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meganlpie · 4 years ago

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My Demon King

Based on this request: You said you’d like some SPN requests? If so how about a Crowley x reader the reader being the youngest Wichester and even though she is a tough hunter she has a weakspot for the Demon. Though, thinks his flirtation is just a facade and he’s not interested in her. When a solo hunt goes wrong and the Wichester plus Castiel try to find the reader they are met with a really worried King of Hell who helps them. At this point Dean decided that he’d be okay with the two dating because Crowley was as worried as they were.

Here you are! It’s been so long since I’ve written our beautiful King of Hell! SPN Characters are NOT mine! The belong to the writers/creators of the show!

Warnings: A little angst, mentions of injuries and hospitals. Fluff! Protective big brothers.

Pairings: Crowley x fem!Winchester reader

You playfully rolled your eyes and shook your head at Crowley as he flirted. This was your normal. How silly is that? Your normal is sitting there listening to the King of Hell flirt with you. It was an act, sure. He was probably just trying to get information. But he was charming and could be really sweet. Deep, deep down. You knew the demon didn't care for you the way you had come to care for him, but you had a nice thing going.

In truth, you really liked Crowley. Your brothers may have hated him and been loath to work with him sometimes, but you didn't. You weren't sure how it happened, but Crowley had taken up a space in your life that felt empty when he wasn't around. Somehow, he'd managed to win your heart, piece by piece.

Your conversation with Crowley was interrupted by Sam, who came into the room with his laptop in hand. "Y/N? Think you can handle a simple hunt by yourself? There's an easy salt-n-burn in Colorado." You nodded and stood. "Sure. See you around, Crowley," you told him, giving his arm a squeeze as you passed by. You missed how Crowley's eyes watched you leave.

"Whatever you're thinking, stop," Dean warned with a growl. Crowley swung his hazel eyes over to the eldest Winchester. "You're sending her alone?" Sam shrugged and told him that you went alone on easy hunts all the time. "Y/N knows what she's doing. She'll be fine. And if she isn't, she'll call." For some reason, Crowley didn't look appeased, which both infuriated and intrigued Sam and Dean. Sam shook his head and left the room while Dean stayed behind to study Crowley a moment longer. Crowley could see Dean putting the pieces together and made an excuse to get out of there as quickly as possible. Your brothers were right. You could handle yourself. Crowley knew that. So, why did he have a sinking feeling in his stomach?

*time skip*

Crowley was a demon who was proud of the fact. He was proud that he was ruthless and sometimes cruel. He was proud he had no attachments or anything. But since he had met you, that had changed. Crowley found out he did have a softer side. It was a side he only showed to you. Crowley didn't think it was possible, but you had somehow managed to make him fall in love with you.

So, when he hadn't heard from you for three days after you left for your simple hunt, Crowley began to worry. Something was telling him that you weren't alright. That feeling didn't sit right with him, so when he finished his daily meeting with his demons, Crowley snapped himself to Earth, where he sensed the angel Castiel was. If anyone knew where he could find the Winchesters, it was the blue-eyed angel.

Much to his surprise, Castiel was already with your brothers. The motel room was a mess and your brothers were no better. They were pacing and arguing so much, they hadn't even noticed Crowley's presence until he cleared his throat. Suddenly, to guns were pointed at his face. "That's more like it. Now, what seems to be the trouble boys? And where is your lovely sister?"

The guns lowered and the two exchanged a glance. "Where is she?" Crowley asked, receiving no answer. Not even Castiel would meet his gaze. Anger coursed through the demon when no one would give him a response. "WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS SHE?!" he screamed, making the seasoned hunters jump a bit.

"We don't know. We haven't heard from her. I-It was just a simple salt-n-burn. I don't understand," Sam muttered, turning away from Crowley. Dean still stared at Crowley, but took a moment to glare at his brother. If there was one person Dean was more protective of than Sam, it was you.

"Where did you denim-clad morons send her?!" Crowley demanded. He was going to find you. Sam told him the area you had gone since he didn't have an actual address. In an instant, Crowley was gone again. Finding you was now his first priority. Sam and Dean looked at each other for a second. Sam shook his head and moved, eager to start his search again. He didn't have time to worry about Crowley. Dean on the other hand couldn't help his mind from wandering to the two of you. He'd never seen Crowley this way. Not in all the years he'd known him.

Another couple of hours later, Sam's computer pinged. "I got it! I got her! Good girl, Y/N!" Dean rushed over and looked at the small red ping on the computer that hadn't been there before. "She got her phone turned back on. We got her, Dean!" Sam was up in an instant, grabbing his jacket and running out of the room. Dean pulled out his phone and dialed the number he usually hated calling. "Crowley? Sam found her."

"So did I," Crowley's voice came from the other end of the line, as the demon in question turned to face you lying on the hospital bed. Your body looked so frail. Your skin was littered with bruises and you'd suffered a couple broken ribs and a broken leg. Crowley had found your car first and then followed the signs to the hospital. Once there, he plugged in your phone and turned it on so your brothers could find you.

Crowley hung up the phone before Dean could say anything else. Then, he pulled a chair up next to the bed and took your hand in his. He didn't say anything at first. Crowley didn't do feelings well. He wasn't sure how to handle them, other than anger. But when he looked at you, all the feelings that he normally suppressed came bubbling to the surface. "What have you done to me, Kitten?" he whispered. He watched your hand for any sign of movement. Anything that would tell him you were waking up. The sign he got was not what he expected.

"C-Crowley?" His hazel eyes snapped up to your face. Your voice was scratchy and a bit deep from being unconscious. "Hello, pet. Had me worried I was going to have to take your soul back to Hell with me." You let out a chuckle which turned into a cough. Crowley snapped you a cup of water.

"My brothers would kick your ass and you know it," you said after you put the cup down. Crowley laughed lightly, his hand still in yours. "I-I'm glad to see you, Crowley." Crowley blinked in surprise. "Are you?" You smiled and nodded. "I am. I thought I was going to die. I couldn't really move and no one knew where I was. And all I could think about was how my brothers would be and you. I love you, Crowley. I know it's silly, but I do."

"Kitten, it isn't silly. I am quite a darling devil, you know." You rolled your eyes, making him smile. "Crowley," you playfully warned. "Truthfully, pet I think that, perhaps, I love you as well." You beamed, wanting nothing more than to sit up and kiss him. As if reading your mind, Crowley laughed again. "None of that. When you're fully healed, we can get into all manner of diabolical trouble. Until then, you are staying right here." You pouted a bit, but knew he was right. "Alright. I love you, my demon king," you whispered before your eyes began closing again. He leaned up and kissed your forehead, not really paying attention to the two people standing outside your hospital room.

"Are we going in there?" Sam asked, itching to storm in and pull Crowley away from you. Dean just shook his head. "Dude! He's kissing our sister!" Dean laughed lightly, placing a hand on his baby brother's shoulder. "I'm not blind, Sammy. But…she's happy. And honestly, I've never seen Crowley so worried before. I think he really cares about her. I mean, as much as a soul-sucking demon can care. He'll keep her safe."

Sam huffed, but stayed where he was. Dean let a small smile grace his lips as he watched how careful Crowley was with you. Sure, they'd give him the "big brother talk" later, but for now, Dean was okay just stepping back for a bit. As long as you were happy and protected, Dean was happy. And it seemed the King of Hell was the perfect guy for the job.

(a/n: I hope you liked it! I missed writing SPN!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @sirkekselord @aikibriarrose @lady-of-lies @esoltis280 @motleymoose @stories-by-shanna-p

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#supernatural #spn #crowley #crowley x reader

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katehuntington · 5 years ago

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Title: All I Want - part three Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester (Bobby Singer, Castiel Mary Winchester and many more mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader Series summary: Sam and Dean come across an object that could be the solution to Michael. The Pearl of Baozhu grants the beholder’s deepest desire. Once Dean focuses on his wish, the archangel remains caged in his mind however. Instead his former girlfriend Y/N shows up, who was killed in 2010 in Detroit, by no other than Lucifer himself. Summary part three: Still in shock after Y/N’s unexpected return, the Winchesters fill her in on what has happened in the past ten years. Learning about all the ones they have lost, is a little too much for her to take in. Warnings part three: NSFW, 18+ only. Spoilers season 14 episode 13. Angst, fluff. Swearing, alcoholism. Descriptions of flashbacks and memories. Mentions of character death, time in Hell, torture and nightmares. Anxiety, grieving over lost loved one. Confusion that comes with time travel. Word Count: 5377 words Author’s note: Part three of a multi part miniseries, based on the 300th episode “Lebanon”. Beta’d by the lovely @kittenofdoomage, @winchest09, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish, and @thinkwritexpress-official. Thank you all so much for your feedback!

All I Want Masterlist

“So, long story short,” Y/N summarizes, “Sam jumped into the pit with Lucifer riding piggyback, Cas pulled him out but forgot his soul. There was a civil war in Heaven. Cas declared himself God and released the Leviathan and when those ugly suckers were defeated, our angel buddy and you--” she nods at Dean, “- got sucked into Purgatory, which is a place that actually exists, apparently.”

They are in the kitchen, seated at the four-person table. The hunters raided the liquor cabinet, all in need of a drink after the rather unexpected and staggering turn of events. Y/N takes a shot of whiskey and puts the tumbler down on the varnished wood with a bang, shoving it across and motioning the older Winchester for a refill.

“Meanwhile, Sam hit a dog and you escaped Purgatory, but Cas didn’t. Then there was this whole deal with the tablets and the trials, which almost killed your brother. You let an angel - who actually turned out to be a different angel - possess Sam in order to save him. There’s a second civil war upstairs…” She knocks back her head, downing the glass in one go. “I mean, what is it with those halo idiots? Haven’t they learned anything from watching humanity slaughter each other for centuries?” “Y/N, I know this is a lot, but you need to slow down a bit,” Dean advises, but she snatches the bottle from his hand and pours herself another. “I’m nowhere near done. Where was I?” She looks up at the ceiling of the kitchen for a second while thinking, until it comes to her. “Oh, right! The angels fell, you took on the Mark of Cain, beat that Knight of Hell chick Abaddon, then got yourself killed. Again. But, oh wait, it gets better! You woke up a demon and had a fun summer with Crowley.” Her voice pitches a little higher, a hint of panic audible now. Dean watches her process the information which is so clearly overwhelming her and eyes Sam, who is fixing her something quick to eat behind the kitchen counter. Their gazes lock on each other, both men wondering in silence if telling her the whole truth was a good idea.

