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zepskies · 1 year

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Never Say Goodbye - Part 6

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,800 Warnings: Angst, fluff, and some supernatural shenanigans.

Part 6: Trust Building

After you showered and dressed in a clean shirt and yoga pants, you felt refreshed but still somewhat anxious. You don’t have anything to be nervous about, you tried to remind yourself.

You finally met him. His name is Dean. He seems…nice.

A soft smile grew on your face when you thought of how he’d looked over your injuries in concern. How he’d seemed just as nervous as you, but was familiar in his teasing and gentle when he’d helped you up the stairs.

He seemed to be a decent guy. But so had Danny Schmitt.

That thought made you shudder. Those horrific memories of last night tried to surface, but you stubbornly shoved them down by covering your eyes with your hands and letting out a few deep breaths.

When you’d calmed down, you released your trembling hands. That’s it, you decided. You were going downstairs. You were going to go crazy if you stayed up here in this room.

…Plus, you were getting hungry.

Things were probably going to get awkward fast, but you were up for it. You didn’t want to be rude to your uncle, and you wanted to get know Dean and his brother Sam.

So you carefully descended the stairs, trying not to freeze in place when all three men paused in their conversation to look at you. You gave a little wave.

“How’re you feelin’?” Bobby asked.

“I’m okay.” You joined Sam and Dean on the couch once they made room for you. Bobby sat in a rickety chair across from them, with a coffee table full of old, open books in between. What kind of book club were these guys having?

You shared a small smile with Dean, who seemed to take a brief moment to look you over. You noticed his gaze lingered on your yoga pants. But smoothly his eyes returned to your face. He inhaled and looked curious.

“What’s that, apples?” he asked. You blinked in confusion, until you realized what he meant: your body wash. To be fair, it did have a strong smell.

“Oh, apple spice.” You nodded. “Good guess!”

Dean grinned a little. “It’s nice.”

Sitting on his other side, Sam rested an elbow on the couch’s arm. He hid a smile behind his hand, while Bobby just rolled his eyes.

“All right, well dinner’s on the way,” your uncle said. “Hope you like Chinese.”

You were just about to reply affirmatively when your phone buzzed on the coffee table. With a quick glance, you saw who it was and frowned. Dad.

“That’s been going off non-stop for the past ten minutes,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” you sighed, and went to pick up the phone. “Hi, Dad.”

You felt guilty about taking off from Jody’s house without telling anyone, but in fairness, you’d left her a note. Your dad was stern and quick to reproach you.

“You can’t just take off like that. You had me looking over the whole damn town for you!” said Jack.

Your lips pressed together. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going, but now you know where I am. I’m safe.”

Jack started to interject, but you cut in before he could start giving you orders.

“Tell Jody I’m sorry, but I’m comfortable here,” you said, glancing up at Bobby, and then at Sam and Dean.

“…Fine. The house should be back to normal in a couple of days. If you leave Bobby’s house for any reason, you call me,” Jack said.

Like you were a child.

“Fine,” you snapped and hung up the phone. Then you looked up at the men, who all looked away as if they hadn’t been listening.

“Sorry,” you added. “My dad’s a bit…overprotective.”

“I mean…can you really blame him right now?” Dean asked. “I get it, you ditched your babysitter. But not for nothing, I’d probably react the same way.”

His face was more serious, devoid of the flirtatious teasing from before. Your hackles started to rise as he took your dad’s side…until you realized that he meant well. Through the connection that bonded your soul with his, what you felt most was his concern for you.

And, he might actually have a point.

You just weren’t willing to acknowledge that just yet.

You tried to get to know Sam more too. You learned that he’d gone to college at Stanford for pre-law, and that he’d planned to be a lawyer. When you asked why he didn’t go for it, he and Dean got quiet.

That’s when the takeout finally came. You sensed it was a sensitive topic, so you didn’t push it.

The four of you ate while Sam and Dean traded off telling childhood stories and motel room antics, most of which made you laugh.

But you became sad when you realized what Dean had told you once was true: he and Sam had been raised on the open road. They hadn’t truly had a home since Dean was five years old, and Sam had been just an infant, after their mother died.

“The house burned down,” Dean explained, but you had a feeling there was more to the story. You sensed it in his guarded emotions—both in his body language and through your bond.

“Nice ring,” he remarked, noting the flash of silver on your right hand. You gave him a closer look and he took the opportunity to take your hand. You tried (and failed) not to blush.

“My mom’s,” you said, your eyes lowering. “She…died when I was around fourteen.”

Dean sighed and released your hand. “I’m sorry.”

You knew he understood how you felt. He’d lost his mom too.

“What about your dad?” you asked.

Sam and Dean shared a brief glance before Dean replied. “He’s still around. He started the family business, so he travels a lot too.”

“I see.” You were very curious to meet their dad. If he was anything like Dean, then that man was sure to be interesting.

After a while more of eating and talking, Bobby wished you goodnight and went up to his room. Sam returned to the living room to set up his sleeping spot on the recliner, leaving you and Dean to clear the dining table and wash the dishes together.

“So your dad’s a cop, huh?” Dean asked.

You nodded. “Yep. Hence the overprotective bit.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell him about our…” Here Dean raised his brows. “Situation?”

You smiled in amusement. “Honestly, yeah. It just…didn’t feel like the right time to tell him about us. When you meet him, you’ll understand.”

“I get it. My dad’s not always a picnic either, but he’s a good man,” Dean said. “Your dad seems to be too.”

“Except he doesn’t want me here,” you said. “He’s got this…thing with my uncle. I can’t figure it out.”

Dean seemed to remember something. “Yeah, Bobby was sayin’ something like that. They had a falling out a while back?”

“I think it started when my aunt died,” you admitted. You were seven, and Aunt Karen had been your dad’s younger sister. You didn’t remember her that well, but you had a warm memory of her making pies for every season: pumpkin and apple for fall, blueberry for winter, strawberry and rhubarb for spring, and peach for summer.

“I’ve asked Bobby about it, but he’s not really the sharing type,” you said.

“Yeah, fair enough,” Dean said. It made you look over at him with some curiosity.

Dean was becoming something of an enigma to you. In some ways, he could be incredibly straightforward and kind in how he looked after you and asked about your life. But any time you asked about his family, about his past, about his job, he would pull back from you.

It made you nervous. What the hell is he hiding?

But it also made you determined to find out more. Now that you’d found him, you weren’t going to let him go so easily.

After the table was cleared and the dishes were done, you realized just how tired you were. Even your head was starting to ache.

Dean might’ve heard your thoughts (you had to get better at controlling that), because he looked you over in an assessing way.

“Hey, you should probably get some sleep,” he said. “It’s been a long day, sweetheart.”

Even that small nickname made you blush again. Dean noticed, smiling. You purposefully looked away and called out to his brother.

“Goodnight, Sam.”

He looked up from the book he was reading and smiled at you. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

You returned his smile before returning your gaze to Dean. He crossed his arms expectantly, a grin playing at his lips. “My turn?”

You uttered a laugh. Gaining some courage, you leaned up on your toes, rested a hand on his shoulder, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Sweet dreams, you added mentally, then you turned to climb up the stairs.

See you tomorrow, he replied. It made you pause on the stairs and turn back to him with a soft smile.

Then, Dean watched you go up the rest of the way to make sure you were all right. He did his best to clamp down on his mixed emotions, so you wouldn’t sense them. When he turned around, he found Sam wearing a knowing grin.

“What?” Dean asked.

“I just never thought I’d see you like this.”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat on the other end of the couch. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, then rubbed at his face with both hands. Sam sat down next to him and dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m glad, Dean. You deserve this,” he said.

Do I? Dean thought. “You know we’ve got a job to do.”

“…Yeah,” Sam said with a sigh. He was conflicted too. He wanted to give his brother the time and space to enjoy this, to spend time with you, but they still had to find their dad—and the Yellow-Eyed demon that killed Jess, and their mom.

Still, this was important.

“Why don’t you go up and talk to her?” he suggested, nodding up the stairs.

Dean frowned. “She’s going to bed.”

“Even if it’s five minutes,” Sam said. “Don’t waste any more time, Dean. Do something.”

So Dean went up to your room, and he knocked.

You opened the door a few moments later, but you hadn’t changed clothes yet. Sensing more than hearing his anxious thoughts had kept you puttering around the room, straightening things up, brushing your hair, trying to find something to wear for bed. You just didn’t know how to reach out and comfort him, or even if you should.

But you smiled when you saw him.

“Can I help you, sir?” you teased.

“Just for a minute,” he said, once you let him into the room. “You can kick me out whenever.”

You beckoned him to sit with you on the edge of your bed. You and Dean sat in silence for a moment, both of you trying to think of something to say.

“This is hard, isn’t it?” you said. Dean let out a breathy chuckle, his shoulders sagging a bit in relief. He looked over at you.

“Somehow, thought it’d be easier,” he said.

“Okay, let’s just get this out of the way. We’re basically strangers. Let’s stop focusing on the cosmic bond part of it all, and just try to get to know each other,” you suggested.

Dean saw the logic there.

“Sounds good to me,” he said. He reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing the side of your face.

A blush dusted your cheeks. “You like doing that.”

“You don’t seem to mind.”

“Not really, no,” you admitted with a smile. Dean returned it, before his expression became more serious again.

“Hey, can you answer something honest for me real quick?” he asked.

“Okay.” Though you wondered where this was going.

“Are you okay?”

You folded your hands in your lap and stared down. “Yeah. I feel fine, Dean. Really.”

“Not what I meant,” he said. You felt his concern through your bond, encouraging you to look up at him.

“I get it if you don’t, but if you need to talk about what happened last night…” He let the thought hang off, giving you the space to decline if you wanted to, or if you weren’t ready. You sensed that he was willing to listen to you, and actually, that he genuinely wanted to know.

Well, that you could believe. He seemed to be the protective type.

You sighed; as much as you didn’t want to think about what happened, flashes of those memories were already resurfacing behind your eyes.

“It happened so fast,” you began. People always said that in the movies, but it was true.

“I got home late. I was…talking with you. As soon as I set my things down in the living room, he grabbed me from behind, dragged me into the kitchen for some reason…” You took a breath. “When I had enough wits about me to start fighting back, that’s when he used my head for basketball practice on the counter.”

Dean was quiet while you spoke. He was trying to keep his darker thoughts from spilling into his connection with you, but that was a feat in itself.

It was a good thing for him that Danny Schmitt was already dead.

“I saw the kitchen knives, but before I knew it I was on the ground,” you continued, though it was difficult to steep yourself in those wild, thrashing moments. Being pinned down, not being able to call for help or reach anything that could help you.

Your hand went to the bruises on your throat. “I couldn’t breathe…then I’m…not sure what happened. Maybe I got some adrenaline-fueled, Hulk Hogan-type strength, because the next thing I knew, I was looking down at Danny’s body. And the kn-knife, somehow I…”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you started to lose your grip, but Dean reached for your hand, squeezing yours. That, and sensing his supportive presence in your mind, gave you something solid to ground you as you breathed through it.

As was your habit, you twirled your mom’s ring around your finger.

“Danny?” Dean asked.

“Y-Yeah. We went to high school together,” you explained. “He was an idiot then. He got his fingers caught in the automatic stapler. How do you go from that to psycho-killer spree?”

Dean gave you an amused look, but he gave you an honest answer.

“Some people are born bad. Some people do bad things once in a while, and regret it,” he said. “Some people got evil shit on their mind, but don’t got the confidence to actually pull the trigger. Until they do.”

You let out a deep breath as you nodded.

“I just…Dean, I don’t remember grabbing the knife,” you confessed. “But it makes me wonder…what the hell else am I capable of?”

Dean could understand that, better than most. He let you lean into him and drew you close as you finally allowed yourself to let go. You felt bad for dampening his shirt with your tears, but you relished in his comfort and the safety of his arms.

Until both of you shivered. It felt like the room had dropped ten degrees all of a sudden.

Dean got an awfully familiar, suspicious feeling.

“Aw, shit,” he said.

“What?” you asked nervously. Your bedside lamp flickered, and somehow a draft kicked up into the room.

Dean got you to stand up by the elbows and grabbed your hand, heading for the door. It swung closed in your faces, making you gasp.

“Shit,” he repeated.

Your looked up at him in fear. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Whatever happens, just stay close to me.” Dean’s voice was firm, authoritative. It was fair to say you clung to his arm. Maybe that made you the quintessential damsel in distress, but to be fair, you were definitely in distress right about now. You didn’t have a clue what was happening, but Dean seemed to.

Then a strong gust of wind pulled him away from you and threw him into the large wooden dresser across the room. You watched in alarm, but you eventually made yourself move to go and help him.

That’s when a strange mirage glitched and appeared in front of you, startling you. It was a woman, maybe in her late-thirties. She looked familiar, but before you could focus on her face, Dean’s fist swiped through the mirage and made it disappear.

You looked up at him in shock. He was a bit banged up with a couple of scratches on his arm, but he held what looked like the iron handle from one of the dresser drawers he’d smashed into. You touched his arm, and your mind blazed with questions that you were finally able to express.

“Are you okay? What the hell was that? What—”

“All right, for right now just follow my lead, okay?” he said. He grabbed your hand and tried opening the door. It was locked. Damn it.

Sam called from the other side.

“Hey, you guys okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’ve got us a ghost,” said Dean.

“What?” you exclaimed. As in Casper?

Dean sighed. “I’ll explain later. Move away from the door, Sammy.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

In one powerful move, Dean kicked through the door and broke the lock. You and Dean escaped the room, but your eyes widened as you pointed behind Sam. “Watch out!”

The woman was there again. Now you could see that she wore a white blouse with small flowers on them, and a long, dark skirt that seemed to glide across the floor. You realized that you recognized the shade of her hair, the shape of her face and features—many of them were similar to your own.

