – each contraction of your heart a deafening cry for Cas.

Overcompensating for and deflecting the impact of your prayers with a reminder of rank, demanding respect, concerned Balthazar hears and will betray even the quickly corrected course of compassion flooding his veins to Naomi, Castiel snarls, “And, what? What! Do you forget your place?”

Such intelligence would inevitably result in a reckoning all too familiar to the fragmentary framework of the seraph’s fundamentally rebellious and repeatedly reordered being – his countenance violently jerks to maintain forever slipping grasp on control, both of himself, and the situation. Jaw gnashing, he wishes you would shut up – would silence you himself, even, if it would not draw attention as to the motive. Or better yet, eying the door, he could drag you from this place, tuck you out of sight somewhere, plod through your memories one by one, take his time, just you and he alone.

Balthazar curtsies contritely. “Naomi requires a report,” he reiterates, bowing deeper to satisfy his captain’s abstracted scowl, adding a snide, “sir!”

“I see.” Circling the insincere emissary, Castiel stops to stare at his comrade’s crooked spine, asking, “And why did she send you? Any one of the soldiers here could have delivered this message and wasted less of my time.” Cold weight of celestial metal encumbering his sleeve, he ponders stabbing the pompous messenger in the back; peace descends upon his frenetic features as he runs through the probability of being able to smite the other two angels, too, before they realize what is happening in order to beat a hasty retreat with you in tow. They wouldn’t be the first kin he selfishly slew to serve subjugated desire.

“She felt you might be distracted by the latest … development.” Balthazar lifts his chin to fling the inflection of the last word at you. Obeisant bend deepening, he simpers in self-defense against the rumble of incensed thunder building within his superior’s chest at the insinuation of subversion. “Questioning a loyalist like yourself, of course, is absurd.” Nebulously recollecting his place in the battalion's pecking order, he mumbles a postscript of, “Sir.”

If Naomi suspects, then – stifling a shudder, Castiel stows his blade. “Let us resolve her concerns at once so I may continue my work here uninterrupted.” Prying a pair of gloves from his pocket and tugging them over his fingers, readjusting the snap of leather encircling his wrist, Castiel sweeps his glance over the impassive faces of the two other angels in the room. He wonders if they, too, perceive your continued prayers to him and read anything into his reaction; for in that insulated alcove of his angelic heart, your pleas touch and arouse an empathy buried time and again by Naomi’s reprogramming. Therein shelters ineradicable traces of a love for humanity which his Father nurtured at his creation – the foundations of fidelity to the purpose of protecting and serving mortal souls that even Naomi’s worst cannot rend to her will. There dwells the crack in his chassis where regret creeps out and choice sits for the seizing.

And yet, if Naomi has her suspicions, if any of these angels express a similar concern or contempt, Castiel is already damned – compliance exists as the only recourse. He is nothing if not a good soldier. “The Kommandant awaits,” he states sternly. Gesturing at Balthazar to commence with the winged transport, he flicks his attention upon you.

Looking up, you catch the unmasked sheen of remorse in his regard in the moment before he vanishes. Despite the fear and pain he caused you, an incongruous hope for his return flutters and sinks in the hollow of your stomach on his departure.

Next: Ch. 19 - A Real Dead Ringer

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