“Sam cured you, but you still carried the Mark. You killed Death.” She laughs, cynically. “I mean, c’mon! Death! It’s ironic to say the least. Anyway, the Darkness was released, which - I kid you not - is God’s sister. Oh, and God? Turns out that horrible tween girl novel writer Chuck is actually the almighty creator! Ha!” “Why don’t you eat something? You’re probably hungry,” Sam suggests, putting down a plate in front of her. But Y/N isn’t interested in the sandwich and instead picks up her crystal glass again, having another royal amount of the brown liquor. Holding the tumbler to her lips while letting the whiskey linger in her mouth, she points her index finger at the younger Winchester now, who sits down opposite of the woman from their past.

“Your mom is back from the dead, the British Men of Letters turned out to be stuck up dicks. Lucifer was sprung from the cage, became President of the United States, and knocked up an intern. He had a son, his name is Jack. How am I doing so far?” she rants, setting down the empty glass in front of her. Dean looks at her, a worried frown drawing lines on his forehead. He knows her well enough to sense she needs to blow off steam. Interrupting her might not be his best move, but that doesn’t stop him from growing concerned about her current state of mind.

“There was a rift between our world and this - this Apocalypse world, you called it? And Mary and Lucifer ended up on the wrong side before it closed. Luci killed Cas, Dean was sad, Cas came back. You guys went on a rescue mission, Sam got killed. Again!” She sighs deeply, burying her face in her crossed arms on the table. “Seriously, the amount of times you two have died is giving me a fucking headache.” “Yeah, sorry about that,” Sam says, shooting her a sheepish smile before she continues.

“So Apocalypse!Michael possessed you in order to kill the Devil once and for all.” She looks up again, focusing on Dean. “But he didn’t check out like he promised - shocker, by the way. He wreaked havoc here, then out of the blue let you go. And now you guys live here in this Men of Letters bunker with a Nephilim, an angel and your undead mother.” “That’s about right,” Dean confirms. Y/N lets a breath slip from her lips and stares past him absently, the gears in her head still on overdrive. “I need another drink,” she eventually mutters, not even bothering filling up her tumbler, but taking a swig directly from the bottle. When she sets it back on the table top and lets her fingers slip from the glass, Sam is quick to get up and take the bottle back to the kitchen, putting it away in one of the cabinets; she has had enough for one day. “And I died…”

The younger Winchester turns around and leans over the counter while observing his friend, his knuckles white on the surface. He studies the breadcrumbs that litter the stainless steel surface after he cut her sandwich in two, having difficulty addressing that topic. When Lucifer flung her into that wall with such magnitude that it killed her instantly, Dean lost the woman he loved, but Sam lost his best friend. He didn’t realize how he felt about her demise until after he got his soul back, which somehow made it even worse. Like he didn’t do her justice, didn’t mourn like he should have. He doesn’t have to reply to her words, though, because Dean beats him to it. “On May 10, 2010,” he states, averting his gaze and focusing on his folded hands in front of him, still wrapped around his own whiskey glass. The date is forever etched in his memory. Her mirage haunts him on a regular basis, but on the 10th of May she’s all he can think about, like a fog that refuses to lift at daybreak. It’s one of the hardest days to get through, the day that he misses her the most. Dean’s jaw flexes and he tries to swallow down the pressure that’s gradually building in his chest.

“That’s - that’s in a year and a half,” Y/N stammers, after quick calculation. “At least in whatever time I’m from.” “Yeah, just before the big title fight between the Archangels,” Sam confirms. Y/N glances up at him, then back at Dean, who still can’t force himself to look at her. “Who killed me?” “Lucifer,” Dean recalls, venom in his voice. Her brow lifts up at the reveal. She was killed by the Devil himself? Well, at least that would make a cool inscription on her tombstone. “You guys salted and burned me, right?” she double checks, even though she cannot imagine the Winchesters giving her anything but a hunter’s farewell. Dean pulls at his lip with his teeth, the memory of the burning pyre flashing before his eyes. He remembers it as if it was yesterday. The funeral that made sure her death would be irreversible, permanent. The sight of her body set alight. In order to stop the Apocalypse from happening, he lost his brother and his girl. Sam was suffering endless and horrific torture in the pits of Hell while she was going up in flames before his eyes. God, he was a mess. His brother came home, but looking back now, deep down Dean knows he never really recovered from losing the woman who will forever have his heart. “I did,” he confirms. I did, he said. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes Sam was gone too at this point; Dean didn’t even have his brother to lean on. Pitiful she watches the hunter, who has endured so much already. He lost the two most important people in his life in a day’s time. “Then… how am I back?” she wonders. “You said something about summoning me?” “We found a magical artifact called the Pearl of Baozhu. It grants your biggest wish, basically,” Sam begins to explain. “Apparently, it’s so powerful it doesn’t need remains to resurrect someone.” “And I am your biggest wish?” She chuckles. “What? Not winning the lottery? Peace on Earth?” A small smirk pulls at the corner of Dean’s mouth; oh, he missed her wit. “No, it’s you,” he states after a moment of quiet, finally meeting her gaze.

Astonishment silences her as she stares at him, the pain of having to go through life without her still evident in his eyes. He looks so much wearier than she remembers the tough hunter, the soldier who always marched on and kept grinding. Even after he came back from Hell, the experience that tore open wounds which bled even worse than those inflicted the night the hellhounds took him. Honestly, there were plenty of times she thought he would never recover, whenever he woke up screaming from another nightmare and she had to hold him until he calmed. And yet, he didn’t seem as burdened as he does now, and that is saying something. It’s as if time broke him down bit by bit as he grew older, until there was nothing left but a ruin.

Dean said it’s 2019, which means he’s forty years old now. His frown lines lay deeper, so do the crow’s feet by the corner of his eyes. There’s a scar on his chin that wasn’t there before, covered by his stubble. His hair is a little longer, but only by a quarter of an inch. Age has not done a number on him, because he’s still handsome, but trauma and loss surely have. Knowing that her own death had a substantial part in the neverending sorrow and guilt she knows the hunter carries breaks her heart, because if anything, she would never want to cause him such agony.

“We were together,” she says, ending the silence.

It’s more a realization than it is a question, but Dean nods either way. Her jaw lowers slightly, her mouth opening, but she has no idea what to say. She was frightened when she heard she was on a collision course with death. But now she’s made aware that her future self and Dean are going to face evil as one hell of a power couple, that fear diminishes. She was a teenager when she first started developing feelings for the oldest Winchester brother. She never acted on it, the hunter’s life always getting in the way of their romance. But somehow, despite destiny, despite the horror show that is their reality, they found their way to each other.

Seeing just how much her departure wrecked him, she reaches out, moving her hand across the table to take his. She squeezes softly, running her thumb over his skin, rough from the many fights he’s faced. He visibly relaxes, cherishing the moment he never thought he’d have again. Y/N forces herself to avert her eyes, aware they aren’t alone. She glances at Sam, who watches the two, smiling, but his content expression dissolves when she inadvertently turns the conversation in a harrowing direction. “What about the others? How’s Bobby?” she wonders, oblivious to the painful reply that is to come.

Dean’s face falls, closing his eyes in apprehension. Shit, he wishes he didn’t have to break the bad news to her. Bobby Singer was like a father to all of them, but Y/N spent the majority of her childhood under his wing. After her parents died, he took her in and raised her as his own, made sure she could go to school, that she could be a kid. Hell, he was her father, maybe not genetically, but he was the wise man who taught them that family doesn’t end in blood.

Sam stares back at her, then swallows thickly, letting his head hang. Analyzing his stance, the smile on her lips dies down, frantically searching for an indication that says it isn’t so. When the tall hunter is unable to return her gaze, she fixates on Dean, tears already glazing over her eyes. “Y/N...” He takes her hand in his now, trying to sooth her and cushion the blow, but he knows there’s nothing he can do that would take the pain away that is about to hit her like a freight train. “No...” She shakes her head, unable to accept it. “No no no no...” “I’m so sorry,” he says softly, his heart breaking as he breaks hers.

Her bottom lip begins to tremble, her face contorting as she fights the emotions that quickly overpower her. Shimmering pathways of anguish find their way down her cheeks, eventually falling to land on the wooden surface. Y/N wipes her cheeks dry, but it’s no use, new tears forming faster than she can erase. And so she brings her free hand up to cover her mouth, holding back a sob. “W-when?” she stammers, her voice shaking. “How?” “In 2012. He... he was shot,” Dean explains, trying to get the words across as gingerly as possible.

She shuts her eyes now, her throat closing up and she bites her bottom lip, trying her hardest not to break down in front of the boys. She has so many questions of which the answers terrify her. “Did he die alone?” She barely dares to look up again, meeting Sam’s gaze this time. He shakes his head, offering her a comforting smile. “No, we were right there with him,” he assures. “He’s in Heaven,” Dean consoles, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand. “Cas double checked.”

Y/N nods slightly, sniffling as she digests the news. Knowing that he’s in a good place right now doesn’t stop the grief from tearing her apart, because she has no idea how to go through life without her mentor to council her, but at least he’s not suffering anymore. A shuddering breath escapes from her lungs as she collects herself. “What killed him, is it--” “- dead. Yeah, we made sure of that,” Dean guarantees. “Good,” she says, her voice having gained some strength. “What about Rufus? Ellen & Jo?” Sam sighs and looks down, painfully confronted with how many people they’ve lost over the years. “They’re all gone,” he states, still leaning heavily on the countertop. Shocked, Y/N stares at him, unable to believe how many have perished. “So, of the original crew, you two are really the last ones standing, huh?” “Yeah, I guess we are,” the younger brother confirms. “But we met some great people along the way, I’m sure they’ll be excited to meet you. We’re not fighting the good fight alone, by any means.” “Glad to hear that. Just, not today? I’m not sure how much more I can take,” she almost pleads, her voice raspy from crying.

Dean watches her closely, guilt constricting in his gut. Unknowingly, he has pulled her from a time where things weren’t all that bad. If she’s from October 2008, he has just returned from Hell. Bobby was alive, Sam was okay, so were the other people she considered family. They were growing closer, on the verge of giving in to the attraction they felt for each other. But now it’s just the three of them and a ten year gap between her lifetime and theirs. She must be feeling completely out of place, disorientated, exhausted. “Why don’t we go pick out a room for you, so you can lay down for a bit?” Dean offers, squeezing her hand gently to get her attention. She agrees and gets up from her seat without another word, mentally too tired to argue. The alcohol is coursing through her system, and although she doesn’t feel highly intoxicated, combined with the range of emotions she just went through, it’s doing a number on her. Honestly, she’s down for a nap, preferably one that lasts a day or two. Dean lets her go up the two steps first, ready to catch her might her coordination fail her after all. He glances over his shoulder at his brother, who picks up the untouched sandwich and carries the plate to the sink. “Go ahead, I’ll clean up,” Sam offers. Thankful, the older Winchester forces a small smile before he leaves the kitchen.