You felt like the air had fled from your lungs, all while your heart constricted painfully. Dean’s head swiveled toward you; he’d picked up on the shift in your emotions through your connection.

“Mom?” you uttered.

A gun shot rang out, making the vision of your mother scream angrily, and then disappear. Behind her was Bobby with a shotgun full of rock salt.

“All right, let’s get downstairs,” he said.

The four of you ran down quick to the ground floor. The lights continued to flicker as you went, and a draft followed you through the living room where the fireplace crackled with life. You watched as Sam went and got cannisters of salt from the kitchen and started drawing a large circle of salt around you all. Meanwhile, Dean grabbed the iron poker from the fireplace.

“Okay, will someone please explain what the fuck is going on already?” you asked. “Why am I seeing my mom?”

And why is she trying to kill us?

Sam and Dean shared a look before the latter sighed and met your wide-eyed stare.

“Like I said, she’s a ghost. Yeah, they’re real. Salt keeps them away, iron fends them off,” he explained. “Temporary fixes though. The only way to get rid of a ghost is to burn its old body’s bones.”

That was a lot of crazy information to absorb in all of thirty seconds. Dean laid his hands on your shoulders to get your attention, and to ground you.

“Where is she buried?” he asked.

“The cemetery,” you said tremulously. “Don’t say you’re gonna dig up my mom, Dean.”

His face twisted in apology. “That’s kinda where this is going, yeah.”

You were a tad bit horrified.

“But wait, you can’t,” you realized. “They buried her ashes.”

Sam, Dean, and Bobby all shared a similar frown. Damn it.

The ghost of your mother, Christine, reappeared just a few feet away and startled a scream out of you. The four of you stood within the salt circle, but that didn’t stop her. Her dark eyes were focused on the men as she created a gust of wind to blow the salt circle away.

Bobby shot off a salt round from his gun and made her disappear for a few seconds. But she was getting tenacious. She reappeared moments later to continue whittling at the salt line.

“Why is she coming after us?” you exclaimed.

“Some spirits don’t pass onto greener pastures if they feel like they’ve got too much to leave behind,” Bobby explained. “After a while, they start to lose their grip on…well, reality.”

“They turn vengeful,” Sam supplied. “Poltergeists, hauntings—”

“But why would she go after me?” you asked. You buried your hands in your hair and closed your eyes. Maybe you could block all of this out and pretend it wasn’t happening. “This can’t be real!”

“Hey,” Dean said. He grabbed your arms just tight enough to break you out of your spiral. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. “This is real. It’s happening. Somehow your mom’s ghost is tethered to something else, because I think she followed you here.”

“Followed me?”

“From your house,” Dean said. He was leading you somewhere—with his tone and his eyes.

You gasped at as hit you.

The impossible knife stabbing of Danny Schmitt.

You hadn’t been anywhere near the kitchen knives. You’d been pinned down while slowly choking to death. It hadn’t been adrenaline. There really was no way you could’ve reached them.

“She…she killed Danny.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “Trust me, I know, because this is my job.”

“This is what you do for a living?” You were damn near hysterics.

He offered you a helpless grin. “And it don’t even come with health insurance.”

“He’s right, there’s something else keeping her here,” Bobby said. He looked at you. “Do you have anything of hers?”

“No, I—” You’d started toying with your ring before it dawned on you with a gasp. Dean looked down at your hand and came to the same conclusion.

“It’s the ring,” he said. “We need to burn it n—”

Dean couldn’t finish his thought, because Christine reappeared behind him and threw him several feet away. The iron poker in his hand clattered away from him. She turned to Sam and Bobby next.

Before either one could shoot off a salt round, Christine raised a hand, commanding a desk to shove them against a large bookcase. They had to shield their heads as books fell off the shelves and thudded to the ground.

Christine stopped when she turned to you. Instead of attacking, she raised her hand out to you. Your eyes widened.

“Mom?”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t look at you with the same anger and menace as she had to the men.

“She’s not after you,” Sam said, with a tilt of his head. “She’s trying to protect you.”

He was still stuck with Bobby, while Dean was also pinned against the wall by the force of Christine’s will. He had enough autonomy to raise his head and meet your eyes with urgency.

“Toss the ring in the fireplace,” he told you. “Do it now!”

Your limbs were frozen in place. It was almost like being attacked by Danny; you could see the knives, but you couldn’t make yourself grab one. This time, you didn’t want to.

“I can’t!” You shook your head adamantly.

“I get it,” Dean said. He was struggling to break free of the ghost’s hold, gritting his teeth. “But you need to put your mom to rest. It’s the ring or your life. Throw that thing into Mount Doom!”

You looked up at Christine, and at times you could see through her spirit-like body. She wasn’t really there, nor was she supposed to be here.

Right now you were poor old Mrs. Jenkins, clutching your pearls.

So you ran to the fireplace. But the moment you fell to your knees there, a strong gust of wind blew out the flames. You gasped and turned to see that your mother was there, and she was now angry with you for trying to destroy her.

Frantically you searched for something to keep her away. What you found was Dean’s iron poker.

“That’s it, stick it right through her!” Dean guided you. Inside he was desperate to help you, but he instinctively buried it under the practiced focus of a hunter.

Your hands closed around the iron and you swung it like a baseball bat, making Christine’s spirit dissolve. Sam then called your name and showed you a lighter in his hand. He threw it towards you, but it bounced through your hands and scattered across the floor.

“For God’s sake,” you muttered frantically. You all but dove onto your hands and knees to scramble after the lighter.

“Watch out!” Dean shouted.

With a gasp, you twisted to face Christine again. This time, she commanded a chef’s knife from the kitchen.

“Mom!” you tried. While she heard you, she didn’t acknowledge what she was doing. Her face was twisted with a truly evil expression—one that you’d never seen on your mother when she lived.

The knife turned in mid-air. Then it spiraled toward you.

You instinctively covered your face with your arms and shouted. “Stop, Mom. Please!”

The room was deadly quiet.

Slowly, you realized you were still alive, if breathing heavily. You opened your eyes and lowered your arms a bit. The knife hadn’t pierced you, but it was still hovering in front your face. You remained very still when you looked up at Christine.

Her face revealed her shock. The evil dregs of death had melted away, revealing your mother as she was. As she had been in your fourteen-year-old memory.

Her expression softened into regret and sadness. The knife fell away from you and clattered to the ground. You let out a relieved breath and laid a hand over your wild beating heart.

Then it was Sam, Dean, and Bobby’s turn to feel relieved. Christine released them from her hold, and Sam and Bobby pushed the desk away from them while Dean rolled the kinks out of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” said Christine. Her voice was familiar, and also sounded overlaid with many whispered voices. Tears pooled in your eyes, but your hand closed over the lighter you found at your side.

You toyed with your ring and glanced at Dean. He gave you an encouraging nod.

“Do it, honey,” your mom said.

Shakily, you got to your feet and went back over to the fireplace. You used the lighter to reignite the wood, but once you took the ring off your finger, you hesitated.

A hand rested on your shoulder, and your tearful eyes met Dean’s sympathetic ones.

It’s okay. You can do this, he told you through the soul bond.

With a deep, shuddering breath, you nodded and let go of your mother’s wedding ring. It took a while, but eventually the silver started to melt.

Your mom’s spirit dissipated with a smile on her face.

The aftermath of that night was difficult, to say the least. The guest bedroom you were supposed to sleep in had a broken door, but the guys had helped you get it back on its hinges, more or less. You all agreed to leave cleaning up the house for tomorrow, as there were only a few hours left in the night anyway.

The way you felt…well, there weren’t really words for that. You laid in bed in a worn-out, oversized shirt you found in the damaged dresser. Your body was exhausted in every way. Your mind, however, was wide awake.

So was Dean’s. He stared up at the wall from his place on the couch, downstairs. Through the bond, he could feel the many shifts in your fraught emotions. It was keeping him awake too, mostly out of concern.

He tried to take hold of that thread of energy and send you something reassuring, even if it was just his presence and not his words. Because what could he say, anyway?

He sensed that you accepted the connection. He felt your gratefulness, despite the rest of it.

Do you want to come up here? you asked.

It surprised Dean, but his reaction was…conflicted. After tonight, part of him wanted to keep some distance between you and himself. His job attracted even more supernatural batshit insanity than a vengeful spirit. He didn’t want you to get caught up in that…

But a larger part of Dean couldn’t deny you, either.

I’ll be right there, he said.

Without waking up Sam on the recliner, Dean got off the couch and climbed up the stairs towards your room.

AN: Congrats to @spnexploration for figuring out the impossible stabbing of Danny Schmitt! You guessed it right on your first try. But I hope the clues I left were subtle enough lol.

Now that the reader knows about the supernatural, let's see what she and Dean get up to upstairs...

To keep reading: PART 7

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A huge thank you to everyone commenting and reblogging and overall engaging with this story! I didn't think it would end up being this long lol. But there's more to come soon!

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waiting-for-cas-to-save-me · 2 years

Note

Hey, Harley! I know you requested a fic through Ask, but you're my tumblr bestie, so I thought I would personalize it and deliver straight to you. Y/N who?? This is Harley's territory. MOODBOARD!

She woke up to a text. It didn't seem out of sorts at first, just the typical family drama. Harley opened up her messages and felt her heart ache. She had told her family the night before that she would be staying in Lebanon until further notice. She wasn't sure how they would take it, but today's text revealed everything. Her brother was pained by her departure. His response was icy, hardened by his fear of losing her.

She turned off the phone, already weary with emotion. That's when Cas knocked.

"Come in."

The angel stepped forwards, smiling kindly. "I felt your shift," he said. "Something is troubling you." He sat on the edge of the bed. "I didn't come to pry," he told her. "I just thought you might want the company."

"Thanks, Cas. Things are kinda crazy back home."

"I understand."

The door opened once more, and Sam and Dean came bounding in.

"Sam was eavesdropping!" Dean declared.

"Dude!"

The elder Winchester grinned and hopped onto the bed with a groan. "Rough morning, kid?" He asked.

"Something like that."

"Family?"

"Yeah."

Dean's eyes softened. He smiled gently, and ruffled her hair. "That sucks," he said simply. He glanced back at Sam and the brothers shared a look that said - we understand.

"Bobby called," Sam said, leaning against the closet. "Said he's got a case for us back at Sioux Falls. He actually asked for you, Harley."

She winced. "He's not still upset over... the beer incident, is he?"

Dean laughed. "I still can't believe you did that..."

"So, roadtrip?" Sam grinned.

"Yeah, I'm up for it." Harley said. She turned to Castiel. "You coming?"

The angel shrugged. "You couldn't keep me away." He leaned forwards, grabbed a book from the night table, and handed it over to her. "Just don't forget this. It's one of your favourites."

"The Lighting Theif!"

"Nice," Dean nodded. "That'll keep you from asking 'are we there yet' every three miles!" He punched Harley's shoulder playfully, and stepped up. "See you out back," he said. "I'm here for you, okay? Anything you need, kid."

"Can I drive?"

His voice echoed from the hallway. "Hell no! Anything but THAT!"

Sam was the next to leave. "I know you've got a lot on your plate, but whatever you choose, wherever you go, we'll always be here, waiting. Don't forget that." He smiled and followed his brother outside.

"Sam and Dean are right," Castiel confirmed. "You have a family in all of us." The angel leaned over and hugged Harley tightly. "Forever," he affirmed.

Harley sat quietly as the three men walked away. She could hear them whispering outside her door. "Should I let her choose the music this time?" Dean said. "Maybe I could blend her a smoothie?" Sam whispered. "Perhaps we could get Bobby to phone her," mused Cas.

Harley smiled at the boys' concern. Things may have been less than perfect back home- families can be messy- but she knew that her friends would keep supporting her no matter what.

She fetched her things and went to join them in the car. After all, they promised her a road trip.

Okay your a Saint for 1 and 2 ways the beer accident 3 how'd you know one of my favorite books .all and all I love you and thank you for trying to patch a small hole with our boys . It's funny we both write for each other when we need it most. Y/n who's she . We run this show..

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bratprincezz · 3 days

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SPN LOVE LANGUAGES

Castiel

Acts of Service & Words of Affirmation

Dean

Acts of Service & Physical Touch

Sam

Quality Time & Words of Affirmation

Romeo (OC in my fanfic)

Quality Time & Physical Touch

What are the 5 love languages?

The five love languages are five different ways of expressing and receiving love: words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch. Not everyone communicates love in the same way, and likewise, people have different ways they prefer to receive love. The concept of love languages was developed by Gary Chapman, Ph.D., in his book The 5 Love Languages: The Secret to Love That Lasts, where he describes these five unique styles of communicating love, categories he distilled from his experience in marriage counseling and linguistics.

“We all may relate to most of these languages, but each of us has one that speaks to us the most,” marriage and family therapist Sunny Motamedi, Psy.D., tells mbg. “Discovering you and your partner’s primary love language and speaking that language regularly may [create] a better understanding of each other’s needs and support each other’s growth.”

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

People with words of affirmation as a love language value verbal acknowledgments of affection, including frequent “I love you’s,” compliments, words of appreciation, verbal encouragement, and often frequent digital communication like texting and social media engagement.

“Written and spoken shows of affection matter the most to these people,” couples’ psychotherapist Fariha Mahmud-Syed, MFT, CFLE, tells mbg. “These expressions make them feel understood and appreciated.”

QUALITY TIME

People whose love language is quality time feel the most adored when their partner actively wants to spend time with them and is always down to hang out. They particularly love when active listening, eye contact, and full presence are prioritized hallmarks in the relationship.

“This love language is all about giving your undivided attention to that one special person, without the distraction of television, phone screens, or any other outside interference. They have a strong desire to actively spend time with their significant other, having meaningful conversations or sharing recreational activities,” Mahmud-Syed says.

ACTS OF SERVICE

If your love language is acts of service, you value when your partner goes out of their way to make your life easier. It’s things like bringing you soup when you’re sick, making your coffee for you in the morning, or picking up your dry cleaning for you when you’ve had a busy day at work.

“This love language is for people who believe that actions speak louder than words. Unlike those who prefer to hear how much they’re cared for, people on this list like to be shown how they’re appreciated. Doing the smaller and bigger chores to make their lives easier or more comfortable is highly cherished by these folx,” shares Mahmud-Syed.

GIFTS

Gifts is a pretty straightforward love language: You feel loved when people give you “visual symbols of love,” as Chapman calls it. It’s not about the monetary value but the symbolic thought behind the item. People with this style recognize and value the gift-giving process: the careful reflection, the deliberate choosing of the object to represent the relationship, and the emotional benefits from receiving the present.

“People whose love language is receiving gifts enjoy being gifted something that is both physical and meaningful. The key is to give meaningful things that matter to them and reflect their values, not necessarily yours,” says Mahmud-Syed.

PHYSICAL TOUCH

People with physical touch as their love language feel loved when they receive physical signs of affection, including kissing, holding hands, cuddling on the couch, and sex. Physical intimacy and touch can be incredibly affirming and serve as a powerful emotional connector for people with this love language. The roots go back to our childhood, Motamedi notes, some people only felt deep affection and love by their parents when they were held, kissed, or touched.

“People who communicate their appreciation through this language, when they consent to it, feel appreciated when they are hugged, kissed, or cuddled. They value the feeling of warmth and comfort that comes with physical touch,” says Mahmud-Syed.

Learn about the Love Languages

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myselfshipi · 1 year

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ive got only one question for you. which of the boys is the biggest snugglebug?

Thank you @empresszero for the question!

My first thought is Dean is super cuddly. I don’t call him my snuggle bug because the one time I did, he thought I was calling him a child. He demands cuddling after anything sexual, but sex is also the time he feels most comfortable being vulnerable and intimate.

Now, Sam is super affectionate all the time. I’ve never had the urge to call him a snuggle bug but this is the guy who holds my hand, wants an arm on me when we sit next to each other, and will seek me out just to give me a kiss.

Unlike Dean, Sam tries not to be overly affectionate around him, originally, since Dean makes cracks about it. He has been exposed to a lot of toxic masculinity so it’s been a slow process to get him to see them and work on what is acceptable affection as well as he has permission to ask for it.

The human brain is weird and sometimes we need permission to be allowed to do or ask for things. I’ve had to call my best friend just to give me permission to dominate either of them in the bedroom since I’ve had this stupid idea of the way a couple or relationships should work from who knows where in my head that I couldn’t get past myself.

Anyway, now on a case, they’re different in public since showing we have a connection more than business or professionally-related can be dangerous.

When I first started to go on a case with them (which is maybe half the time now), I got tired of the guys fighting over who I lay down/sleep with since we would get two separate beds—cases are stressful and cuddles help sleep—so, I started getting a king size bed for all of us to share without telling them.

I didn’t understand why, at first, there was issue other than the sibling rivalry stupidness which I understanding—I’m the youngest of three siblings—but it turns out they treated me as a reward system for themselves without being consciously aware of it. 🤦

It’s funny in that they didn’t realize it and that Dean has an actually praise kink so I can verbally compliment and say my appreciation for his work, which Sam helps me know specifics as to what Dean does, while I spend time with Sam.

They have very different primary love languages— (I think everyone has a minimum of two)

Dean is words of affirmation and physical touch (like myself, actually). This is why I can spend time with Dean but necessarily be engaged in the same activity as him so long as we are cuddling or laying on each other. Though usually we are watching the same show or movie when we are in the “Dean Cave”.

Sam is quality time and acts of service. This is also why Sam loves to research and essentially info dump on his reading.

#self ship community #self shipping #self ship supernatural #self ship imagine #self ship content #romantic f/o poly sam and dean winchester #self ship prompt #self ship #self shipping community #asks open

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french-vanilla-in-the-clouds · 2 years

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𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When Dean comes home from a solo hunt, Y/N receives him with open arms. Things escalate and Gabriel taunts the hunter, claiming he knows nothing about the art of romance. When Dean tries to prove the angel wrong, things don’t go as he expects...

just some fluff :)

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

“You’re home!”

Y/N let out a cry of excitement and rushed across the bunker to meet Dean Winchester at the door.

“Woah, hey there!” he laughed, nearly falling over from her embrace.

“Sorry, I just missed you so much! We haven’t seen each other in an eternity!”

Sam and Castiel shared a look as they watched the couple from across the room. “I fail to see how three days constitutes an eternity,” Castiel whispered. Sam chuckled and nudged the angel in the side. “Apparently it does. Don’t even ask, you’ll only encourage them.”

Dean smiled at the pair and walked over to them. “What was that Sammy? Jealous? Don’t worry, there’s enough of me to go around.“ He wrapped an arm around his brother and the angel, hugging them tightly.

“Glad you’re home,” Sam said. “Y/N’s been frantic for the past few days. Even Gabriel was worried!”

Castiel nodded his affirmation. “Yes, she has been restless.”

“Oh please! I have not...”

Dean turned to her and put a hand to his chest. “So you do care!” he said sarcastically. “And speaking of Gabriel, how is the S.O.B.?”

“The S.O.B. is doing just fine, thank you very much.”

Everyone turned around as Gabriel strolled into the room, sucker in hand.

“Good to see you Deano. It’s been a blast raiding your room, but hey, I missed having you around.”

The hunter sighed. “Awesome. This is what I come home to.”

“Well you did come home to me, didn’t you?” Y/N teased.

Dean grinned. “And what a homecoming present you are!”

“Never took you for a romantic,” Gabriel mused. “You always struck me as more of a ‘love em’ and leave em’ type’.”

“Dude, I’m the king of romance, alright? It’s my middle name.”

“Sorry Casanova. Not buying it.”

“You want romance?” Dean scoffed. “Check this out.”

The room quieted as he walked to his travel bag and rummaged through its contents. Gabriel leaned against a wall, watching with a smug look on his face. He loved how easy it was to get a rise out of the elder Winchester.

“There it is...” Dean murmured, pulling out a garment.

He cleared his throat and turned back to his friends. Castiel let out a sigh and Sam picked at his nails. Bickering between Gabriel and Dean was common, and they were growing tired of having their time wasted.

“Hey Y/N,” Dean called, a glint in his eye. She approached warily, wanting no part in his tiff with the angel. “Yeah?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Gee Dean, do you actually?”

Sam snorted and Dean shot him a warning glance.

“Well,” he continued. “Since I love you so much, before I left on the hunt, I packed your shirt in my bag so that I’d have a part of you with me wherever I went.”

Y/N’s face softened at the gesture. “Oh Dean, did you really?”

“Course’ I did. I actually slept with it last night to remind me of you.”

Gabriel folded his arms as he watched from his spot against the wall. The kid was smooth, he’d give him that much.

Y/N smiled as Dean raised the navy, cotton shirt to his nose and took a deep breath. Sure, he was laying it on a bit thick but Y/N thought it was adorable. She was just about to give him a kiss when it struck her.

She didn’t own a navy shirt.

“Dean... where did you find that?”

Sam and Castiel turned their heads up at Y/N’s tone.

“Laundry hamper. Why?” Dean asked, shirt still raised to his face.

“It’s not mine.”

He froze mid-sniff. “Then who the hell’s is it?”

“That would be mine, Bucko,” Gabriel said, swooping in to snatch the garment out of Dean’s hands. He smelled it exaggeratedly and sighed. “Ahhh, that would be eau de moi. Good stuff, isn’t it?”

Dean blanched. “Oh crap.” He raised a finger as though to say something, but grimaced and rushed out of the room instead.

Gabriel laughed and ran after him. “Come on Deano, don’t get all moody on me now!” His footsteps echoed down the hall as his voice trailed off. “It was a beautiful gesture!”

As the angel and the hunter disappeared into the bunker, Sam and Y/N laughed together and even Castiel grinned in amusement.

“Talk about a crash and burn,” Sam said, wiping the corners of his eyes.

Y/N took a breath and smiled. “I don’t know,” she mused. “I thought it was very... romantic.”

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Try reading Meeting And Dating Student! Sam Winchester

For the record, this was just a silly idea I had last night, so sorry for any hardcore grammar mistakes... but then again I’m always messing up with punctuation and whatnot so I guess you’d be used to it by now *sniffle*

If you’d like to be tagged in any future Supernatural fics, just tell me in the comments... or visit my taglist! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Supernatural fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Dean, Christmas with TFW series, etc…) Requests are open btw!!

HAVE A BRILLIANT DAY!!!

Tagging the stupendous: @the-chaotic-cow @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @adaydreamaway08 @stitchintimefan @andthevillainshallrises @eliwinchester99

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naruhearts · 4 years

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I’m done keeping my composure.

Sorry, this will be a LOADED post! (And I’ll be repeating the points others have made)

for real, to everyone being nasty and telling heartbroken fans that “Dean was always supposed to die get a grip you’re just butthurt etcetera etcetera—” F you royally.

How dare you police the brutal feelings that’s been embroiling us since the Finale That Must Not Be Named aired.

The show you think you all watched, the show you all believe was the same SPN from Season 1-4, changed at some point. Kripke wrote his original vision, put it to screen, saw it through in S5 as he intended, and closed the door on that era.

In 2008, Supernatural was adopted and inherited. As you know, there was a supreme paradigm shift post-Kripke era. The show FLOURISHED (we won’t talk about Gamble thanks). It evolved, transformed, grew beyond trauma-induced self-worthlessness and toxic masculinity and endless death and hegemonic social ideals and conservatism and repressive anti-revolutionary ideas. Castiel, the iconic favourite and beloved staple of the series portrayed by Misha Collins, was introduced in Season 4 as the core lead character, and he ushered in a brand new era of Christian mythos that SPN took advantage of. Longevity SKYROCKETED. Audiences were INTERESTED. SPN amassed an incredibly groundbreaking fanbase infused by non-nuclear principles. A massive subversive wave began, fighting the Status Quo of the times since 2008. It’s precisely why such an abysmal ending to a show of extensive Freud-Jungian metanarratively meta META complex stature and social POWER will render us totally and unbearably broken for years to come.

Point is, DEAN WINCHESTER NO LONGER WANTED TO DIE. HE WANTED TO LIVE. HE WANTED TO SIT ON THE BEACH, PLUNGE HIS TOES IN THE SAND, AND SIP UMBRELLA DRINKS WITH HIS BROTHER AND HIS BEST FRIEND. He said this in Season 13. And then, a season later, he told the ghost of his long-deceased father — the source of his deep-running trauma and the figure of self-reductive authoritarianism permeating his arc since Season 1 — after being questioned why he didn’t pursue the Nuclear Fam, that he already has his own: his brother Sam, his adopted child Jack, and Cas.

Dean’s best friend Cas. Oh god, Cas, who made his inevitably permanent mark on Dean’s soul beyond allyship. Castiel, renamed to Cas, God’s -iel removed by Dean. Dean, the human spark that lit the fire of pre-existing autonomy in the inherently rebellious angel who was, this entire time, the catalyst for free will in God The Writer’s puppet show. Their friendship set on goddamn fire. I can also write paragraph upon paragraph about my love for Cas while devastated tears stream down my face, but I digress—

Cas’ romantic love for Dean pushed our main Heart of SPN to love himself. Love is free will. Free will is also love. Of note, Cas’ love confession in 15x18 was supposed to offset something so vastly important and fundamental...to maybe (read: most likely) pull the trigger on SELF-TRUTHS in conjunction with free will. And The Great Anticipated Follow-Up to the episode penned by the passionate Berens should have included (read: seemed like it was going to be) Dean, closeted trauma survivor in love with his best friend, being given the opportunity to do it right: to SPEAK HIS TRUTH, and then that very singular opportunity was STOLEN so grossly. After poring over it for days, I refuse to believe we made their years-long story up out of thin air, spun it out of fantastical-delusional dream cotton candy, because we DIDN’T. IT WAS REAL.

As I said in another post: “I’ve just been feeling physically ill for the past >40 something hours with the terrible knowledge that 19/20 undid years of vital progression towards healthy interdependence, autonomy, and a positive endgame, where Sam, Dean and Cas close the ring of found family in final empowering self-fulfillment...where Dean, no longer repressed and set free, is able to use his words and speak his truth as a queercoded trauma survivor, henceforth confirming and self-affirming his own bisexuality since S1 by reciprocating — by telling Cas that he always loved him, too, loved him endlessly, which would have altogether divested Supernatural of its cult status and catapulted it into global worldwide significance as the longest running sci-fi genre show in American broadcasting history that actually dared to defy and, by proxy, empower LGBTQ2IA+ everywhere who found profound personal meaning in Destiel through VALIDATION,” — found themselves mirrored in Dean and Cas’ respective character journeys individually and as each other’s queer love interests.

THIS IS WHY DEAN WASN’T MEANT TO DIE.

THEY WERE SO ESSENTIAL, NOT JUST TO THE OVERARCHING STORY AND HEALTHY INTERPERSONAL THEMATICS OF MODERN SPN, BUT ALSO TO THE SOULS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE ACROSS THE WORLD WHO FOLLOWED THEIR JOURNEYS, HOPED FOR THEM, ASPIRED TO BE LIKE THEM, TREASURED THEM, WEEPED FOR THEM, AND FOUGHT FOR THEM, LIKE YOU AND ME.