Quietly, Y/N follows the broad shouldered hunter who leads the way, her arms crossed in front of her chest, the coolness from the stone walls chasing chills up and down her spine. It’s not just the cold, though, it’s everything. Too much information to process, too much heartbreak to endure. Her brain is overloaded, fatigue hitting her like a ton of bricks. She watches Dean turn the corner and stroll into a long hallway with doors on either side, gold plated numbers below the Men Of Letters emblem. They stop in front of room 12. “You can take this one,” he suggests, opening the door for her and flicking on the lights. “I’m right next door if you need anything. Sam’s in room 21.”

Y/N steps inside, taking in her new accommodation. Despite the use of mostly brick and concrete and the lack of windows, the glow coming from the ceiling light and the lamp on the nightstand feels warm and welcoming. A large mahogany bed is situated against the far end, a matching desk on the left with an old typewriter and a radio sitting on top. Directly behind the door there’s a sink and a medicine cabinet with a mirror on the lid, and a wardrobe next to it. “We can put a rug on the floor, if you want. I remember how you always had cold feet,” Dean suggests. She turns in the middle of the room, a small smile on her lips; he’s not wrong. “I’d like that,” she says, grateful.

A little uneasy she lets her gaze linger over the still empty cabinets and bookshelves again, feeling foreign in this future that didn’t include her, before Dean wished she was. She realizes there’s nothing to fill them with, no clothes, no books, no picture frames. “Could I maybe borrow a shirt and some sweats from you? I’m gonna have to buy some new clothes later today,” she asks, a little flustered. “Sure, but actually, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, the way he always does when he’s nervous. “I never threw away your stuff. It’s been in boxes in the storage room, so your clothes are probably gonna need to be washed--” “- Wait, you… you saved my stuff?”

She stares at him in awe. It’s been almost ten years since she died, and he still held on to all that she owned. Sure, it wasn’t much, since they were on the road most of the time, but still. They didn’t find this bunker until a couple of years later, which means Dean had stored it in a locker somewhere, or maybe at Bobby’s, and picked it up again when they found a permanent home. He had moved her things around for almost a decade, yet never threw them out, even though he knew there was no purpose left for the items that once belonged to her. Just painful reminders of what was and what was lost. “Yeah, I - I couldn’t really bring myself to throw it out,” he claims, as if he was dodging a task that should have been done long ago. He isn’t lying. Even though he knew she was never going to return to him, that her life was lost and his love was hopeless, he kept everything she held dear. Her books, her mixtapes, her photos, her jewelry. The clothes she wore, the guitar she played. The stack of coasters she collected, picking one up at every bar they ever had a drink at, from every town they ever crossed. The old school Polaroid camera she brought everywhere, snapping pictures of everything that caught her eye along the way. Sunsets, funny road signs, captivating landscapes, interesting people. There are a few of him, of the Winchesters together, some more portraying the three of them, all squeezed into the shot. She even caught Bobby on camera, ignoring his grumpy mutters when she had fulfilled her seemingly impossible mission. There’s the music box she got from her mother when she was little, her parents’ wedding album. Lore books, weapons and crystals that Bobby gave her when she first started hunting. The enchanted good luck charm Dean gave her for her birthday. He held on to it all, because he couldn’t bear the thought of having to let her go completely.

Sympathetically, Y/N observes him. His tough exterior only lets a hint of embarrassment over something so sentimental seep through. But she knows him, she has seen the knight without his armor. She knows how badly he’s hurting. “Anyway, I’ll - uh, get you some clean clothes and dig up your stuff from storage.” He points his thumb over his shoulder a little awkwardly, excusing himself. She nods. “Thanks.”

With a faint smile on his lips he disappears, leaving the door ajar. Y/N breathes in deeply and allows the air to flow out, trying to calm herself down. It’s her first moment alone since she found herself in the year of 2019 and she cannot begin to comprehend what is happening to her. How she time-jumped a decade into the future, having history with Dean she cannot even recall. It feels like she’s in a bad daytime television show, where one of the characters has hit her head too hard and suffers from amnesia, not remembering her lover. Rubbing her forehead she turns around, trying to massage away the headache. Her eyes glide through her new bedroom again. This is going to be her home now. After moving out of Bobby’s place, she never really had that kind of stability. The closest she came to a roof over her head was her minivan, her little house on wheels.

Fingertips grace the covers of her bed, the material soft under her touch, when she hears Dean’s boots echo in the hall. She turns around as he comes through the doorway, holding two boxes with a bundle of clothes laying on top of the stack in his arms. He lowers the neatly taped carton containers to the ground, her name written on them with black marker. Dean made sure to file on the label what’s inside them. “There’s one more box, your clothes are in that one. I can put them in the washer now, so you’ll have something better to wear than my oversized stuff,” he offers. “You don’t have to do that, Dean,” she objects, but he shrugs it off. “It’s no problem.” His voice is kind, but he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. It’s the first time he has moved her belongings without having to fight the tears, without having to pause in order to stop himself from breaking down. He wants to make sure she has something clean and fresh to wear when she wakes up later, finally being able to take care of her again.

Dean turns the corner and heads to the storage room, his heart finally calming with the simplicity of being able to do something as domestic as washing her clothes. After picking up the last big box, he exits the storage and pulls the door shut behind him, making his way to the dorm where the washers and dryers are situated. He sets the box down in front of one of the machines, pulls his pocket knife from his belt and cuts through the duct tape. The first item he pulls out, however, steals his breath; it’s the leather jacket she wore that night in Detroit. Two days after they lost her, Dean wrapped her in linen before he laid her down on the pyre he and Bobby built, her lifeless body still in the jeans and band shirt she had on when she was killed. He took off her favorite black leather jacket, though, wanting to preserve it, even though it was a part of Y/N - or maybe because it was. Traces of faded crimson still stain the collar. Dean shakes his head, trying to ban the image from his mind. The image of the blood running from her nose and mouth as she hung from his arms, dead weight, the spark of life in her eyes long gone.

After a deep breath, the hunter collects himself and lays the leather jacket aside, then begins to carefully pick out some of her clothes. He makes a selection that fits in the drum, adds a laundry pod and turns the machine on. He hopes the old thing does a better job at washing away the memory of her death than he’s doing.

When he enters Y/N’s room again, she has changed into the black shirt and grey sweatpants he offered her. She spins when she hears him, an amused grin adorning her face. “Nice socks,” she chuckles, showing off her novelty footwear with burgers and milkshakes on them. “Shut up. Sammy gave them to me for Christmas,” he utters, a blush on his cheeks. “Your stuff’s in the washer.” “Thank you,” she returns, grateful.

A silence followers as Dean lingers in the doorway. This would be the moment to give her some space and retreat to his room, but somehow he can’t make himself step outside. He has spent too much time without her by his side already, he doesn’t want to waste a second not being with the woman he’s still unmistakingly in love with. She’s his girl, afterall. But that’s where it gets confusing, because he’s not sure how she feels about all this. Y/N was zapped from a time where they weren’t in a relationship yet, so where do they stand in this messed up mayhem? “Y/N, about that kiss earlier…” he starts off hesitant. “I, uh - I didn’t know you were from a place where we weren’t… y’know, together.”

The smile on her lips dies down as she watches the hunter, skilled in the field when fighting evil, but now stumbling over his own words. It’s only now that she realizes how surreal this must be for him. His mind probably has archives full of memories she has no clue of, simply because in her time, they didn’t happen yet. “What I’m trying to say is…” Dean takes a breath, trying to get his message across. “If I came on too strong, or made you feel uncomfortable in any way, I’m sorry.” He glances up now, watching how she slowly approaches. Gently, she takes his hand in hers, their fingers entwining. After studying their hold for a few seconds, she tilts her head and restores eye contact. The look she gives him is so warm and kind, it mends the broken man that he is. “I’m not,” she responds, her voice soft.

She leans in, tiptoeing, and presses her soft lips against his. For a good moment all his grief, the endless regret, the physical pain that became chronic, is forgotten. He closes his eyes and melts into the touch, returning the kiss without hesitation. The voices in his head are silenced, his anxiety calmed. After eight years, eight months and twenty eight days, he has found his missing piece. If her departure from his world didn’t make him realize how much he loves her, this moment surely does.

The kiss lasts a few heavenly long seconds, but then Dean parts from her, resting his forehead against hers. He sighs deeply, the air leaving him with a shudder. Still high on the ecstasy that the undeniable connection induced, she opens her eyes, but his remain closed. Wondering why, Y/N squeezes his hand. When he does look back at her, the tears bring out his green irises, like holding an emerald gem against the light. Compassionate, she cups his face, tracing the lines of his jaw. “You really missed me, didn’t you?” she perceives. He huffs; she’s putting it mildly. “You have no idea,” he breathes.

Y/N does, though. Last thing she remembers is how Dean just returned from Hell. In the four months that he was gone, she was completely at a loss. Wildflowers blossomed on his grave from her tears alone. Knowing he was enduring unimaginable torment only made it worse. But when he returned and she was able to close him in her arms again, it magnified everything she had ever felt for the man who went to Hell and back. The rollercoaster he’s riding now is one she’s been on herself, but she doesn’t tell him that; it’s not about her right now.

She kisses him again, shorter and more sweetly now, smiling at him afterwards until he returns her expression. His eyes are still shimmering, but it’s not sorrow she finds in the depth of his pupils, not anymore. It’s gratefulness, appreciation, love, for her, the girl he lost so many years ago. “You should get some sleep. You had one hell of a morning,” he says after a quiet moment, unable to look away. She scoffs. “Understatement of the week.” He nods grinning, admitting she’s probably right. “I’ll leave you to it.” Dean is about to let go of her hand, when her grip on him grows a little stronger, causing him to glance up at her, questioning. “Could you…” she pauses, not sure if she’s asking too much. “Could you lay with me, just for a while?” He reads her carefully, pained to see the hint of fear; she doesn’t want to be alone. “Sure,” he agrees, the single word soothing her.