Heck, how could anyone think Sam Winchester had a well-deserved characteristic ending? He didn’t. Dean’s brother was shafted so badly. He stopped hunting when seasons ago, he had canonically accepted that he no longer wanted an apple pie life. He simply...turned the lights off in a resoundingly empty bunker and left — abandoning his dead brother’s room — never to return (he did return later to get the Impala, family photos etc, I mean this symbolically)...as if — dare I say it — Supernatural itself eerily told us, in the negative-spaced pitch blackness, that the organic show and the wonderfully complex, matured characters we’ve grown to love weren’t going to survive or be revisited...that it was all going to perish, and that they no longer gave a single shit about their own show, which, to me, is the worst cardinal sin, because how dare they throw Team Free Will, an immovable and indomitable and passionate found family they built from the ground up, a found family CHOCK FULL TO THE BRIM OF LOVE AND LIFE RAGING AGAINST THE AUTHORITARIAN MACHINE IN ORDER TO ACHIEVE FREE WILL, under the bus no matter who is to blame. Growth was stomped on.

Then Sam married a faceless wife who wasn’t his textually established (and deaf) love interest Eileen, named his son Dean Jr., and grew old miserably, still mourning the passing of his older brother, shaken and sombre. Back to square one. IT WAS ALL ANTITHETICAL, even OUTSIDE a shipping context, and I ripped my hair out at this point in sheer disbelief.

This 15x20 ending would have fit somewhere between S4-7. Now? IT DOESN’T FIT. IT’S A JAGGED PUZZLE PIECE THAT DOESN’T BELONG ANYWHERE. IT’S THE FOREBODING UNKNOWN STRANGER IN ITS OWN LAND, BOTH LITERALLY AND FIGURATIVELY. This kind of ending was basically an illogical, unsound cluster of metastasized cells that, to me, ruined the viability of previous seasons to sustain bold praise and respect and dignity and rewatches and classic nostalgia in such insidious ways.

Dean Humanity Winchester and Cas, after everything they’ve been through, were silenced and lost in death, ripped apart from each other, unable to love each other the way they deserved, because of disappointing, vile incompetency and homophobia. The greatest love story ever told, again obliterated in less than 60 hollow minutes.

You know what this tells your audience, CW SPN? Death without self-growth is the way to go, and no one is allowed to forge their own path to freedom.

HOW INSULTINGLY HARMFUL IS THAT?

I don’t think I’ll ever stop grieving.

We all deserve answers.

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perlukafarinn · 4 years

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(ao3)

The day starts out pretty unremarkable. Dean wakes up at the crack of dawn to Cas slipping out of bed for his morning jog. He pulls him down for a good-morning kiss that turns into a make-out session that turns into them trading lazy handjobs and then falling asleep in each other’s arms again.

Their actual start to the day is around ten AM, when Cas finally gets up for his jog and Dean gets up for his cereal and a scroll through the morning news. He’s on the look for hunts, mostly out of habit since there’s been very little monster activity since Chuck went and fucked off for good. He doesn’t find anything this morning but that’s hardly a surprise. It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve been out on a hunt and that inactivity, weirdly enough, is starting to bother him less and less.

Cas comes back from his jog about an hour before noon and with the mildest of prodding convinces Dean to join him in the shower. Afterwards, they throw together a lunch made from yesterday’s leftovers, taking their time eating and playing footsie under the table, because that’s apparently the kind of couple they are.

Usually by this time of day, Cas would be off in the Men of Letters’ library working on translations or cataloging and Dean would be on the phone helping Garth help out young, out-of-their depth hunters or in the garage, working on one of the beautiful but sadly neglected vehicles left behind there decades ago.

Today, both of them are seemingly feeling kind of lazy and so hardly any work gets done. It’s not until late in the afternoon that Dean feels the urge to do something productive and suggests they go out for groceries, which Cas readily agrees to.

The ride into town is quiet. Cas plays his mixtape - the damn thing should be worn out by now and Dean should long since be sick of it but for reasons too sappy to mention he isn’t - and they sit and listen in comfortable silence. It’s not until they pass the town hall on their way to the supermarket that Cas gets a contemplative look on his face.

“Should we get married?”

Only years of experience behind the wheel prevent Dean’s hands from twitching wildly and veering them into oncoming traffic.

“What.”

Cas looks over, frowning. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Is there any reason for us not to get married? We’re already planning on staying together for the rest of our lives.”

“Is there any reason-” Dean wheezes. “What the fuck, Cas? Is this your idea of a proposal?”

“Are you saying no?” Cas asks, mildly curious, as if they’re talking about the fucking weather and not getting married. “Because we don’t have to.”

Dean stares ahead, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Are you actually asking?”

“I suppose I am.”

“You ‘suppose’,” Dean mocks. “Gee, Cas, that’s real romantic.”

“Will you marry me?”

Dean pulls over. It’s far too sudden, probably leaving tire tracks in the concrete, and the driver behind them honks his horn loudly as he passes. Dean ignores him, taking a deep breath as he finally turns to face Cas.

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t really have to ask - Cas wouldn’t have brought it up if he wasn’t sure - but he needs to hear it.

Thankfully, Cas seems to get that. “I want to marry you, Dean. Do you want to marry me?”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes. “I mean - yes. Yeah, I do.”

Cas nods decisively. “Alright then. Now?”

“Now?”

It’s not exactly how Dean imagined this scenario would go (not that he - shut up) but it’s somehow the most romantic fucking thing that’s ever happened to him since Cas first told him he loved him. And hey, this time no one had to die!

They turn around, since there’s no point in going in without (forged) birth certificates. Once they get to the town hall, shortly before closing, they find out that it’s a three-day mandatory waiting period between applying for a marriage license and them actually being allowed to get married.

Cas suggests they use the interim time to pick up wedding rings. They wind up spending the next day driving to Topeka, where they find a couple of silver rings in a pawn shop. They’re tarnished but otherwise in good condition and once they get home, Dean spends the rest of the evening cleaning them while trying very hard not to think about just what they’re for.

The second day, Cas spends out back tending to his garden while Dean almost dials Sam’s number repeatedly before hanging up, torn between wanting to let his brother know that he’s getting married and not wanting to jinx it.

The third day, they head back into town. They arrive at the town hall just after it opens and it’s not until they’re standing in front of the clerk that Dean realizes they don’t have any witnesses. The clerk assures him that they don’t need one for civil ceremonies and the next ten minutes pass in a blur until Dean is being prompted to place the ring on Cas’ finger.

He does so with shaking hands, stilled only once Cas places one of his own on top and gives Dean a patient smile. He’s this calm for a reason, Dean finally realizes.

This doesn’t change anything.

Married or not, they’ve already promised themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. Til death do them part doesn’t even begin to describe it, and in sickness and in health is almost laughable at this point.

This really doesn’t change anything.

Dean’s own hand is still as Cas takes his turn, sliding the silver ring upon Dean’s finger. They say their “I do”s when prompted by the clerk, exchange a short, firm kiss, and just like that it’s over.

They’re married.

When Jody invites them to dinner about a week later, they still haven’t told anyone. Sam and Eileen will be there as well as Jack and the girls - it’s a regular family reunion and the perfect chance to announce the big news to everyone.

Dean has a better idea.

“Let’s not tell anyone,” he says. “At least, not before dessert. Let’s see if they notice first.”

They’re in the Impala, about half an hour away from Jody’s place.

Cas shoots him an amused look. “Is this because Sam claimed he always knew we’d get together when we first told him we were involved?”

“No,” Dean lies. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, seeing Cas still giving him that look from the corner of his eye. “Fine, yes. But he didn’t know, for the record. He just likes to pretend he’s always on top of this shit.”

“He doesn’t like to admit when you’ve surprised him,” Cas agrees.

The conversation ends there but Dean’s plan is apparently agreed upon since once they arrive at Jody’s, Cas doesn’t say a word about their recent relationship upgrade. Jody doesn’t seem to notice anything different, but then Dean didn’t expect her to. She’s not the one they spend most of their time around. Neither do Donna, Alex, Claire or Kaia, none of them surprises. Patience, Dean is less sure about, but she at least doesn’t say anything. Her eyes do linger unusually long but that could mean anything.

Damn psychics.

Sam and Eileen arrive half an hour after Dean and Cas, Jack in tow. This is the real test; Sam and Dean may not spend as much time together in the past few months as they did in the years before but he’s still the person who knows Dean best and would be the most likely to notice a difference.

And yet, nothing.

Dean tries not to feel too smug.

They go through dinner without anyone mentioning it. Dean makes a point of reaching across the table as many times as he can, showing off the ring glinting on his finger. Cas must notice him doing it, judging by the fond exasperation on his face, but he’s the only one.

It isn’t until dessert that Patience breaks, patience (hah) clearly run out:

“Is no one going to mention that Dean and Castiel are wearing wedding rings?”

And all hell breaks loose.

Sam is wounded - mostly over Dean and Cas not telling him before they got married, though Dean can tell some part of it is his pride at not seeing this coming - but he’s over it soon enough, once they explain that it wasn’t a big deal, not some proper ceremony, just a quick affirmation of what they already knew.

“See if I make you Best Man at my wedding after this, jerk,” Sam tells Dean.

“Your wedding?” Eileen asks pointedly.

Jody and Donna offer their congratulations before the conversation can get awkward, and Kaia, Alex, and Patience chime in with theirs as well. Jack looks confused at the whole proceeding, finally asking whether this means there won’t be any bouquet to catch, which only means Dean has gravely failed him in his pop culture education (oh, who’s he kidding, as if half the romcoms Jack has watched didn’t come directly from the recommended tab on Dean’s Netflix account).

Finally, with a pointed elbow from Kaia and a hangdog expression from Cas, Claire mumbles that she’s happy for them. While Dean doesn’t doubt that’s true he also knows that this is more complicated for her than the rest of them, and for the first time he kind of feels guilty about springing this news on everyone.

It doesn’t last long, not after Donna cheerfully raises her glass and proposes a toast to the happy couple and everyone else follows suit. They chant for them to kiss and, blushing outrageously, Dean complies, leaning over to press a quick kiss against Cas’ lips.

“So, who proposed?” Sam asks once the hooting and hollering has calmed.

“Cas did,” Dean says, slinging an arm around his husband’s - his husband’s - shoulders. “And it was the least romantic proposal of all time, you should’ve heard him.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “If I had left it up to you, we never would have gotten married.”

“He didn’t even give me time to pick out flowers,” Dean informs Sam gravely.

“There’s always the vow renewal,” Cas says, the casual statement managing to sound like a threat, and Dean shuts up.

The conversation moves on, the mood noticeably cheerier. As Jack and Sam launch into a story of their most recent hunt, Dean leans against Cas.

“We could have flowers, if you want,” he mutters.

Cas smiles at him, so bright and easy that it makes Dean’s heart stutter. He takes Dean’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the cool silver of Dean’s ring.

“That’s not necessary,” he says. “I’ve got everything I want right here.”

#deancas #destiel #spn fanfic #perlukafarinn writes #fluff #domestic #post-canon #established relationship #thank u to miriam who read through most of this #and assured me that it's plenty gay!

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bimbonaparte · 3 years

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daddy lessons (parenting in spn vs. being human)

I have not been able to stop thinking about this for weeks and it’s making me insane, so apologies to all but here we GO. McNair (Being Human UK) and John Winchester (Supernatural) both raised their sons to be weapons in a secret war and did unforgivable things in the process, but thanks to some key differences in their parenting approach, we get wildly different kids out of the equation. To recap the middle bit of the Venn diagram here, both fathers:

Dragged their kids around the country, raising them like soldiers to fight a supernatural enemy; it’s unclear when anybody’s first kills took place, to my knowledge, but we can safely say that they were at way too young an age

Weaponized the memory of a dead mother as an excuse for their crusade

Moved them around constantly and denied them almost any outside connections; by design, their whole world is wrapped up in each other

Raised their kids (Tom and Dean most successfully*) to have little identity outside of hunting and to be entirely beholden to the cause, leading to a very upsetting self-sacrificial streak

Demanded military-esque obedience; some questions may be allowed here and there, but ultimately dad is the superior officer and it’s his call

Lied repeatedly to their kids “for their own good” and kept them on a need-to-know-basis, even for stuff that they REALLY needed to know

*(I’m generally focusing on Dean & Tom in this analysis, since I think Sam escaped some of this by rebelling against the notion of a “good son”)

Hell, they even had similar deaths (i.e., made the decision to keep their kids in the dark -- rather than, say, explaining anything or asking for help -- and walk into a confrontation with an old enemy that they knew they wouldn’t survive). But despite all this overlap, we end up with two wildly different characters: jaded & emotionally volatile Dean, who drinks & throws punches to cope with feelings and performs toughness as if there’s a panel of judges in the corner at all times; and sincere & emotionally vulnerable Tom, who is also quick to throw a punch but who talks about his feelings, cries easily, and is totally unconcerned with whether or not he’s perceived as tough or masculine. I literally can’t stop thinking about it.

If you ask me, the two diverge thanks to some key differences between the McNair and John Winchester school of parenting. Despite the NUMEROUS mistakes McNair made in Tom’s upbringing, we have to give credit where credit is due:

McNair loved Tom. Unequivocally. Thought he was the best person to ever exist. Told him this daily. Told any given random stranger who stood still long enough in Tom’s general proximity. Reinforced it with physical affection and affirmation. Tom never had cause to doubt this for even a second during his entire upbringing, and it shows.

McNair must have realized at some point that Tom was different, that his take on the world was always going to be a little bit naive. Instead of trying to change this or toughen him up “for his own good” (which I can very much imagine being the John Winchester approach), McNair seems to have thoroughly embraced this aspect of Tom’s nature.

Part of that is expressed through the "code.” McNair raised Tom to live by a strict code geared towards a) survival as nomad werewolf vampire hunters, and b) survival as Tom, specifically, who has incredible physical aptitude but struggles with other kinds of learning & social cues. The code has its downsides (namely the unquestioning obedience bit mentioned above), but otherwise functions as a sort of framework that Tom can follow for navigating the societal rules & interactions he doesn’t fully understand. (There’s also the whole “teaching Tom to respect others” thing, which I could honestly write an entire dissertation on).

Beyond the rules McNair thinks they need to survive, however, McNair seems to delight in Tom simply being Tom. This shines through most with Tom’s disarming sincerity -- which he retains largely because McNair (and society at large) never tried to train or polish it out of him. There are a dozen examples where Tom cuts through layers of conversational propriety and is just genuine, because it doesn’t occur to him to be otherwise. Where other characters (like Hal) can’t help laughing at him at least a little, we see McNair take him seriously, respond with encouragement, and even match his sincerity (see: “You’re perfect”) despite the fact that McNair was raised in a society that would frown on men talking like this to their grown sons.

We therefore end up with a Tom who earnestly says things like “virginity is like a flower” with zero self-consciousness. Who would have come along to tell him men don’t talk about sex like this? McNair certainly wouldn’t have; his top priority throughout is supporting Tom as-is, not molding his personality into some idea of what a man is or should be.

The end result of all this is a very sweet, very straightforward, emotionally vulnerable killing machine. “Always be polite and kind and have the materials to build a bomb,” indeed. Tom is obsessed later on with being “a success” in a very performative way, but -- as all the characters around him repeatedly remind him -- this is not something that McNair ever cared about or put on him.

What I would love to do next is a) also acknowledge the incredibly profound ways that McNair wronged Tom (starting with killing his parents, which cannot be glossed over) and how this fucked him up; b) contrast all this with the John Winchester approach to raising child soldiers (SIGH) to see how it is that we ended up Dean; and c) look at Dean and Tom’s perception of their respective fathers. BUT. I unfortunately have to go do actual work stuff or I am gonna be in big trouble (plus this is getting LONG), so I’m gonna be revisiting this another time. In conclusion tho: Tom McNair fascinates me beyond measure, I cannot get over this, and I do not want to. TBC.

#being human uk #supernatural #meta #i'm so sorry this is SO niche #but i just love them so much #dean winchester #tom mcnair #john winchester #john winchester's A+ parenting #can't wait until i hyperfixate on something else but in the meantime this is what you get #tried to add gifs to this but i don't know howwwwww :(

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loserchildhotpants · 3 years

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Another destiel prompt from Twitter; say they’re dancing together, still trying to hide their feelings for each other, and because of that, avoiding eye-contract, the best the can, to ensure that the other character doesn’t notice how attracted they are to them (from this prompt list)

“Did you just turn her down?” Dean asks incredulously; Sam is busy sipping champagne next to him, but his eyebrows convey that he would also like clarification on whatever social interaction it is that Cas just had.

They’re all dressed to the nines, stuck at a posh wedding service until they solve this rogue Cupid case; it’s a low-risk case, but a case is a case, and they’ve got it well in hand.

Dean’s not been this dressed up since Bela stuffed him in a monkey suit, and he’d wager the same applies to Sam, but this is certainly the first either of them have ever seen Cas in anything other than his cubicle-life uniform.

Cas’ suit is sharp, pressed, striking, and he’s wearing a cerulean blue tie that has everyone meeting eyes with him coming up short. Predictably, he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, so he mostly apologizes awkwardly for those he seems to startle and thanks the handsy old ladies that liken him to long dead husbands.

With two flutes of bubbly meant for Dean and himself, Cas crossed the great hall, seemed to be stopped by a gorgeous young woman with dark hair, in a low-cut dress and a very promising smirk, but whatever exchange happened left her dejected.

“She asked me to dance,” Castiel tells Dean, passing him his flute, “I regretfully informed her that I don’t know how.”

“You can’t manage a simple little box-step for that hot piece? She was practically drooling, lookin’ at you!”

“We’re on a case,” he says, as though it’s a valid excuse.

“Nuh-unh,” Dean answers, shaking his head and putting his drink down on a nearby table, “That’s - that was a travesty, what I just witnessed. Babes are fuckin’ wasted on you, Cas.”

“She’s a fully grown woman, Dean,” Castiel corrects him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he brings his glass to his lips, “Besides, I’d only be wasting her time. I cannot dance, and I’d not be amenable to having relations with her, so it’s better I -”

“Not amenable?” Dean chokes out disbelievingly, “Who the fuck are you holdin’ out for?! Angelina Jolie?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“It’s a shame you don’t know how to dance, though,” Sam interjects, seeing by the vein throbbing in his forehead that Dean is about to start shouting about beautiful women and Cas’ ineptitudes, “I could teach you, if you want.”

Castiel slants his mouth at Sam, and Sam smiles gently back at him, “I know it doesn’t sound like fun, but, honestly? It’s a good skill to have, and worst case scenario is that you brighten someone’s evening.”

Appealing to his kind nature is the right call; Cas can’t argue that point, so he puts his champagne down and walks up to Sam.

“Very well. Where do we begin?”

“Oh - we’ll probably wanna go somewhere more private, so we can move a little more freely.”

At Sam’s behest, Dean and Cas follow him across the great hall, out onto a spacious balcony, out of the way of most everyone. Double glass doors lead out to it, and flowers line stone railing; no moon is visible from where they are in the mansion, but the sky is bright with stars, and that’s light enough.

While Sam does a fine job of teaching Castiel, and Castiel is a very quick study, they struggle with their height difference while Dean tells them about their height difference, unhelpfully and repeatedly.

Eventually, Sam turns to Dean, and says, “you should step in, man.”

“What? I’m not short,” Dean pouts grumpily.

“No, but you’re at least shorter than me - it’ll make leading a little easier for him.”

Rolling his eyes as though he’s actually put out, Dean peels himself from the French window he’d been leaning on, and takes Sam’s place.

Even and paced, Castiel and Dean take a few turns around the balcony, and Sam is impressed, informing Castiel that it took him a full week of practice to stop tripping over his own feet.

“To be fair, you were still growing into them at the time” Dean jokes.

In a rare moment of familial levity between them, Sam laughs, and Dean smiles at him - all of that makes Cas smile too, and then Sam’s phone rings.

“Oh - it’s Natalie,” Sam lets them know, “She wants eyes on the dance floor for a minute - I’ll take care of it - Cas, you’re doing great, don’t stop practicing!”

To both Dean and Cas’ surprise and humor, Sam appears genuinely bereft to leave the lesson. They both seem inclined to respect Sam’s wishes, though, so they take another turn.

“You gotta stop glancing down,” Dean commands.

Flashing his eyes back up at Dean, Cas mutters, “it’s reflexive. I apologize.”

“Nah, it’s fine, man. You’ve got it,” Dean assures him, “Now that you know how to, you gonna ask that girl to dance?”

“Perhaps,” Cas tries to shrug, determinedly keeping his eyes up, “I feel certain she has moved on in her pursuits, but if I pass her again, I will offer a dance.”

“You know how?”

“Now, yes.”

“No, I mean do you know how to ask a girl to dance?”

“Is there a particular ritual involved?”

Exhaling a laugh, Dean brings them to a stop, and explains, “okay - I’m gonna show you how it’s done, alright? Then I’ll lead.”

“Understood,” Cas tells him with serious conviction, studious and militant.

Dean steps back and away, and they wait for the band’s dreamy rendition of The Way You Look Tonight to end before proceeding.

As The Book of Love begins, the live orchestra swells from inside the hall, Dean bows just a little at the waist, with his right arm crossing his chest, but his head up, and he inquires politely, “Castiel, may I have this dance?”

Tilting his head curiously, Castiel needlessly replies, “yes, Dean, of course.”

Smiling his most winning smile, Dean straightens up, offers his hand, and nods approvingly when Castiel all but glides into step with him.

He keeps the tempo slow, but incorporates making circles, turning them ‘round and ‘round the stone and marble balcony, up and down it’s length; Cas follows him easily, trusting Dean’s direction, and always operating on a similar wavelength - Dean thinks that maybe they dance together well because they fight together well.

“This is nice, Dean,” Castiel remarks softly.

A dusting of rosiness rises up in Dean’s face; he pulls Cas a little closer to better obscure his face from scrutiny, clears his throat and makes some noncommittal noise that could be agreement or indifference.

“You’re the one who taught Sam to waltz,” Castiel surmises conversationally.

“Yeah,” Dean answers.

“How is it that you came to learn it?”

“Eh, you’d be surprised what you learn on the job,” Dean replies easily, pulling away enough to spin Cas, and then move close in again.

“... you just spun me.”

“Yeah, I was there,” Dean jokes, smirking proudly down at Cas; “Don’t worry, when you get to be a seasoned pro like me, you can snazzy up your waltz too. Maybe next you can learn to salsa or tango.”

In a moment of silence between them, Dean follows Cas’ eyes to their clasped hands; Dean’s not sure what Cas is seeing, but whatever it is, it’s making Dean nervous.

“See now what that lovely lady wanted? Feel bad yet?” Dean prompts.

Castiel’s electric eyes refocus on him, startling him with their intensity just as they had the wedding guests that were strangers to Cas, “I do understand now. However, perhaps it’s the soldier in me, but I find I much prefer following than leading.”

“Ah, that’s just ‘cause I’m a great lead,” Dean teases playfully.

“Yes, you are,” Castiel reinforces, eyes flickering between Dean’s, “You do know I would follow your lead anywhere, don’t you?”

“Christ, Cas,” Dean swears, trying to politely move his too-warm face out of view.

“Really, Dean,” Castiel adds, squeezing Dean’s hand where they’re clasped; when that doesn’t work immediately, he takes advantage of a circling turn to near their faces - their noses almost bump, and Dean has no choice but to look into Castiel’s eyes, “I want you to know. You do know, don’t you?”

Swallowing roughly, feeling possibly feverish, Dean down, then away, “... you gotta stop saying shit like that, Cas.”

“Why?” he wonders, “It’s only the truth.”

Clearing his throat again - a nervous tic he didn’t realize he had until right then - he mumbles back, “yeah, well… I talk big, but I’m flyin’ blind, so maybe don’t follow me everywhere.”

“I’m a soldier, Dean. A Commander, actually. When I delivered you to the convent where Sam and Ruby were against the wishes of Heaven, I chose you. I pledged my allegiance to an Earthly King over an absent God, and I knew what I was doing when I did,” their steps slow down as Dean takes that in, “All I knew was that… I had faith in you.”

At that, Dean stops moving altogether, his hand slides down from Cas’ shoulder blade to the cinch of his waist, and he allows their joined hands to wilt a bit lower, but he doesn’t let go.

It seems then that Cas is the one having trouble keeping Dean’s gaze.

He looks to some faraway place over Dean’s shoulder, and rasps, “I still do. So, yes, Dean. I will follow you everywhere you lead, for however long you allow me to. I don’t mind flying blind if I’m flying with you.”

“Cas…”

With difficulty, Castiel looks back into Dean’s eyes, and Dean feels his heart thud in his ears. He wonders to himself if Cas can hear it, or feel it, but all Cas does is stare intently back at him, maybe waiting for Dean to confirm or deny something.

“Guys!”

Dean practically jumps away from Cas, frightened as if he’s been caught doing something untoward, but Cas is unbothered.

“I think I found our guy,” Sam announces, none the wiser, “And I think he brought a friend.”

“Yeah,” Dean affirms gruffly, “Got it.”

Sam turns back around first, through the glass doors, back into the busy hall, and Dean starts after him, a hand already twitching toward his holster, sparing Cas a look from over his shoulder.

The Angel is standing there alone, unmistakably ethereal with a backdrop of twinkling stars and lazy fireflies illuminating him; he’s examining his hand as though Dean may have left a mark or a message on him somehow.

“You comin’, Swayze?”

Cas’ eyes snap to attention again, and his forehead wrinkles, “... I don’t understand that reference,” but he follows after Dean anyway.

He doesn’t seem to notice how Dean clenches and unclenches his corresponding hand, but Dean wouldn’t be able to explain it if he did.

#destiel #deancas #my stuff #fluff #pining #mutual pining #idiots in love #dancing #pre-slash

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dreams, Chapter 15

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 15

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3310

Summary: The reader and Sam take an irrevocable step forward.

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w b u r n, this section is emotional smut

The drive home felt electric and giddy and nauseatingly tense, like driving back from prom with a little foil packet burning a hole in your pocket. It had been delicious agony working through the rest of the shift on stolen hand grazes and smirks across the length of the bar, suspense winding in your throat, especially wearing Sam’s shirt, the incredible scent of him floating around you in a halo every time you moved. Now that it was so close you didn’t know what to do with it. At the very least, Sam didn’t seem to either as you noticed him swallowing far more often than he needed to and cranking the stereo. He drove fast, almost like—no, don’t think that, not right now—and you watched for deer on the sides of the road partly to keep from getting into an accident and partly for something to distract even a fraction of your mind from the way Sam’s lips had felt on yours when he had finally let go, how they must feel everywhere else.

When he pulled into the driveway, you both sat still in the front seat for a beat of silence.

“I’m—uh, I’m going to take a shower,” Sam said, looking toward your side of the car but not quite meeting your eyes.

“Yeah, okay, good idea,” you answered. You were still sticky with the broken-keg-beer from hours ago and a shower sounded divine, but you knew saying something about getting cleaned up too wouldn’t land right in the charge of this moment. The two of you awkwardly walked inside, a movement you’d done so many times that suddenly felt so unfamiliar it was a little spooky. Sam ducked into the shower without another word and you didn’t know what to do in your own house.

Digging through your clothes, you finally found a matching bra and panty set you hadn’t worn in…you stopped yourself from thinking about exactly how long. It was black and lacy but in a sort of sensible way; probably wouldn’t have been fancy for a person who didn’t usually buy her undergarments with durability and lack of movement while running and fighting in mind, but it was what you had and it certainly seemed like a more appropriate thing to wear than one of the old t-shirts of Dean’s you normally changed into after work. You bit your lip and beat back a moment of frustrated nerves, imagining the extremely awkward put-on seduction of walking through the cabin in just the set, and grabbed a black tank top and yoga pants out too, bundling all the garments together.

Sam walked into the bedroom with a towel slung sinfully low on his hips, and the sight made your breath catch in your throat. The tension required to hold the terry in place flexed one pec as a few droplets of water shook loose from his hair and slid down it.