Y/N allows his hand to slip from hers now and circles the bed, folding back the covers as Dean sits down to take off his shoes. When he leans back into the pillow, his upper body still slightly elevated against the headboard, tiredness overwhelms him. He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in forever, Michael always waiting in the shadows when he dares to close his eyes. But when Y/N crawls into his chest, filling the vacant place that has been cold for so long, he sighs content, letting the worry fall from his shoulders. Who knows, maybe with her by his side, he might actually be able to rest.

She pulls the sheets to cover the both of them, feeling Dean’s sheltering arm wrap around her and pull her in. The kiss he presses to her hair has her bite back the tears yet again. She tries to hide it, not wanting to come across as weak or emotional. The man who has always cared for her, doesn’t fail to notice, though. “Hey…” he says, softly. “You had a lot on your plate today, huh?” She sniffles and nods, not brave enough to test her voice. “It’s gonna be okay, we’ll figure this out,” he promises. “You got me, Y/N.” “Yeah…” she whispers. “I got you.”

Dean holds her close, giving her the security and the comfort she is desperately seeking, hoping she might forget about the world she’s in now and the one she was ripped from. Absently, he rubs his fingers up and down her arm, the slow, soothing rhythm lulling her to sleep. Within minutes she’s out, the warmth she radiates slowly melting away the tension in the hunter’s stiff muscles, tired and worn from endless battles with both monsters and himself. Exhausted, he lets his cheek rest against the top of her head, allowing his own eyes to flutter shut as well. The last thing that crosses his mind before he falls asleep is a promise. Past, present, or future, Dean will always be there for the woman who makes him believe in their little slice of apple pie life. A decade of time difference will not change his word of honor.

It took me long enough, didn’t it! Stay tuned for part four, I hope I have gained some momentum now and will able to finish this series sooner than later.

Anyway, thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

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laora-inn · 4 years ago

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Supernatural - Does Dean keep Cas’s photo in 12x02? A bit on Mary’s significance

Hi, guys.

Currently writing a meta about Destiel and pies, I re-watched 12x02 and noticed something UNUSUAL at the end of episode. Now I can remember this was also bothering me while watching for the first time but I’d just filtered it. The 25th frame effect you know.

Strange thing, I didn’t analyze it and didn’t even read meta about it. I checked out and found this amazing post written by @charlie-minion. I’m totally agree with it, but also want to speculate about something more.

Now let me clarify :)

12x02 is an episode where Mary, Dean and Cas save Sam from Toni (BMoL). Mary tries to find her place in the bunker, with her new family, and Sam brings her John’s journal to read. Mary opens it, looks at John’s photo where he is a soldier (we saw this photo in journal in 1x09) and then discovers another one. This:

We saw this photo before. When? In 5x04! In the End!Universe, when Cas was a human and a junkie. This photo was important to the plot. When Dean came to Bobby’s house in the End!Universe he found this picture in a secret place, saw the camp title on it, saw Cas and Bobby in it and went there. I took some screen-caps from 5x04 to prove my point:

We never knew what Dean’d done with this photo after. It wasn’t important, to tell the truth.

And now Mary discovers it in John’s journal.

At first you can say it’s a mistake of the crew. John is a soldier in his solo picture, then there are some pictures where his brothers-in-arms could be, with him included. If there is some picture where soldiers are, the crew may just take it for the scene.

But then Mary reaction comes. She shakes her head a little and returns this photo to the diary. She can’t recognize anyone from this picture - besides Cas, I suppose. She even doesn’t know Bobby this far. And there is no John in the picture - despite of the fact it’s his journal!

But we know. We know them both, Bobby and Cas. So it can’t be a mistake also because of our familiarity with the characters.

@charlie-minion writes “I don’t think the photo was a huge element of the plot, but it did help the audience have a visual reminder of a time when the world had collapsed and Bobby Singer was fighting angels”, and I’m totally agree with that - by the end of the season we’ll see another parallel universe, not End!verse, but also with Bobby fighting angels and Apocalypse world. And yep, in 5x04 “Cas was fighting with the humans, not against them. Whereas Castiel in the alternate universe was fighting with the angels. Interesting to think that the big difference between one world and the other was the existence of Dean Winchester”.

So the crew’s perspective why they chose this photo to show us is clear. But why the hell did they put it in John’s journal?!

We know Dean was the only one who could bring it from the 2014 End!verse. Was it him who put the picture in this journal? And why?

I don’t think Dean’s shared his experience in End!verse with anyone. It was his part of a story, his point of view, too personal to tell anyone, even Sam or Cas. I suppose maybe he brought this photo to remember events he didn’t want to happen and to make everything not to end like that. But again - why did he put this photo in the journal?

At first it was like lore collection to the Winchesters, but then they moved to the bunker and used to find information in different books. John’s journal became just one of them. So it was more his personal belonging then, a memory of him, just like photos of Mary with Dean or young Sam and Dean with Bobby.

We know John’s Impala and old jacket became Dean’s once a time. Can we suggest that after 1x01 it’s Dean who also keeps John’s journal?

I think we can. Trivia:

1x02 - Sam takes Dean aside and asks for John's journal. Dean pulls it out of his jacket.

4x03 - Dean has the journal with him when Cas sends him back to 1973. Before that he slept - though he had his jacket with him. The journal was in it.

5x03 - Dean studies the Journal while waiting for Cas. That time Dean and Sam were separated for a while, and that was Dean who had the journal.

8x08 - Cas looks through John’s journal and says to Dean: “Your father... beautiful handwriting”. Before that he looked through Dean’s personal belongings - toothpaste, toothbrush. There is no real need for Cas to read the journal - Dean was reading it just when Cas was handling his things. I suppose that Cas’s examining it the same way he’s examining other Dean’s belongings. ‘Cause of personal space lack between two of them.

9x12 - The last time John’s journal was seen before 12x02. Dean is separated from Sam again and takes it IN THE BAR with him. When Crowley asks for it, Dean pulls the journal out of his jacket.

Sam also reads journal from time to time, but it’s Dean who carries it with him everywhere in his jacket - like his wallet. I think Sam is still asking for the journal. I suggest he asked Dean for it before giving it to Mary in 12x02.

From 1x01 to 12x02 the journal was Dean’s.

And if that’s true, then this photo from the End!verse wasn’t supposed to be seen by anyone except Dean himself. Sam’ll definitely ask about it if he’s noticed, and, in my opinion, Dean still doesn’t want to answer questions connected with this picture.

In 8x14 Dean decorates his own room with the photo of him and Mary. He pulls it out of his wallet. We can see other family photos later in his room, framed or not - in 10x03, 10x22, 11x22, and mostly they are hidden. In Dean’s notebook, in different boxes. In 11x11 we saw Sam has his own box with pictures either. Before that he told about family photos with Eileen.

So, the photos are hidden, but they are all in the same place for each of Sam and Dean. In fact they have different pictures, and in 11x11 we didn’t see any photo of John in Sam’s box.

Maybe, that’s because Sam didn’t admire John the way Dean did. Of course, he loved him, but in 14x13 Sam would be the one who’d be against John’s appearance in the bunker. On the other hand, Dean’d be blissful... until he’d discover John’s presence'd make Cas stranger to him. Yep.

Well, Cas was never so important to Sam than he is to Dean. That’s canon.

And maybe that’s the reason Dean actually has 2 places for photos to keep. One of them is some place in his room - the box, the notebook. The other is John’s journal, with 2 photos - of young John and...

The photo that has Cas in. Not Dean’s Cas, but the Cas who was definitely closer to HIS Dean than Dean’s Cas is to him. In the End!verse Dean and Cas basically had only each other.

I’ve read a meta where was mentioned that after Cas’s death in 12x23 Dean had no his photos. Well, he had. In 13x02 Sam and Dean used John’s journal again, so Mary returned it by that time - if only Dean hadn’t pulled the End!verse photo out of it earlier.

He kept this picture since 5x04, just like he kept Cas’s trench coat in season 7, and Sam had no clue about it. It’s not his business, it’s not HIS RELATIONSHIP. Impala belongs to Dean, John’s journal belongs to Dean. End!verse photo with Cas belongs to Dean, and he keeps it with him in John’s journal like he kept Mary’s photo in his wallet. Ahem.

Crucial to say, Sam, Dean, Bobby, Mary and John are the only people in family photos. No Charlie, no Kevin, no Garth. Maybe because of digital era?

And here we have a photo with Cas, and Dean keeps it for himself. Until Mary comes.

Maybe, Mary assumes that all the men in this picture are hunters. Maybe, she doesn’t even recognize Cas - she is in a difficult state. I don’t think this photo helps her to recognize Bobby later - it has no text “Bobby” on it, so the source for her recognizing him should be different. Well, Sam and Dean both have photos with Bobby, even framed. Maybe she just asked about Bobby when she saw him in another picture.

In 12x02 while Mary is looking at End!verse photo Dean is also looking through his family pictures. I think that’s no coincidence there is no John in them.

Dean’s looking through the first part of his family photos, which he possibly could share with Sam. The second part, more personal, now in Mary’s hands with John’s journal that we know was Dean’s by this time.

From 12x02 Mary metaphorically becomes a keeper of Dean’s secrets.

In 12x03 Mary also had a conversation with Cas. That was the time I thought they could be a nice couple because of dynamics. However they have no COUPLE dynamics - there is always Dean whom they’re both having in their minds, though in absolutely different ways. Mary as her grown child, Cas as his equal.

From the first meeting, when Mary saw Cas hugging her son, for seasons 12-15 dynamics between them is significant to the main plot. But not because of its romantic (or parenting whatever) tone. It’s rather... understanding? Appreciation? Gratitude?

What does the text give to us is that Mary is significant to DeanCas relationship progressing.

#destiel #destiel-meta #destiel meta #castiel #dean winchester #mary winchester #bobby singer #john winchester #deancas #supernatural #spn #supernatural 12x02 #spn 12x02

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deanstop13billyjoeltraxx · 4 years ago

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Superposition

a deancas college roommate au :)

Chapter 8 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here.

CW: mentions of verbal abuse, homophobia, alcoholism, jail time. instances of smoking.

some notes: I usually go through and italicize as necessary when I’m posting on tumblr because it doesn’t copy over from my og text, but this chapter is like 6200 words and i’m just not gonna do that. recommend reading on AO3 for the best experience!!

An Exercise in Futility

Three Years Earlier

Castiel was convinced that his life was one massive, cosmic joke.

He’d been considering the possibility for some time. Being the gay son of a homophobic pastor does that to a person. When he discovered, sometime around the age of twelve, that the girls in his Sunday school class were far less interesting than the boys, he could practically feel God laughing at him. Then there was high school, where the religious prattling was replaced by what felt like endless torment at the hands of his peers.