You grabbed the bundle of clothes in your hand and gestured behind him. “My turn.”

Sam nodded, side stepping to let you out of the doorway.

It was a longer shower than you’d taken in a long time, going over your legs obsessively with the dullish disposable razor you’d been using and washing your hair twice to make sure to get any residual beer out of it. Finally you knew you couldn’t keep stalling and got out, running a palm of lotion over your body and putting on the black set, yoga pants, and tank top. You turned your head over to flip your hair a few times, hoping for a little more volume and a little less wet rat, and wished that you’d had some kind of perfume or something, had held onto anything from back when you thought things like that had a point, when you cared about being enticing. How glamorous, all this old cotton and dripping hair for what felt like a monumental turning point. No time to think about that now. You threw your towel up on the rack and headed back to the bedroom.

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his ankles, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, bare feet tapping on the floor. Something about knowing that he had gotten re-dressed and not even in the old sweats he normally slept in, had thought about it for at least a moment, made you feel better. His head snapped up when you walked in. “H-hey,” he breathed.

“Hey.” You noticed he’d straightened the already made up bed and taken the pictures of Dean off the wall, neatly stacked on the dresser in the corner of the room.

When Sam saw your eyes linger on the spot they had been, he opened his mouth. A small shake of your head stopped him from saying anything and you sat beside him. “So.”

Sam chuckled. “So.”

“I feel like we just got shut in a closet to play 7 minutes in heaven.”

“I know I said I’m ready but we don’t have to—”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Sorry, I just—I haven’t felt this nervous in a long time.”

“Me neither.”

You flopped back on the bed, feeling your wet hair fan out a touch around you and looking up at the ceiling. The mattress shifted under Sam’s weight when he laid back next to you, and after a beat you turned to your side, propping up your head on one palm and feeling the oppressive sparks of the moment burn into your skin, heat your cheeks. “There are so many times I could’ve said this, Sam, but you saved my life. I don’t kn—there’s just no way I would’ve made it by myself.”

He dipped his head toward you, the low light casting a severe shadow off of his jaw and highlighting the contrast between the concentric rings of green-blue-honey in his eyes. “I could say the same to you.” You waited a second, dragging your eyes down the high slope of his cheekbone and counting the tiny dots of stubble where its gradient began on his cheek.

Slowly, you tipped yourself over him, looping one leg over his waist and placing a hand above each of his shoulders on the mattress. Feeling the heat of his body between your thighs made you feel a bit lightheaded and the way Sam was looking up at you didn’t help, eyes bright and hopeful and a touch awestruck like a true believer listening to a sermon. Big hands floated to your hips, light as anything but each fingertip was rooting you together, connecting you as irrevocably as welded iron. You poured forward into him, stopping a few inches from his face. “I’m—” you started.

“I love you,” Sam stammered, looking almost surprised when it tumbled out of his mouth, but you caught it between you and breathed it back into him, catching his lips and holding back the groan you wanted to release at their softness, somehow even better than the memory you’d been amplifying in your head all night. You kissed him like a prayer, like saying thank you over and over again for the things he knew you wanted to acknowledge and for all the things he didn’t, every single dried teardrop and gummy worm a pass of your lips against his. One hand moved to your lower back, pressing you together while the other spun through the wet hair at the nape of your neck, thumb cradling the sensitive skin behind your ear and brushing softly back from it, a tiny affection you might not have noticed if everything about this moment wasn’t so amplified.

When you nipped gently at his lower lip, Sam made a sound close to a whimper deep in his throat before slipping his tongue against yours and drinking you in. He shifted his hips underneath you and used the hands on your back to guide you easily to the mattress, taking care not to place you on top of your hair. You wound your fingers in the fabric of his t-shirt and pulled him closer to you until you were pressed against the full firm stretch of his torso. As you passed your fingers under the hem, Sam leaned back for a second to tug behind his collar and toss the shirt to the ground in one fluid motion, coming back to lay a trail of kisses down the hinge of your jaw and neck, light suction on the exact spot it sloped into collarbone. It was your turn to get out of your tank top; the moment of widened pupils at the reveal dissolved the nerves you’d had about the lace and gave you the confidence to hook your legs around Sam’s hips and drag him as tightly to you as his jeans would allow.

He slipped tentative fingertips into the waistband of the yoga pants and you parted to let him shimmy them off of your legs, surprised when a tear almost welled in your eyes at the kiss he pressed into the side of your calf—an impulsive reflex betraying Sam’s affection. You sat up, tried to unbutton the worn cotton of his jeans, and realized your hands were shaking. He took your face delicately in his hands and kissed you, soft as anything, and it was Sam, person you knew best in this world, who’d saved your life over and over and over again; if you couldn’t trust him, then who could you trust? The moment was enough to settle you, button coming undone smoothly. He eased off the bed without breaking contact with your lips to shake them off, tipping you onto the mattress delicately when his legs were bare. Arching your back to unhook your bra, you shucked it off carelessly into the depth of the room. Sam raked his eyes over your body and you tried not to shy away from it. “I—uh—are we going to be okay?” he whispered low into the space between you.

“I think so,” you answered, and it was as much affirmation as you could give, because truthfully you didn’t know. It felt right but your instincts had been wrong before. You wished more than anything that you could’ve kept the sexually charged impulsivity in the bar’s cooler earlier that night, when you were moving on instinct and need and didn’t have time to analyze.

But Sam was so beautiful, so present and real, almost too warm under your touch, and you reminded yourself that he was the only real thing in your life. He brushed a stray piece of still-damp hair back from your face before bending to his knees on the side of the bed. You got up to your elbows and watched passively as he took the rest of your lace off, leaving you completely exposed save for the cover of his kiss on your inner thigh. Swallowing hard, you felt your lips part as you watched the long muscles of his back pull taut when he moved you to the edge of the bed. The hot breath between your legs was enough to make you see stars around Sam’s head like a halo and then he swirled his tongue around your clit softly, almost too softly, just enough to make you feel hungry with desire. A whine passed your lips and you barely even registered it, so focused on watching the precise even muscles in Sam’s jaw flex and ripple against his cheek, matching them to the mazes he was drawing into you. Wrapping an arm around your thigh to hold you in place, Sam flicked his gaze up for confirmation as he snaked an arm under you, sucking two fingers with his eyes locked on yours before gliding them inside you.

You gasped creakily as he hook-pressed, the strength of his hands feeling familiar if the feeling wasn’t, tugging out sweet sin rooted deep in your gut. It wound you into a tight coil ready to crack with tensile strength, cables of a centuries old suspension bridge rattling through every muscle in your body. With your back arching into the mattress, Sam lapped and swirled and spoke tongues into you, sturdy latch on your thigh until it was absolutely too much, sent you snapping into a thousand sparking live wires around him as you tried to steady yourself with handfuls of duvet. When you had enough of your wits back about you, you slipped your hands through the drying silk of Sam’s hair and guided him back up, kissing the taste of yourself off of his lips, his chin. Sam laid against you unfurling his body like a scroll, the heavy length of his cock grazing your thigh through his boxers. You gently push-pulled his shoulders to flip him onto on his back, a dazed smile on his face when you licked a stripe down his chest and lightly ran your teeth over a nipple. His chest heaved once when you brushed against his cock and then his breathing went shallow. With your mouth centimeters from his skin, you met his eyes. “Is this still okay?”

“Y-yeah, yes—yeah,” he said, way too fast to pretend at any semblance of nonchalance, more than fast enough to send you grinning as you tugged the elastic down his hips slowly and caught the weight of him in your palm, hot and crystallized beneath a shimmering drop of precum that you lapped reflexively, drawing a sharp inhale from Sam. Now it was your turn to swirl, rolling the head around your tongue sloppily before taking the first few inches of him into your mouth and sucking against a spinning hand until you built a rhythm. His head rolled back into the bed and he closed his eyes, letting them fly open only when you eased the full length of his cock into your throat slowly, willing your muscles to relax around him and relishing the fuzzy blown-out look in his eyes. You let the withdrawal drag, slipping frictionlessly over his now dripping cock as spit flowed through the gaps between your fingers. Sucking along the underside before taking him down again, you could feel the muscles in his abdomen starting to tense and pulled off, kissing a hip bone before straddling Sam and guiding him inside you carefully.

To his constant credit—as though there was anything you wouldn’t give him credit for—Sam held perfectly still as you stretched around him. It had been so long, and he probably would’ve been a challenge even if it hadn’t been years since these muscles had been flexed. The knowledge that it would calm down pushed you through the almost-tearing feeling you had, finally resting an inch or two above being flush together and taking a few deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, cheeks pink and eyebrows showing his concern even as the tendons in his neck flexed with restraint.

“Yeah, I just—out of practice,” you answered with a sheepish smirk. He traced down the sides of your thighs with velvet fingertips like a metronome until your body relaxed around him and you began to slide and grind against Sam in earnest.

He half-raised himself to meet your lips, curving you down so he could kiss you as you moved together. For the second time that night, he took you in his arms and turned you onto the bed, deftly switching your positions without disconnecting from you. His hand still cradled your head protectively while he touched his forehead to yours. Twin exhales mixing in the slowly humidifying air between you, there were so many things you wanted to say but none of the words you could think of felt like enough to encompass the comfort-love-grief-thanks-apology. All you could do was kiss him.

The two of you fit together exactly and you cupped the back of Sam’s neck as he rocked into you. Weight supported on one hand, he swept a thumb along your cheekbone before leaning down, touching his lips to your forehead, and taking a deep breath of your hair. Such a clear punctuation on his tenderness swelled up hard in your throat and you had to gulp hard to settle it, concentrating instead on the heat pooling in your core through Sam’s deliberate movements. The crescendo reached a fever pitch when he slid a hand to the small of your back and tilted your hips justrightjustlikethat, pressure drilling right into that perfect spot and after a few seconds it was all you could do to throw your head back into the mattress and crack in half.

Sam sucked at your jugular while you fell to pieces and in other circumstances you might’ve been worried about walking around like a teenager with a hickey, but all you could think of was him around you, inside you, on you, and you wanted as much as you could get. Tugging at his hair and latching your legs around his hips in frantic reflex shoved him over the edge, muscles in his back rippling under your other hand and sweat glistening over the expanse of his neck as it rolled back. He eased off of you, laid down beside you, and wrapped you up in his arms.

A few hot tears dropped to the bedspread and almost surprised you but didn’t seem to phase Sam, who just tightened his embrace so your cheek rested on the slope of his chest. Time stopped as you lay there, having disappeared between the fissures of reality and straight into Sam. You resisted the impulse to think too much. It was enough to be there, feel the mist of sweat and freshly washed hair cooling into the ether, the comforting heat of Sam’s body where he draped over you. After your muscles resolidified you turned up and kissed him once, more to check in than anything else.

“So…what now?” you asked, voice sounding muffled and weird after the long silence.

Sam smiled looking fatigued and content and nervous all at the same time. “Well, we haven’t been struck down yet. Are you tired?”

It was likely close to 4 or 5 in the morning but sleeping felt like a trap—with all the information you’d gathered about the dreams, it seemed like if you didn’t have one about Dean tonight then you’d both severely misjudged what was happening, which then put the legitimacy or ‘blessing’ of this new relationship with Sam in jeopardy. But it wasn’t like you could stay up forever. And maybe everything would be fine, maybe you could still have your cake and eat it too by staying with Dean at night and carrying on during the days with Sam, holding his hand and starting to see beauty again through its reflection on his face.

You brushed your teeth in the bathroom mirror together after throwing on the first t-shirt you found, trying not to put too much stock into it when it ended up being Dean’s Poison one with the tear on the left shoulder. It felt right, natural still to be sharing even this little space with Sam, and that had to mean something. He didn’t even look twice at the shirt but was only wearing boxers, having foregone the flannel pants and/or t shirt he normally wore to bed. You weren’t complaining.

Cuddling up next to Sam didn’t feel odd as it probably should have so long ago. The only differences were the interlacing of his fingers into yours as he covered your lower ribcage with his hand and the way he tucked his chin into your neck as he folded around you. “I—Sam?” you whispered.

“Mm?”

“I’m—uh, just. Thank you.”

Sam didn’t react for a beat, considering or waiting for you to continue you didn’t know. He simply pressed his lips to your stretched-out collar and melted so that his body sunk into yours. It didn’t take you as long as you might’ve thought to fall asleep.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 16

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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omniscientoranges · 4 years

Text

let me help (since you’re already half my heart)

okay, I take it that some people wanted a continuation of the fic idea I had in this reblog. I, personally, wanted to not do my homework. This worked in everyone’s favor here (except for my grades).

15x20 fix-it rewrite of Dean’s death scene - Cas saves the day edition

[AO3]

"I need you, I need you to tell me it's okay," Dean begs, holding Sam's gaze please tell me I can go you have to tell me or I won't be able to, "You tell me it's okay."

Sam swallows hard and opens his mouth to respond, "Dean, it's-"

"No, it's not."

Sam jumps at the interruption, Dean slowly slides his eyes past Sam's shoulder. He knows that voice. Fuck, does he know that voice. Guess Jack must've pulled him out after all.

"It's not okay, Dean," Cas says, stepping around Sam. "You're not going anywhere, not yet, not if I have any say in it."

"Cas," Dean whispers, looking at him like he's a welcome ghost, "You real?"

"Of course I'm real," Cas affirms, or, reaffirms, as it were. What about all this is real. We are.

Dean looks awestruck, not all there enough to try to hold back the stars in his eyes that always come from looking at Cas. Cas, for his part, does hold back - he's got a job to do.

"Sam, I'm going to pull your brother off this-" Cas tilts his head a bit, "large nail, I suppose? Can you support his weight while I heal him?”

Sam nods once, finally, something I can do to help, "Definitely."