He felt like college was quickly becoming the third punchline.

Not that things were bad. Things were good, actually, better than they’d been in years. He was learning about things he cared about. He passed his midterms with flying colors. He even had friends. He spent a weekend watching all of the Lord of the Rings with Charlie. He had switched seats in accounting to sit next to Meg.

And, of course, there was Dean. Dean, who dragged Cas to a football game and didn’t drink a sip of alcohol the whole time in solidarity; Dean, who, after Tombstone, insisted on movie night every Tuesday; Dean, who, demanded that Cas print out a copy of one of his short stories and sign it (“When you’re a famous douchebag, this is gonna be worth so much money”).

It seemed that, on all fronts, Castiel had finally capitalized on the collegiate promise of a second chance.

But by his own estimation, he was doomed.

Because sometimes, his palms started sweating when Dean stood too close. Sometimes, his heartbeat skipped when Dean threw an arm across Cas’s shoulders. Sometimes, Cas woke up from a dream so vivid, he was disappointed to find himself alone in his bunk bed.

He could see how easy it would be to fall in love with Dean Winchester, what with the blond hair and green eyes, bright smiles and southern lilt, funny jokes and considerate actions. The prospect was utterly terrifying, and Castiel was doing everything in his power to stop dwelling on it.

He’d been down the “falling in love with your straight best friend” road before. AP biology class brought Cas a lab partner in Ben Wright. Soccer team captain, A-student, all around nice guy. Maybe Ben didn’t do anything to stop the constant verbal torment, but he never took part in it. At first, being around him was exhilarating. Sharing looks, catching smiles, trading inside jokes; Cas was intoxicated. He was so high on first love that he made the mistake of confiding in Bartholomew. Cas had always considered him to be a role model, friend and brother at the same time. But that night, when Cas came out, Bartholomew looked at him like one might look at spoiled food. He’d agreed not to tell their father, on the condition that Cas never speak about the matter again, that he figure out some way to “cleanse himself.” They hadn’t spoken since that night.

And so the feelings that once propelled Castiel to school with anticipation suddenly made him dread it. Not only did baring his soul to a brother get him a one-way ticket to estrangement, but Ben started dating someone else, a girl from his English class. Now every shared look was painful, smiles were false, inside jokes stopped being funny.

It was somehow worse, knowing Ben could never feel the same way. It certainly didn’t help the feelings of guilt and shame brought by his family.

Cas would do anything not to feel that way again.

He started by insisting that Dean invite Benny and Charlie to more of their nightly dinners. And while he honestly liked the both of them, he would be lying if he didn’t admit that their presence was, first and foremost, a distraction from Dean. He took up running again, as a way to get himself out of the dorm when Dean decided to stay in. He spent more time studying with Meg.

Meg was shockingly easy to befriend. She wasn’t nice — Cas had watched in shock when, once, she dumped a hot coffee on a skateboarder who had knocked her down on accident — but she never said a mean thing to Castiel. She was like him: a black sheep, the child everyone wished they could forget. Only, where Cas had become an agnostic and gone to college, Meg had become a Satanist and gone to jail for arson.

But this was her new leaf, she told him. Maybe it didn’t matter why someone needed a second chance, only that they were willing to take one.

They had been working for an hour when she threw her pen at his head and said, “Cas, you should come with me to Sig Ep’s Halloween party tomorrow. Be my date.”

Cas took a moment to process the meaning of party + date + with Meg. “Uh, I don’t — well, um, parties aren’t really —”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re allowed to say no, hun.”

Cas panicked. Meg was looking at him expectantly, her resigned smile making it clear she was prepared for rejection.

“Well, I… It’s not because of you — you’re very beautiful, and smart. Actually, you’re one of the most wonderful people I’ve met here.” She grinned at that. “It’s just, I don’t really… Go on dates. With girls.”

She studied him a moment before understanding lit up her face. “Oh.”

Castiel fidgeted with his pencil, refusing to meet her eyes. He’d only ever done this once, and it hadn’t gone well. But he liked having a friend, and more than that, he liked having Meg as a friend. He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t interested because of any fault of her own.

“Cas,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she poked him in the arm. “Castiel.” He raised his eyes. “It’s cool. It’s not like you can just choose to like girls when a pretty one asks you on a date.”

“I… Understand, if you would rather not be friends,” Cas said, cautiously.

“What?” Meg’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? Why would I not want to be friends?” She laughed a little. “That would be super ironic, considering I told you I went to juvie and you didn’t bat an eye.”

“Because I’m gay,” Cas said quietly, looking down again.

Meg grabbed both his hands. “Cas, hun, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

He looked up again, eyes wide. “What? I mean, I know that, I just… Not everyone does.”

Meg smiled sadly at him and gripped his hands a little tighter. “Well, I do. No biggie. We’re going to be iconic together, you and I. Sexiest gay-straight alliance of all time.”

Cas smiled weakly, relief flooding his entire body. “Thank you, Meg. I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to make any judgements on your character. It’s just… This,” he motioned at the air between them, “has never gone well for me.”

Meg shook her head. “That’s a shame,” she said. “I haven’t known you that long. But I think I can tell that you — all the parts of you — are awesome.”

“You can still come to the party,” she added after a moment.

Cas shook his head, capping and uncapping his pen repeatedly. “Parties… They’re not really my scene.”

“All right. You know who to call if you change your mind.”

On Halloween, Castiel returned from his nightly run to find Dean pulling on a flannel. He checked his watch — he had barely made it. 6:57 pm.

“Right on time,” Dean said. “I was about to leave without you.”

“I would have never forgiven you if you did,” Cas joked. Then, “Are Charlie and Benny coming?”

“Nah, they’re both busy tonight. Halloween parties, you know.”

“Oh.” Castiel took a large sip of his water. “You’re not attending a Halloween party?”

Dean shrugged. “Wasn’t really feeling it tonight. Plus, I have a feeling you’ve never seen The Exorcist?” When Cas shook his head, Dean rubbed his hands together. “Oh man, we are totally watching it tonight. Unless you’re busy,” he added, raising his eyebrows at Cas.

“I’m not,” Cas replied. Dean knew this already, of course, otherwise Cas might have made something up. The waters in which he tread got more dangerous each day. He couldn’t escape the warm feeling flooding his chest at the idea of Dean ditching the parties for a movie night.

It was precisely that feeling that caused him to hurriedly ask, “Would you mind if I invited Meg to dinner?”

“Who?” Dean asked, lacing up his boots.

“Meg Masters. She’s the friend from accounting that I told you about.”

“Ah,” Dean said. “Right. What, just me isn’t good enough anymore?” Cas thought he was joking, but it seemed forced.

“Dean —”

“I’m kidding, man,” Dean said with a short laugh. “Sure, she can come.”

Castiel hurriedly splashed his face with cold water and shed his sweaty t-shirt in favor of a hoodie. Dean feigned a sniff in his direction and made a face, to which Cas replied with an eye-roll. As they left their dorm, Cas sent a text to Meg.

CN (7:02 pm)

Would you like to get dinner with Dean and me?

CN (7:02 pm)

Unless you’re already at your party, in which case, be safe.

MM (7:03 pm)

Party not til later. hot roommate dean?

CN (7:04 pm)

...Is that a yes?

MM (7:04 pm)

Yes please ;) shocker dining?

CN (7:05 pm)

Yes. We’ll meet you there.

Dean grabbed a burger and an inordinate amount of fries while Castiel loaded his plate with spaghetti and a salad. Meg walked into the dining room just after he and Dean sat down, and Cas waved her over.

“Meg,” he said, offering her the seat next to his, “this is Dean Winchester. Dean, this is Meg Masters.” Dean smiled at her with a mouthful of french fries. Cas dropped his head in exasperation.

“Pleasure,” Meg said with a half-cocked smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Dean shrugged. “I am pretty awesome. Can’t say the same about you, though.”

Cas went bright red. He shot Dean a glare, then turned to Meg. “He’s joking —”

Meg’s grin only widened, and she giggled. “It’s all right, Cas, I’m not very interesting.” She raised an eyebrow at him. He became extremely intent upon eating his dinner.

Dean stared at her for a moment, chewing a bite of burger. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You know Cas from accounting?”

“That’s right,” Meg said brightly.

“So he’s your tutor or somethin’?”

Cas interjected. “Actually, Meg is far more capable than I am. She essentially taught me everything about liabilities.”

“Adorable,” Dean grumbled.

“Isn’t it?” Meg asked sweetly. “And you’re his roommate.”

“Yep.”

“Lucky you.” She gave him a wink. Dean choked on his diet Coke, and Castiel prayed to whomever was listening that he might cease to exist.

“Meg,” he said, giving her a pointed look, “did you finish the homework?”

She pulled her eyes away from Dean. “Yeah, I did.” She dropped her voice. “Did you want to go over it? At my place?” She winked at Cas, who stared at her in horror. Why was she acting like this? “You know,” Meg continued, “We can do other things too. Besides accounting.”

Dean cleared his throat loudly. “I’m gonna go grab some more fries. Do y’all want anything?”

Cas and Meg shook their heads. When Dean had left the table, Cas gave Meg a death stare.

“What’s wrong with you?” He hissed. “I thought we covered this —”

“Yes, Cas, hun, I know you’re extraordinarily gay,” Meg said with an eyeroll. “I’m not actually interested. I’m just conducting an experiment.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “What ‘experiment’—”

He closed his mouth abruptly and leaned away from Meg when he saw Dean returning from the buffet line. He returned to his seat, looking between Cas and Meg suspiciously. Cas downed his water in one swift action.

“So, Dean,” Meg said after taking a bite of her pizza. “I hear you’re educating our friend here on pop culture.”

Dean didn’t bother to look up at her while he swirled a fry in ketchup. “Guess so.”

Cas cleared his throat to interject. This direction of conversation was much better. “Meg asked what my favorite movie was,” he explained to Dean, who still hadn’t looked up from his plate. “I told her about how much I liked Back to the Future when we watched it last week.”

Dean gave him a small smile. “Yeah, that movie’s friggin’ awesome.”

Cas turned to Meg. “We’re watching The Exorcist tonight.”

Meg gasped dramatically. “So that’s why you blew off our date?”

Dean sputtered into his drink. “Date?” He said through a cough.

Cas looked helplessly at Meg, who unhelpfully smiled back. He was going to have words with her after this.

“I asked him to come to the SigEp party, but he said he was busy,” Meg said, feigning a pout. “But I get it, parties aren’t really Cas’s thing, anyway.”