"Okay," Cas reaches his hand around Dean's back, "Dean, are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

With that, in one swift motion, Cas wrenches Dean free from where he's staked up. Dean lets out an involuntary groan, and Sam's knees buckle slightly before stabilizing.

Cas presses his hands to the mess of a wound on Dean's back. That's certainly pierced an artery or two, Cas thinks, this will be... more difficult than I thought.

He concentrates, screwing his eyes shut, pushing as much of himself into this as he can. Dean's breathing is erratic, and, horrifyingly, it's starting to get quieter.

"Cas," Sam says, his voice drowned in worry, "Cas, it's not working."

Cas clenches his teeth in something that could only be described as a snarl and rips his hands off Dean. Sam starts to protest before he sees Cas flick his wrist and slip his angel blade down his arm. Cas takes the blade in one hand and cuts a long slice down one palm, then gives the other the same treatment. Pure grace spills out through the cuts, casting shadows and suddenly making Castiel's hands the brightest light source in the room. He moves them back over Dean’s puncture wound. Work, please work, don't do this now, don't let this be when my grace finally fails for good.

Sam and Cas hold their breath, Dean takes out another labored one that could very well be his last, or second to last, or third to last, or-

"It's not enough," Cas shouts. He moves from his position behind Dean and nudges Sam over. He brings his bleeding, glowing hands to Dean's face. "Dean, Dean, look at me. Do you trust me?"

What a stupid question, Cas, "Course, 'course I do."

"Do you know what I'm asking you?"

Oh, oh. Shit. "I- yeah, yes, yes, I know."

Cas nods and leans in, lips slightly parted and hovering a few inches from Dean's. The glowing from his hands dims, and suddenly there's grace floating like smoke, like blood in water, from Cas' mouth - curling into Dean's. Cas' eyes light up a more brilliant blue than they already are, and Dean's half-closed eyes light up the same. It's not clear whether it's Dean or Cas who closes the distance, though realistically, it's probably both of them. Hell of a way to have a first kiss.

Dean feels the tendrils of Cas' grace wrap into him, coil around his soul, seep through his skin and stitch up the ripped muscles in his back. It's strange, Dean's been a vessel for an angel before, but it didn't feel quite like this. It didn't feel... it didn't feel so familiar. It didn't feel like coming home.

Of course it feels like that, though, Dean thinks, it's Cas. That's just what it feels like to be around Cas on a normal day. At that thought, Dean can feel Cas smile slightly against his lips. You feel like home to me too, Dean. You always do.

Suddenly, or slowly, all at once, or piece by piece, Cas disentangles his essence from Dean's. They part their kiss, and open their eyes to look at each other. They've looked at each other a lot, seen each other a lot, but this is different. Markedly different. Like the universe looked at them and decided to synchronize their heartbeats from this moment forward.

"Are you okay?" Cas breathes out.

Dean lets out a soft laugh, and nods his head.

Cas lets his hands fall from Dean's face and makes way for the crushing bro-hug that Sam pulls Dean in for a second later. He stands off to the side as the two exchange a few words of relief, followed by one, two quick pats on Sam's cheek from Dean and an understanding nod from the former as he turns to walk to the exit. Sam shoots Cas a thankful smile as he walks out of the barn, Cas returns it easily.

After Sam's a good few steps out of earshot, Dean saunters up to Cas, smiling. "That's a- that's a pretty cool trick you got there, Cas."

"Well, I hope you enjoyed it, I'm fairly certain it was my last one."

Dean furrows his brows, "What do you mean?"

Cas drops his eyes to the floor, "I- my grace has been failing for some time, Dean. Saving you just now, I think that was the last of it."

"So, you're tellin' me you're human? Again?"

"It would seem so," Cas says, still not quite meeting Dean's eye, "But-" and there, that's when he finally looks up, "But, I don't think it'll be so bad. Not as long as I have someone to pass the time with."

"Yeah," Dean laughs, moving forward and draping his arm around Cas' shoulders, "Funny you should say that, I think I might know just the guy for the job."

"Hm, I think so too."

- - -

Tagging ppl who specifically asked in the reblogs/comments so you guys get some closure, let me know if you want to be taken off!

@thenightwolf732 - @goblinwritergay - @queer-things-dont-happen-dean - @opinions-nobody-asked-for

#destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel ficlet #deancas ficlet #spn fanfic #destiel fix it #god #im very tired lmao #gina.spn #gina.writing #100+

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lovingrosewho · 3 years

Text

Fake Dating (pt. 1)

Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Hello again! I’ve been really busy with this one, I was bored/tired of not finding a lot of tropes involving Crowley that were SFW, so I decided to write my own :-) This has pretty much every major trope I can think of; Winchester!reader (although it’s not specified and you can decide that), fake dating, sharing a bed (sort of), lack of heat, etc. Maaaybe the last chapter will be NSFW but I haven’t decided that yet (if you have any thoughts or suggestions on this I’d appreciate them a ton) anyways, I’ll shut up now and let you read, PLEASE, if you have any feedback it’s gladly welcomed! I lately realized that I put a looot of dialogue into fanfiction and perhaps not enough context, so I tried to fix that <3 Usual disclaimer: English is not my first language, bla bla bla :-) Ly!

MULTICHAPTER

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Rating: T. I guess fluff/crack?

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester need your help with a case, which involves pretending to date the King of Hell.

Warnings: mild innuendos, summoning?

“Nuh-uh, I’m not doing it” you declare turning your back on the boys. Dean runs to you and gently grabs your arm without you stopping.

“(Y/N) come on, you’re the only one who can do it” he begs, which gains a sigh from your mouth and you finally stand still, tilting your head at him as a prompt to keep talking “It’ll just be a couple of hours, just until Sammy and I are able to get to the house and hide from those two jackasses before they get there”.

“Are you actually asking me to have dinner with a couple of psychos... pretending to date him?” you question Dean sincerely, a look of concern and disbelief plastered on your face. Said petition, coming from the most protective Winchester brother, was a true surprise.

“You know I wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t our only option. (Y/N), please” he supplicates one more time.

It had all started when Sam and Dean screwed up at catching the shape shifters you were after, it was a simple job, but of course, they went in guns blazing, walking into a trap, a set-up, and when they realized, the monsters were gone. Funny enough, they turned out to be quite the art collectors, which seemed logical, given the circumstances under which they were killing and stealing from. But who could possibly know a pair of loonies like that? Even better, be friends with them? Exactly.

The King of Hell.

It wasn’t as if Dean were asking the world from you, it was a simple date. A risky one, sure, but you’d had it worse and with far worse men. The plan was straightforward, you entertained the shifters pretending to be Crowley’s girlfriend, whilst Dean and Sam got to turn down the security system of the house and hide, surprising the shifters the moment they entered.

“Fine” you mutter after a few minutes considering your possibilities. Dean immediately lifts you up the ground and kisses you all over the cheeks and forehead repeating again and again a series of ‘thank you’. You sigh for what seems to be the eleventh time this day and follow Dean towards the dungeon where Sam is waiting with the ingredients. You nod over at him to let him know you’re ready.

“Et ad congregandum, eos coram me” Sam proclaims as the blood from his ripped open palm runs across the dagger and through his fingers, dripping inside the summoning bowl.

A strong tug shakes the earth beneath you, and a low thunder sounds in the distance as the King of Hell himself, presents before your eyes.

Crowley looks directly ahead at the three of you, and then brings his gaze down, rolling his eyes in annoyance at the sight of the devil trap.

“Hello, boys” he salutes politely “(Y/N)”.

Your legs falter at the sound of your name in his voice, his lips savoring each and every syllable as your core twitches and you’re forced to bite your lower lip down not to hum in response. You had always been attracted to him even if you didn’t know how to act around him, it wasn’t as if they taught you in any manual nor hunter school how to make a move on the King of Hell.

“Aren’t we a little past the whole devil trap deal?” Crowley asks bringing you out of your musings “What is it that you want this time?”

“The shape shifters you were talking about the other day, the art collectors” Dean starts and is interrupted by the demon.

“What about them?” Crowley says with a bored look until his glare lands on yours. You arm with courage and mentally scold yourself for being such a nervous fuss, giving a brave step forward and speaking.

“We need your help to trick them” you tell him and catch an interested shine in his eyes.

“And why exactly would I help you with that? Mind you, they’re my personal acquaintances, very important, and very dangerous acquaintances” he exclaims, his stare not dropping yours “What’s in it for me?”

“A date with me and the three of us not kicking your delicate ass” you declare, crossing your arms in your chest, trying to maintain your tone neutral and your mind in place. Crowley’s eyes finally leave yours to roam throughout your body.

“Threatening, aren’t we, sexy?” he speaks at you, clicking his tongue. Dean takes a step forward, demon blade in hand and angry stare, you stop him right in his tracks grabbing him from the hem of his jacket and yanking him back again “Lucky for you, those shape shifters have been meddling in a... particular, and highly important, business of mine, so, I’ll gladly help”.

The three of you stare blankly at him.

“Just like that?” Sam asks him, which causes Crowley to roll his eyes once again.

“I’ll happily deny until you have something else to offer if that’s what you want, Samantha” he affirms and causes the youngest Winchester to frown in response and raise his arms in surrender.

“So it’s settled then” you declare, exhaling a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“Text me the details, will you love?” Crowley pronounces softly. You nod quietly and walk towards the devils trap to free him, but when you’re near enough you trip over some ingredients that were still on the floor, breaking the seal either way. Crowley catches you and holds you tightly by the waist.

“Eager much, (Y/N)?” he purrs in your ear and you feel yourself melting at his touch, but you readjust just fine and separate from him when you catch sight of Dean beginning to sense something odd. Crowley raises an eyebrow at your impassive glance, but says nothing, instead, to your surprise, he brings out your cellphone from his suit jacket.

“How did you...?” you start, looking into the side of your jeans you thought you had it in.

“Not so hard to pickpocket you, darling” he expresses, curiously eyeing you “I have very talented hands”.

You gulp as you turn to stare back at him, just to see him typing something on your phone, his smug smile not going unnoticed by you.

“I guess I do affect you at some level, don’t I?” he mutters so only you are able to hear him. You stay still, not saying a word, biting your lip down as he handles back your phone to you, his fingertips delicately brushing your hands, vanishing the moment the electronic touches your palm, the lights of the archive room seeming to fade at the singular contact and light up again when he’s gone. You check your phone to see what he did, the words “My King” read on the top of the screen and the number “666” at the center. You roll your eyes and put your phone back in your pocket.

“And? What’d he do?” Deans asks expectantly. You make a dismissive gesture with your hand.

“Nothing. It’s done” you declare turning to the Winchesters, proceeding to leave the room with both brothers looking at each other like questioning, what did they just miss?

Part 2

MASTERLIST (If anyone would like to be tagged you’re free to tell me! <3)

#crowley x reader fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #crowley #crowley supernatural #crowley x reader #crowley x reader fanfiction #crowley fanfiction #crowley fic #crowley spn #supernatural masterlist #crowley masterlist #crowley multichapter #crowley one shot

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

Drop off Point | SPN Brothers

Warnings; language, anger, arguing

There was no place like home, but the thing was, that you didn’t have one. Each day, you went from motel room to motel room, sometimes you would even sleep in the back of the impala, whist your brothers sat in the front, somehow gaining rest in those uncomfortable, upright positions.

Dad was gone, and left you primarily in Dean’s custody, and with having Sam back, he managed to get your brother to cut you some slack. Dean was a wreck without John, he was desperate to discover your father’s whereabouts, and his decisions made you feel as though you were not as desperate to find where he had gone.

Being a Winchester came with plenty of perks, you got to see so many places in a short span of time, it made it feel as though the world was underneath your fingertip. However, having the attributes of being a teenager, and a girl, didn’t mix well with your suggestions or desires to hunt for the parent that had raised you.

And that left you here, cruising in the backseat of Dean’s beloved vehicle, taking the turns to reach Bobby’s. The elder of your brother had said he needed to stock up on supplies, such as dead man’s blood and so on, in case he picked up on any monsters on his journey.

But the travel was not just his, you and Sam were there too. He had even gone to nab Samuel from his escape, and drag him into the putridness of this life once more, all for the man that spawned you all.

“Hey kid.” Bobby stepped down from his porch, his shoes crinkling upon the gravel. He greeted the boys with hugs, and a set smile occupied his face as he looked at you, it almost screamed relief. “I got everything you boys need, come on.”

The lot of you trailed after the elder hunter, who adjusted his baseball cap as he escorted the three of you into the main room, the devil’s trap brandishing the floor, and scurried piles of books taking up the rest of the space.

“Cool, you got the good stuff.” Dean clapped his hands together as he dug through the small arsenal, dragging out a small blade.

“That there was smelted with dead man’s blood, it’ll murder those suckers straight away.” Bobby spoke, watching as Dean pocketed some items. Sam dropped a bag on the floor, a guilty, disobedient dog expression clouding his face.

It wasn’t any bag, it belonged to you. The satchel contained a few articles of clothing that were clean and a couple of books that you had nabbed from libraries that you had passed through. “Why’d you bring that in?” You asked suspiciously, having an inkling of a feeling as to the reason.

“Sorry.” Sam muttered, he had truly missed you whilst he had been away, and he hated the idea of being subdued into saying goodbye. But this wasn’t his complete choice, your other sibling had entirely taken control of the decision.

“You’re staying here (Y/N/N), at least until we find dad.” Dean admitted, coming to walk closer to you to strangle you in an embrace, however, you were keen to take a step back, denying his request.

“This is ridiculous.” You scoffed, face red from hurt and anger. He had no right to swerve you from the path that you were hellbent on, it was not up to him. “I want to go with you!”

Perhaps it was a peculiar ambition, but in this life, family was everything. It was the code that you had been raised to, and you’d be damned if you were to insult it by giving it nothing but disregard. If it were you that were missing, everyone would be searching, Dean would send everyone out to enquire and look, no matter their gender or age.

And just because you were his sister, he thought that he could put his foot down. It never changed, he was continuously overprotective, it felt as though you were consistently travelling in a cage, a child lock on in the back seats of Baby, rather than being giving a sense of free will. Instead there was no freedom, only constricting bars that kept you in the line of sight and knowledge of your brothers.

“Well too bad sweetheart, you’re staying put here under Bobby’s supervision.” He retorted sufficiently pressing the sole of his shoe upon the wooden flooring on this matter. Dean wised not to argue, but it was where his conspiring opinion ended up taking the pair of you, Bobby scratched his head agitatedly, understanding the reasons for Dean’s red anger, however it was inevitable that one day, you’d be old enough to make your own decisions, and no doubt you would go head first into these dangerous situations. It was how he could tell how related you were to your brothers, even if you had a different mother from the infamous sons of John Winchester.

“Screw you Dean! You’re supposed to be the one looking after me, and here you are, loading me off to someone else. I hate you so much right now.” The words couldn’t be restrained, they tumbled out, and currently you couldn’t care less. Anger was taking the driver’s seat, and it was veering into a crash, one that Sam could see without his ‘psychic’ abilities.

“Don’t say that (Y/N).” Another order, how Dean like. It was such a typical trait that he reverberated from his chest, as though he was constantly the one in charge. The way he bossed people about was far too familiar, and it repulsed you. He was acting as another man in your life, the one that dragged the lot of you around like dogs, pulling on the leashes to keep you all in line.

“You’re not dad, so stop trying to be him!” Dean could only freeze upon receiving your words, as you heavily breathed, wound up from the spitting of conflicting interests. Another instant spewing of hurtful comments were attempting to be catapulted from the void of your mouth, but Sam hissed as he came to stand in front of you, clearly disappointed in your behaviour.

“You know (Y/N), I told Dean that he should give you a chance, although you deserve a life better than we got. Not because it could raise our chances and hopes of finding dad, but because it was what you wanted. But I’ve changed my mind, and I think you should stay here a while, until you are grown up enough to be on the road with us.”

His scolding made you bow your head down, almost ashamed of yourself, before you glanced at the trio of men in the room one last time, grabbing your man and escalating upstairs to a spare room. Sam gulped, knowing that he had silenced the poison in the blood you all shared, however he could only hope that you would understand why he was so inclined to get involved.

It caused him pain, knowing that you, his baby sister wanted to be neck deep in this chaotic life, when he had wanted out. The logic of it didn’t feel right, it only showed as evidence that you too had been brought up loved, yet in a toxic childhood. The inclination, the loyalty you had for fighting was a flaw, it was not something that hunters wanted to do, but instead rather something that they had to.

Sam sighed as he put the phone down in his lap, Dean was in the driver’s seat, his jaw clenched. “No answer?” He asked expectedly, to which the eldest received an affirmative nod. It was frustrating to know that this all uprose from them wanting to keep her safe.

“Bobby said that she’s okay.” Sam spoke in the music of the air con. “She’s actually getting pretty good at combat, hell it’s been six months. Her head is on straight, she knows that she’s good at what she’s doing. But-“

“She still refuses to speak to us.” Dean completed his sentence, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. His knuckles grew white from the pressure he held onto the remote with, his tongue clicking as he pushed away the guilt. That was only permitted recognition when he was alone, he’d never admit to anyone that he may have made a bad decision, all because his sister was alive and breathing, (Y/N) was okay, even if she refused contact with them.

“We should see her Dean.” Sam stated. He had wanted to for so long, he hated how absent the backseat was, and how there seemed to be a lack of the scent of female deodorant.

“Next stop, Bobby’s.”

#spn imagine #spn x reader #spn x Y/N #spn x you #spn fanfiction #spn one shot #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #supernatural x winchester reader #dean winchester imagines #dean x reader #winchester x reader #supernatural #imagines #spn reader insert #spn requests

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deancodedcastielenby · 3 years

Text

It started out with a XX

For @casmick-consequences because I just can’t help myself. Part 1 maybe?

Castiel fiddled with the card in his hand for the 100th time. Mick Davies number glared back at him each time he looked down at it, and he could remember the split second of tension that had shot through him when it was handed over. The moment replayed clearly in his mind over and over the more he thought about it, the more he realized what Mick was actually asking him. That was a flirtation, he knew now, and the number was given to Castiel specifically for personal or business use. There was something about Mick Davies and the way he had said those words, and the look in his eye that made Castiel pause and accept the card. Dean was rather angry after it happened, giving him a glower, but the more that Castiel thought about the interaction the more he wanted to call Mick and have a conversation with the man. Perhaps it was more than that, but he seemed to have an interest in Castiel, as a person. Castiel was aware that he had a type, tall, dark, handsome, with green eyes... there was a type there. Claire had let it be well known, when she texted him. Claire was the closest thing he had to family here and he would ask her opinion on some things, and Mick Davies was one of them. Claire was the one who prompted him to “go for it” what ever that was to mean, perhaps he should call. After another moment of indecision, he dialed the numbers into the cellphone and instead of calling, sent a text. That was easier than Castiel trying to be awkward on the phone.

>>Hello Mick, this is Castiel. You gave me your card.

That was how one started a conversation with someone new... right? Claire had told him to “be himself” whatever that was to mean, but it sounded normal. A few moments later he got a reply. << Castiel, I honestly did not think I would hear back from you at all. How are You? Castiel blinked at the phone. It must not have been too “dorky” as Dean would sometimes call him if Mick answered. He thought for a moment to reply. >>I am well, and you? Any interesting cases?

Claire said that when attempting to flirt, one should always be curious as to the other person’s interests. He had tried it on Dean, but he was not sure that it always worked on the hunter. Usually Dean would just fluster and tell him he was fine and walk away. It was sometimes rather hard to engage Dean in conversation. And Castiel was attempting flirtation with Mick, because “he deserved it” according to Claire. <<Castiel, if you sent me a message just to check on my case load I will never survive. I had hoped you were looking for something more interesting than that.... but we could discuss things over dinner perhaps?

Dinner? That was... like a Date right? Quickly he sent off a message to Claire just to make sure, human dating rituals were vastly different now then they were when he was watching earth. Sometimes it was better to be safe than sorry. When he got the affirmative from Claire and an “LOL” he decided he should accept Mick’s offer.

>> Dinner would be wonderful. I would be happy to discuss things other than cases. Let me know when and where to meet you. :smile: << How about tomorrow? Seven? I can get us in to this cozy Italian place I know, I will send you details. Looking forward to it! XX Castiel stared at the little X’s at the end of the text, and sent a message to Claire but she didn’t respond right away. So he walked into the library where both Dean and Sam sat. “Sam, when someone responds to a text message with two X’s at the end what does that mean?”

Sam blinked and looked up from his computer, “uh... can I see the message?” Castiel had no quarrel with Sam, and there was nothing untword in the message, so he showed it to the taller brother. Dean glared at the phone in Sam’s hand when Sam laughed, “its uh.. kisses? Like kiss, kiss? XO is hugs and kisses, where XX is just kiss kiss... does this make sense?” Castiel nodded and smiled a bit at his phone. Perhaps he was not as bad at flirtation as he thought. “Who is sending kisses to Cas now?” Dean sipped from his beer and looked over at Cas from where he was sitting with his book. Castiel didn’t even look up from his phone as he contemplated what to send back, he just answered. “”I have a date with Mick Davies tomorrow,” and turned to walk out of the library and back to the room that he had taken over in the bunker. He had a bit to think about.

#casmick #castiel and mick davies #cas x mick #fluff #random #its kind of a start #im at work so i can't write out a whole thing but check back #claire is a wingman #flufflet #my junk

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years

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Have you noticed the thing in fanfics of children's lit where the writer gives the protagonist new parent figures? The parent figures say things like "no child should have had to do x!". PF's don't prevent protagonist from doing heroism but might ground them for it after. Under their care, the protagonist is likely to get a job, often at the business of the PF. Seems less common for the Animorph (more in ATLA and Harry Potter), but if you have seen this, what's going on? Why do writers do this?

Why do writers do this?

Welcome to the fandom renaissance, Nonny! My best stab as to what’s going on here is that we’re seeing fewer and fewer shipping wars due to a whole range of forces from “the average age of fandom is increasing” to “there’s an ongoing post-monogamy societal shift.” BUT that there’s still a desire to see relationship-building fic go in the gaps where (for instance) Pro-Jacob Anti-Edward fic used to go. So instead of writing about Edward and Bella’s romance, people are writing about Edward and Carlisle’s mentorship, or Leah and Rosalie’s friendship.

What’s going on?

Again, a stab in the dark: it’s a really fun story premise, one that can get away from the way ships are sometimes fraught with baggage. Found Family is intensely cathartic, in the sense that it takes characters who are miserable and/or lonely in canon and allows them to build loving relationships with each other. It also (IMHO) reflects that trend among Millennial Whippersnappers to move away from nuclear definitions of “family” and toward embracing everything from polyamory to sexless romance to adult adoption.

Not only that, but it’s awesome in that it lets writers play so much with foils. Stranger Things obviously does this Up to Eleven (pun intended): Steve’s an arrogant jerk when he’s interacting with Nancy but a dorky sweetheart around Dustin, Hopper’s at his worst around Joyce but at his best around El, Billy’s evil to Max but might be redeemable around his mom, etcetera. This premise gives fan writers the chance to get wildly different characters into a room together — what if the Tonks family adopted Neville Longbottom? — and start playing out the fun potential.

Why Avatar and Harry Potter (but not Animorphs)?

In a word: FOILS. Both AtLA and Harry Potter are series filled with good, bad, and ugly mentors, and both series have contrasts between the good and the bad. For AtLA, it’s no accident that Zuko finally reuniting with his father in S3E1 is intercut with the scene of Katara finally reuniting with her father. Katara’s fam airs their grievances, talks things out, yells, cries, apologizes, forgives, hugs, and affirms their ongoing love. Zuko’s fam deals with having 500 times as much baggage by... Zuko kowtowing silently on the floor while Ozai talks about everything but their problems with each other. After that sequence, the desire to get Zuko into a room with Hakoda for some proper fathering is practically overwhelming, and many brilliant fan writers have obliged us by doing exactly that.

For Harry Potter, there’s no scene that’s as in-your-face with the contrast between healthy vs. unhealthy disagreement with one’s father, but there are still plenty of mentor foils. Sirius and Petunia are probably the clearest examples. Sirius is a raging mess who (on the surface) has nothing to offer Harry: he’s an ex-con with a drinking problem and untreated mental health issues who spends much of the series homeless. Petunia has her shit together and (on the surface) is the perfect guardian for Harry: she’s a wealthy full-time parent who lives in a large suburban house, and is both his closest surviving relative and his legal guardian. But of course all Harry needs from a parent is love and support, and Sirius offers that in spades while Petunia has none to spare. Again, the desire to rip Harry away from the Dursleys and ship him off to go be a Black is overwhelming, and many beautiful works of fan fiction have done exactly that.

Animorphs... doesn’t have mentor characters. Like, none. Elfangor dies, Toby does her own thing, Erek can’t be trusted, neither Ax nor Jake wants to mentor, and all adults are possible controllers. Eva’s the closest we get, but by the time she’s free, everyone (especially Eva) recognizes that the Animorphs are already more experienced than her. We don’t even see a dynamic like the Teen Titans show where the villains mentor the heroes — Jake and Marco might occasionally parallel Visser Three and Visser One, but they don’t learn from the vissers the way that Robin does from Slade or Raven does from Trigon. The kids just... find their own way. So while people have written fic where Elfangor or Eva or Mertil or Tom mentors the team, there’s not this in-your-face missed opportunity for the kids to get the parenting they deserve in Animorphs the way there is with Harry Potter and Avatar.

Have you noticed the thing?

Personally, I love this trend. I’m not much of a shipper — I’m not fond of “will they or won’t they” romantic premises, and actively dislike “they will because they’re soulmates” premises. My favorite Ship Dynamics are all platonic. Like, my faves include (but are not limited to):

Grubby Semi-Feral Mentee and Aloof Socially-Incompetent Mentor Bond with Alarming Speed Over Niche Magical Interest (see: Briar and Rosethorn in Circle of Magic, Boy 412 and Marcia in Septimus Heap, Jason and Bruce in Batman, Wart and Merlin in The Once and Future King)

Well-Intentioned Loving Parent Irretrievably Fucks Up Child, Copes with Fallout (see: John and Dean in Supernatural, Adam and Cal in East of Eden, Soichiro and Light in Death Note, Elaine and T.J. in Political Animals)

I’ve Only Known This Person With Extremely Specific Shared Trauma for 10 Minutes But If Anything Happened to Them I Would Kill Everyone (see: Toph and Zuko in AtLA, Luke and Annabeth in Demigod Diaries, Ax and Tobias in Animorphs, Spike and Angel in Angel, Parker and Eliot in Leverage, Johanna and Finnick in Catching Fire)

Saving the World Sucks But At Least My Ultra-Competent Siblings Are Suffering With Me (see: Edmund and Lucy in Chronicles of Narnia, Sam and Dean in Supernatural, the Hargreeveses in Umbrella Academy, the Crains in Haunting of Hill House)

Just Because I Tried to Kill You That One Time Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Help You Hide a Body, JFC We’re Still Family and I Don’t Know What You Take Me For (see: the Robins in Batman, Septimus and Simon in Septimus Heap, Kyle and Ian in The Host)

We Were the Weird Cousins At All the Family Reunions and We’ve Only Gotten Weirder Since (see: Kate and George in Story Time, Jake and Rachel in Animorphs, Po and Bitterblue in Graceling Realm)

#fan fiction #animorphs #animorphs meta #animorphs fic #animorphs fandom #fan meta #fandom #harry potter #avatar the last airbender #ship dynamics #found family #atla #Anonymous #ask #mentoring #i write sibs not romance

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