Dean’s eyes flickered quickly between Cas and Meg. “All right, am I missing something?” He asked. His leg was bouncing against the table leg, hard enough that Cas’s plate was vibrating.

Cas looked at him, panicked, and stuttered out, “I don’t —”

“Like what?” Meg asked, sipping on her water.

“You his girlfriend or somethin’?”

This question delighted Meg. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Dean turned to Cas with an exasperated look. “Well?” He prodded.

Cas was sure he was about three different shades of red at this point. “What — I — no,” he sputtered.

Dean seemed to relax a little. Meg was still grinning like a madman. “There you go,” she said.

Castiel could not formulate a single coherent thought. He was confused as to how they even ended up here. The silence between the three of them was thick and awkward. Meg paid it no mind, just popped a strawberry in her mouth and gave Dean a sickly sweet smile. Dean excused himself to use the restroom, hitting his leg on the table and nearly tripping over his chair. Once he had left, Meg turned to Cas, her eyes sparkling.

“You are so in,” she said.

“What the hell was that?” He asked her. “What just happened?”

“He thinks I’m into you,” she explained. She took a bite of her pizza, then continued, “And he thinks you might be into me. And he hates that.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Cas scoffed.

Meg laughed, throwing her head back. When Cas fixed her with a glare, her eyes widened. “You really don’t see it?”

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s nothing to ‘see’. I already told you.”

“Yeah, right. Whatever, you’ll thank me later.”

“For creating what is perhaps the most awkward dinner I’ve ever had in my life?”

She waved him off. “Don’t be such a baby, it wasn’t that bad.”

Cas gave her a look that suggested otherwise. She sighed.

“Look, the way you talk about him…” Meg grabbed Cas's hand when he rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. You like him, and now you know he likes you too.” She sat up proudly. “I just did all the heavy lifting for you.”

“Right,” Cas said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Obviously, this interaction points to an inevitable romantic encounter. Except, and I think this is important, Dean is not gay.”

Meg raised an eyebrow. “Well, the way he looks at you, he’s not straight either. Plus, he apparently still thinks you’re straight, so you two haven’t had that conversation yet. He could be flamingly bisexual and you would never know.”

“This conversation is exhausting.” Cas felt like he was watching a Disney Channel Original Movie, and Meg was a fifteen-year-old matchmaker.

Meg laughed. “I’m sure you’ll survive. By the way, did you actually want to go over the homework this weekend?”

“Yes,” he said, relieved at the change in subject.

Dean returned then. “Are y’all done?” He asked, pointing to their plates. Cas and Meg both nodded, offering “thank you’s” as Dean took their plates to the dish rack. They followed him to the exit, the crisp air sending a chill through Castiel.

“Did you want me to walk back with you, Meg?” Cas offered.

She beamed at him. “You’re so sweet, but no. I’m getting an Uber to Sig Ep, anyway.” She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out something small and black. “Plus, if anyone tries anything, they’ll find themselves electrocuted. Just a little bit.”

Cas grinned. Dean raised an eyebrow.

“See you on Monday, Cas,” Meg said, giving him a hug that lasted just a touch too long. “It was good to meet you, Dean.”

“You too,” Dean muttered.

They watched her walk away for a moment. Cas wanted to avoid looking at Dean for as long as humanly possible. He had no idea how he was supposed to explain the previous interaction.

“So,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “She’s… Nice.”

“She is,” Castiel agreed earnestly. “Dean, I’m sorry, Meg can be a bit…” He struggled to find an adequate descriptor. “I think she enjoys others’ discomfort a bit too much, sometimes,” he finished.

Dean let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. It’s not a big deal, man.”

They stood in silence, Dean looking at the ground intently, Cas tugging on the strings of his hoodie. Dean kicked a rock, then sighed. “You, uh, you ready to head back?”

“Yes,” Cas replied.

The walk back to their dorm was quiet. Castiel couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought Dean looked bothered. He felt bad — he had honestly expected for Meg and Dean to get along. He had thought them to be similar in their confident and boisterous personalities. Now, he wondered if that was precisely the problem. Too much personality at the same dinner table. He winced internally at his own poor judgement. Meg obviously took no issue with the encounter, but he worried that Dean might hold it against him.

Dean let them into their room, then wrinkled his nose at Cas once more. “Dude, seriously, go take a shower. You’re gross.”

“Actually, I enjoy the feeling of my sweat drying all over my skin. I was thinking of going straight to bed like this. It’s not as if I didn’t take a shower because of your constant insistence upon eating meals at the same time every day”

Dean made a gagging motion. “Hey, we had an appointment, and you were almost late. How is that my fault?”

Cas just rolled his eyes and gathered his things to head to the showers. He let out a muttered, “Crap” when he realized nearly all of his laundry was dirty. He’d been busy this week, and running every day tended to render his clothes unwearable after a single use. He made a mental note to do laundry first thing in the morning. He was able to find an old pair of gym shorts, but not a single t-shirt remained in his closet. Cas groaned inwardly. So he would simply have to sit next to Dean for approximately two-and-a-half hours, shirtless. Fantastic.

When he returned from his shower, Cas found Dean cooking two bags of popcorn, the title menu of The Exorcist already on screen. Dean stood up from the microwave when Cas entered, and was halfway into a thumbs-up when he did a double take.

“Uh… We goin’ shirtless tonight, Baywatch?” He said, tugging at his collar.

Castiel tilted his head. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“Of course you don’t,” Dean said with a chuckle. “Seriously, though, dude.”

Cas sighed as he sat on their beanbag. “I have a lot of laundry to do tomorrow,” he said by way of an explanation.

Dean didn’t respond, but made his way to his own closet. He ruffled through it for a moment before Cas was hit in the face by a t-shirt.

“Here, just wear one of mine,” Dean said. He coughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “‘S kinda cold in here, anyway.”

Cas held up the shirt. It was a Led Zeppelin graphic tee, vintage, from their tour in 1977. Cas raised his eyebrows at Dean.

“It’s pretty awesome right?” Cas donned the t-shirt. “Sammy got it for me from a Goodwill a couple years ago. Another of my prized possessions.” He looked at Cas with feigned scrutiny. “Looks good on you,” he said.

Cas played with the hem as he said, “Thank you.” Dean coughed again and walked back to the microwave to retrieve their popcorn. The air was palpable with awkwardness.

Dean turned out the lights. They settled onto the beanbag, as had become custom in the last few weeks.

Not even thirty minutes in, Dean’s phone began to ring. “Hey, my brother’s callin’, can you pause it?” Dean said.

Cas obliged, and Dean stood as he said, “Hey, Sammy, how’s it goin’?”

Cas sat awkwardly with his hands in his lap, doing his best not to eavesdrop on Dean’s conversation. Though, he supposed if it was private, Dean could have moved to the hallway. Instead, he leaned against the door, twisting the beaded bracelet on his left hand.

“He did what?” Dean suddenly yelled, and Cas jumped. Dean shot him a quick apologetic look. “

��Sammy, calm down, it’s okay,” Dean said, and Cas couldn’t pretend to not listen anymore. He looked at Dean with a silent question, but Dean was staring hard at the wall, his free hand balled into a fist.

“Put him on the phone,” Dean said in a low voice. A pause. “What, so now he’s allowed to treat you like shit whenever he wants?” Another pause. A slow exhale from Dean. “No, you’re right. I don’t… I won’t make it worse.” Pause. “Do you want me to come down there? Because I will, you know I will.”

Dean was silent for a long moment before asking, “Are you sure?” He sighed at whatever his brother said on the other line. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything, I guess. And Sam? I’m really fucking sorry. I should’ve stayed, I don’t…” He trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I know. Yeah. Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

Dean lowered the phone from his ear. He stood silently for a moment, angry gaze directed at the floor. Then, causing Cas to jump once more, he turned and hurled his fist at the door.

There was a loud thud upon impact, and then Dean was yelling “Fuck! Goddammit!” as he cradled his hand. Cas stood abruptly, but had no idea what to do. He walked toward Dean, cautiously.

Dean’s eyes were closed, and he was heaving deep breaths. Cas put a hand on his shoulder. “Dean?” He ventured.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, still not looking at Cas. “I just — Fuck, that was so stupid,” he said, shaking out his affected hand. “Sorry,” he repeated to the wall.

“It’s fine,” Cas said, even though he thought it definitely wasn’t. “What happened?”

Dean just shook his head. Cas’s hand remained on his shoulder. He tightened his grip, a little nervous that Dean might shove him off. “Dean,” he persisted. “You can tell me.”

Finally, Dean looked at him, and Cas thought if that level of rage was ever directed at him, he would promptly die. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Dean growled. “I gotta — I don’t know, I need to calm down. I don’t actually want to break something,” he said, motioning to the door. “I’m gonna go for a smoke.”

Cas dropped his hand and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll go with you.”

“Cas —” Dean started, but Cas silenced him with a look. He grabbed one of Dean’s flannels from his desk chair and threw it at him. Dean caught it with a cross between surprise and irritation. Cas grabbed his own windbreaker and put it on, looking expectantly at Dean.

“Are we going?” He asked.

Dean looked at him as if he was trying to decide whether arguing was worth it. A sigh confirmed that it wasn’t. He silently pulled on his flannel and opened the door, ushering Cas through before exiting himself.

They walked in silence, despite the fervor of Cas’s concern and curiosity at Dean’s outburst. Dean’s jaw was set, and he took a long, slow breath when they hit the crisp fall air. When they reached the Impala, Cas silently moved to lean on the hood while Dean retrieved his lighter and a cigarette.

Dean joined Cas as he took a long draw. He exhaled the smoke upwards, his eyes closed. His face was still turned to the sky when he asked, “This really doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

Dean brandished his cigarette in answer, turning to raise an eyebrow at Cas.

Cas shrugged. “It’s not particularly comforting. But, there are worse things.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up thoughtfully. “Besides, you’ve been smoking for years. If anyone could convince you to quit, your random college roommate isn’t the most likely option.”

Dean gave him a strange look before exhaling another plume of smoke. He coughed a little. “I think you have long passed the line between ‘random roommate’ and ‘new best friend.’”

Cas gave a little chuckle. “That’s good to hear.” Inside, his world was falling down and rebuilding itself anew. Dean thought of Cas as his best friend. Cas had never known that feeling, to have someone care about him like that. Cas wondered if that could be enough, being Dean’s best friend.

He didn’t say anything more, though, just let Dean finish his cigarette. After throwing the butt on the pavement and stomping on it, he heaved a sigh.

“My dad…” He started, but paused. “He, uh, he said some stuff to Sam. My brother.”

Cas nodded, doing his best to keep his face neutral. Talking things through wasn’t Dean’s strong suit, and Cas didn’t want dramatics to make it more difficult.

“What did he say?”

Dean shifted and rubbed his hands together. “Bunch of bullshit. ‘It’s your fault your Mom’s dead, it should have been you instead of her.’” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I mean, he used to say that to me. He gets into these moods when he drinks, says a bunch of shit he doesn’t mean.”

Dean shoved himself off the hood and began to pace in front of Cas. “But I could take it, you know? Sammy’s just a kid. He doesn’t need to hear that.”

“Your father says things like this often?” Cas asked, a tinge of horror in his voice.

“He used to. But only to me. Never to Sam.”

Cas took a deep breath, trying to discern how best to proceed. “Dean,” he said slowly, “he shouldn’t say those things. Ever. Not to Sam, and not to you.”

“I’m just confused,” Dean said. “And pissed. Sam and him are usually okay. I mean, they’re not buddies or anything, but Dad leaves him alone for the most part.”

“I don’t want to overstep,” Cas said, “But it seems like your father used you as an outlet for misplaced rage. A punching bag, if you will. And now you’re gone, so Sam is the next best thing.”

Dean met Cas'seyes with a horrified look. “God. I didn’t… You’re right. Shit, this is my fault, I can’t believe I —”

“No, Dean,” Cas growled. He stood and grabbed Dean by both shoulders. “This is your father’s fault. Not yours.”

“But I left Sam, alone, with him,” Dean said, and Cas could see panic rising in his eyes. “How could I do that, why —” Cas interrupted him again. “Why did you decide to attend college, Dean? What’s the real reason?”

“What?” Dean gave him an incredulous look. “I don’t know.”

Cas tilted his head down, skeptical.

Dean let out a long sigh. “Okay, all right. I went because Sam is smart, and he needs to go. But we don’t have any money. So I figured if I came and got a degree or some shit, I could make enough to throw him some cash while he goes to school. Get some summer internships and save up for his college fund. He’d probably still have to take out loans and stuff, but if I got a good job, I could help him pay them off.”

Cas wasn’t sure what answer he had expected, but it wasn’t that one. He felt his heart break for the man standing in front of him, who did everything he could and more for the people he cared about and never felt like it was enough.

“Would Sam ever hold that against you?” When Dean didn’t respond, Cas continued. “I know I wouldn’t. I have four older siblings, and not a single one of them has ever done something like that for me.”

“But—”

“You’re making yourself miserable over something that isn’t your fault,” Cas said. “Did you have anyone protecting you when your father went on a tirade?”

“No, but—”

“Is Sam incapable of handling himself?”

“No, but Cas—”

“He’ll be alright, Dean,” Cas insisted. “You can’t live your whole life as his shield. You’ll break yourself trying.”

Dean was silent, and wouldn’t meet Cas's eyes. Cas dropped his hands and leaned back against the Impala. “Did you ever think that Sam might have wanted you to go to school simply so you could get yourself out? Did you ever think that Sam hates the way your father treated you as much as you hate what he did to Sam tonight?”

Dean pursed his lips together, but his jaw relaxed slightly. Finally, he muttered, “I guess I never thought about it like that.”

Cas felt relief wash over him. He’d never seen Dean like this — angry and frantic. Cas wondered if Dean always did this, shouldered the blame for every bad thing his brother had to endure. The thought made his chest hurt.

Dean’s hands were hanging limply at his side. He looked exhausted. Against his better judgement, Cas grabbed Dean by the forearm and pulled him into a hug. Dean was still for a moment, but then sighed and rested his head on Cas's shoulder.

“Sorry, man,” he said. “I didn’t mean to act like that, punching things and shit. I just get so angry, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Cas was trying very hard to form a coherent thought. “There’s no need for apologies. I understand.”

A chuckle escaped Dean’s lips. “You must think I’m a complete nutjob, huh?”

Cas tilted his head in consideration. Dean’s hair tickled his cheek. “No. I think your father spent years verbally abusing you, and you’re doing your best in spite of that.”

Dean broke the hug abruptly. The sudden space between them felt criminal. “I mean, I don’t know if it’s abuse…” He started, but, at Cas's look, he trailed off. Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks, Cas,” he said quietly. “Honestly, dude, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Cas's cheeks warmed, and he shrugged. “You would have done the same for me.”

Dean gave him a small smile. Cas’s heart nearly broke with relief. “I’m beat,” he said. “Bed?”

Cas nodded eagerly. “Bed.”

When they reached the stairs, Dean broke the heavy silence.

“So…” He began. There was a false brightness in his voice; he was obviously searching for levity. “You hanging out with your girlfriend tomorrow?”

“If you’re referring to Meg, she’s still not my girlfriend,” Cas replied vacantly. “And yes.” He suddenly felt exhausted. First the mortifying dinner with Meg, then the heavy conversation with Dean. He hardly had it in him to field jokes about Meg being his girlfriend.

“She’s not your girlfriend yet,” Dean amended, giving Cas a smirk that didn’t meet his eyes.

And what was Cas supposed to say to that? Meg was funny and smart and beautiful. She and Cas studied together on the regular. There was absolutely no reason he shouldn’t be interested in Meg from Dean’s perspective.

Of course, if Dean knew he was gay…

Cas didn’t know if he could face the consequences of coming out to Dean. Would he be upset that Cas hadn’t told him earlier? Would he be uncomfortable with a gay man as his roommate? As his friend? Cas may have expanded his social circle, but he still couldn’t bear to lose Dean.

But, then again, Dean had defended him once already, without knowing whether or not he was gay. He’d sounded indifferent to the possibility then. And just tonight, he’d called Cas his best friend. Dean cared more deeply for his friends and family than anyone Cas had ever met. Cas was in that group. Dean wouldn’t shove him out of it because of who he loved.

Right?

As they reached the entrance to their hall, Dean poked Cas in the shoulder. “Hey, Earth to Major Tom,” he said. “You okay over there?”

Cas realized he hadn’t said a word since they started their ascent up the stairs. He sighed heavily.

Perhaps this was as good a time as any.

“Dean,” he said, but closed his mouth. He should just say it. He had nothing to worry about. This wasn’t Bartholomew. He knew that, but the words remained stuck in his throat.

“What?” Dean said, eyebrows raised. “Cas,” he prodded, waving a hand in front of Cas’s face.

“I’m not…” Cas swallowed. “I will never date Meg,” he finished, with a pointed look.

Dean side-eyed him as they walked to their door. “What, she’s not your type?”

Cas gave him a lopsided smile. “You could say that.”

“I dunno, man, maybe you should reconsider, you two are pretty adorable, in a gross way —”

“Dean.” Cas was about to rip his hair out. He wasn’t taking the hint. “She’s not my type. She’s a girl.”

Realization dawned on Dean’s face. “Oh,” he said.

“I apologize for not telling you sooner,” Cas said, bracing for the worst. “If that makes you uncomfortable, I understand —”

“What?” Dean practically shouted. At Cas’s look of surprise, he lowered his voice. “No, Cas, are you kidding? I thought I told you, after all that shit with Cole. It’s not a big deal.”

“Knowing your roommate might possibly be gay and knowing he is, indeed, gay are two very different things.”

Dean looked at Cas like he had just made the worst joke in the world. “I’m not gonna, like, try to move out.” As they approached their room, Cas stared resolutely ahead, walking with purpose. But Dean jumped out in front of him, a hand on Cas’s chest to stop him in his tracks.

“Dude, it’s gonna take more than that to get rid of me. I lost my shit and punched a door, like, an hour ago, and you barely even blinked.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

Cas met Dean’s eyes and found unparalleled sincerity.

“I don’t… You’re not the least bit upset?” Cas asked, slightly incredulous.

Dean shrugged. “You’re my best friend, Cas,” he said as he straightened. “Nothing’s gonna change that.” He pulled on his bracelet. “I do feel bad though, for making you feel like you couldn’t tell me. Not that you had to, or anything,” he added in a rush.

Cas shook his head vigorously. “It has nothing to do with you, Dean. I’m… I’m new at this,” Cas explained. “The first time, with Bartholomew… I believe he was, as you would say, a dick about it.”

Dean’s eyes turned stormy. “Bastard,” he said. “I’m sorry, Cas. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

Cas nodded. “You’re right. It was rather unfortunate. I haven’t spoken to him since the night I told him I was gay.”

Dean moved back to Cas’s side and slung an arm around his shoulders. “His loss,” he said. “You’re friggin’ awesome, dude.”

Cas smiled. Dean patted him on the back and let the two of them into their room.

Cas brushed his teeth and climbed into bed. Dean returned minutes later from a shower, and he flipped off the lights as he made his way to his own bunk.

Cas pulled off Dean’s shirt and threw it across the room. Dean’s head caught it, and he yelped.

“Thank you for the loan,” Cas said, smiling.

An odd expression crossed Dean’s face before he threw the Zeppelin shirt back to Cas. “Keep it,” he said. When Cas gave him a confused look, he put a hand on the back of his neck. “I meant what I said. Looks good on you.”

---------

tagging @nguyenxtrang :)))

#supernatural #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #spn

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archivistsammy · 4 years ago

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“Castiel, the self-hating angel of Thursday. You know what every other version of you did after ‘gripping him tight and raising him from perdition?’ They did what they were told. But not you! Not the ‘one off the line with a crack in his chassis.’”

I'm in this tarot study group this year, and as I dive deeper into my tarot practice, it finally occurred to me to apply it where my brain is most occupied these days: Supernatural. And I promise, I’m gonna get back to that quote I started with. But for now, bear with me as I start breaking down the first card in just about every popular tarot deck. Also, bear with me as I reference a lot of other tarot writing--I turned this shit into my homework.

In most tarot decks, the Fool is card #0 numerically. Being card #0, it represents a sort of prologue to the metaphysical journey relayed in each of the tarot’s 22 major arcana cards. The Fool stands as a sort of unsullied, outsider perspective that’s brimming with potential and optimism and opportunity, because they haven’t actually started on their path yet. Everything is still rosy and possible in the Fool’s eyes. They’re not particularly interested in the details of the road before them, they’re just ready to go.

Bakara Wintner describes the Fool as being “a sponge, a blank slate,” and “possessing no knowledge of the world he is about to step into and therefore too uninformed to be afraid.” Which tells us that the Fool is an earnest figure, and an authentic one. There’s no deceit in the Fool’s eyes, and perhaps more importantly, the Fool does not anticipate deceit in the eyes of others. He’s trusting, and he’s honest. I love how Melissa Cynova talks about the Fool, that he “has no agenda, no hidden plans or shenanigans up his sleeve. He is guileless.” She adds, “He’s going to be honest and forthright regardless of the circumstance,” and tell me that doesn’t sound like our favorite angel. Rachel Pollack says that in some early tarot decks, the Fool was actually called “The Fool of God'', and she connects this title with other associations society historically had with fools, pointing out that folks on the fringe were often considered to be graced with a higher wisdom “precisely because they were out of touch” with everyone else. Again, I dare you to tell me that doesn’t sound like our boy, Cas.

When Castiel first shows up in season four, he’s a lot of things. Mysterious. Powerful. Driven. But we learn pretty soon that Cas is about as lost as anyone. That he has questions, doubts. But also that he has faith--in God, in Heaven, in Dean. Faith is a pretty key aspect of the Fool--she doesn’t know what’s going to happen once she starts on her journey, but she’s got faith it’s all going to work out. That’s not a perfect description of Castiel, but there’s overlap. I see in Cas that willingness to jump for the betterment it may bring to the world at large. Cas has set himself on a lot of journeys that may or may not work out how he plans, but what ties them together is that leap of faith. That conviction in his choice, even if he doesn’t have all the answers or know what exactly will happen. Whether he’s disavowing the angels to join Team Free Will; making a run for it after breaking free of Naomi’s mind control, angel tablet in hand; protecting Kelly and Jack because he trusts in the vision Jack presents him from Kelly’s womb. These are all times Cas trusts in something bigger than himself in the hopes things will be better for it. And in my opinion, this trust is one of Cas’ defining qualities.

There’s also a naiveté in Cas that we sometimes see with the Fool. Think of Cas as a human in season nine, figuring out for the first time what it means to taste, to feel, to hunger. Or the handful of times Castiel has decided to be a hunter, unaware of how to do it, unaware of how to lie and manipulate because that’s just not how he sees things. Then there’s Castiel recovering in the mental hospital in season seven, loving wholeheartedly every bee and flower because they’re beautiful, miraculous, pure. I see the Fool in these character moments, I really do. I hear the Fool in this exchange between Castiel and Claire in season ten,

Claire: You’ve changed. The Castiel I met? He was crappy. Like, super stuck-up and a dick, and you just wanted to punch him in his stupid angel face.

Castiel: I don’t think I was that bad.

Claire: You totally were. And now you’re just…I don’t know. Nicer. And kind of a doof. No offense.

Castiel: Yes, well, um…Before, I was very self-assured. I was convinced I was on this righteous path. Now I realize that there is no righteous path. It’s just people trying to do their best in a world where it’s far too easy to do your worst.

Claire: Wow. Deep.

Castiel: Yeah. For a doof.

Maybe this is a Fool who’s seen some shit, sure, but the echo of his earlier faith is there still in the pragmatic assessment of the world as he sees it. This is a Cas that’s been humbled by hubris, who now realizes the world is filled with little Fools making their jumps, not always knowing if it’s soft grass or sharp rocks below them. And I think what kills me the most about this exchange, is that even now, Cas is being played. Claire’s about to ditch him after having this heart-to-heart, and it’s not going to change a thing about how he feels about her. He’s got that faith, y’all. In her as a person, in his love for her as his broken little family. It’s the same kind of faith he’ll have in Jack after leaving with Kelly:

Castiel: I've been so lost. I'm not lost anymore. And I know now that this child must be born with all of his power.

Sam: You can't actually mean that.

Castiel: Yes. I do. I have faith.

This is a very different Castiel than the one who wanted to kill Jesse in season five, the human-demon child antichrist who Cas is determined to kill to prevent the apocalypse. Jesse is only tangentially related to Lucifer, only a mere twelve years old, and Castiel takes considerable convincing to spare him. Seven years later, however, Castiel has experienced enough of the world, grown enough as a person, to be open to something different with Jack, the actual child of the devil. He trusts in a way he didn’t before.

That quote at the top, that’s another moment--an iconic moment, to be honest--that screams Fool at me. This is Chuck, God himself, telling Cas that he’s always acted in his own accordance. That he’s been a complete outlier to Chuck’s plan. That every other version Chuck created of Castiel followed orders, questioned nothing, and made no wild, reckless, terrifying leaps of faith off the precipice of duty and into some greater unknown. Only Castiel, in his dirty trench coat and in love with the world (with Dean), had the nerve to see what else was out there.

Mary K. Greer, in her tarot workbook, Tarot for Yourself, suggests this question when we think of the Fool: “In what areas of your life are you operating on faith and trust?” This to me is what Castiel asks of us, too. In what ways do we lean into that which we believe? What do we believe in the first place? In what ways do we honor that belief? In what ways do we honor what we love and let that love be that which guides us? Castiel could have just as easily been another card for this project. One half of the Lovers (choice in love!), or the Hanged Man (talk about a shift in worldview). But at the end of the day, when I look at Castiel, beloved angel of Thursday, I see someone earnest and good, ready to discover a world bigger than he ever could have known it would be. And that, to me, is 100% Fool.

#supernatural #castiel #our meta #supernatural through the tarot

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imtryingmyfuckingbe · 4 years ago

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And If This Is It

Second chapter in a short series.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Mentions: Jess, Sam, Charlie, Cas, Gabriel, Jo, Jules (OC)

Trigger warnings: Slight mention of smut

I am the sole author and reserve the rights to my work. However, I am not the owner of Supernatural as a franchise, or the characters including, but not limited to: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Gabriel, Jo, Jess, or Charlie.

CHAPTER TWO:

She cradles her phone between her cheek and shoulder, picking through ripe peppers. Charlie drones endlessly about some new video game or console or— Y/N honestly doesn’t know. Of all the shared personality traits between the pair, Y/N fails to see the wonder of Red Dead Redemption or Overwatch. Even still, she listens and hums agreement in Charlie’s pauses.

Placing a trio of red, yellow, and orange peppers in her cart, Y/N continues towards the avocados. Grocery shopping calms her. The comforting monotony allows her to move thoughtlessly on the familiar path from produce to deli and down aisles she could navigate in her sleep. It gives her a sense of control, and offers time to herself.

Y/N switches the phone to her other ear, rubbing the kink in her neck. Charlie finishes raving, in turn changing the topic to work. Some shitty guests left a lengthy poor review on both Yelp and Google, and now she has a meeting with Jason, their boss. “I’m going to quit that place, I swear it!” she emptily declares. She threatens leaving at least twice a week, but never seems to commit. Yes, the customers suck, and the managers have a canyon sized room for improvement, but the worthwhile money keeps her hooked like a dirty mistress. How else could afford tuition?

“I’m sure you will. Once you get your big girl job looking at computers all day.”

“That is an insulting minimization of what I’m actually going to do, and you know it!” Charlie scolds.

“I jest, I jest,” Y/N laughs. Getting a rise out of Charlie is her favorite past time. “But, for real, I have to check out. I have errands to run today. Dean is going to service my car.”

Y/N imagines Charlie’s eye roll and upturned smile. Not many people know of her affections towards Dean, but one drunken night led to confessions she can’t stuff back inside. Charlie has yet to let her live it down.

“Ah, yes. Our dear friend,” she stresses. “That leads us to another conversation, but I’m thinking I should get some tequila in you first.”

“Not going to happen. I’m fine, okay?” Even she doesn’t believe herself.

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. But, go, be merry. Tell the man I said hi.”

Y/N ends the call quickly, glad to finish the uncomfortable conversation. Her tense shoulders and the knots on both sides of her neck make her regret accepting Charlie’s call in the first place. She knows Charlie means no ill will but she can’t help the frustration building on her brow.

The checkout line moves quickly, not many people shopping at noon on a Wednesday. With her groceries tucked in her trunk, she makes her way to Dean’s house. He lives in a corner townhouse on the intersection of Sutler and Harrison, affording him a small side yard to work on his car— and sometimes Y/N’s. Despite his mechanic job, Dean enjoys spending his free time working on cars. He said it feels like a break from the world, blackened hands in his engine.

Y/N understands needing to take a step back. Life, in all of its intricacies, is only the withdrawing waters of the ocean, before rearing its ugly, tsunami head. She found her saving grace in writing: lyrics, poems, stories. Transporting herself into a new world saved her from this one when her bones grew heavy and her eyes tired.

She pulls into his driveway, parking next to his Impala. Its propped up hood hides a bent over Dean busying himself with tightening one thing or another. Grabbing the six pack in her passenger seat, Y/N emerges from her car.

“Howdy, partner,” she jokes.

Dean pokes his head around the side of his car, teeth bared in a wide smile. Black smudges decorate his nose and cheeks. His short hair received the brunt of frustration, pushed backwards with flyaways dancing in the wind. Y/N snickers, raking her eyes across his denim clad legs and up to the black t-shirt stretched across his chest, ending on his stained skin.

“What? Got something on my face?”

She shakes her head, amused. “Yeah, only here, here, and here,” she points to his nose and chin and cheeks.

He grabs her extended hand and pulls her inward, dipping his head down to her white shirt. Rubbing his face on her shoulder, he leaves behind the blackness in his wake. Y/N struggles against him and the bubbling laughter in her chest.

“This is white, asshole!”

Dean steps back, hands still holding her upper arms, and admires his work. She gently pushes against his chest, feigning anger and trying to ignore the muscles beneath her palm. She got this shirt for ninety-five cents at a yard sale; three similar garments hang in her closet. This isn’t a real loss.

“I think it looks good! Makes it seem like you know your way around a car.”

“Yes, because when fixing cars I use my shoulder. It’s super effective, you should try it.”

Dean rolls his eyes, finally releasing Y/N. She steps back, filling her lungs with much needed air. Any time spent closely to him required extra oxygen. Her heart runs rampage around her chest, and she knows if she looks down it may just shine through her shirt. Steeling herself, she returns to the task at hand.

Speaking of, the weight of the beer in her hand gives her something to do. Setting the pack on the hood of her car, she retrieves two bottles and cracks them open. The crisp coolness holds her to the ground, even as Dean’s fingers brush against hers when he accepts the offer. In silence, they sip the citrus IPA.

“All righty then, what’s going on with your gal?”

“Just need an oil change, I think. It doesn’t hurt to have it looked at, though.”

He nods, brows drawn together and lips pursed. Everything in Y/N, her lungs and head and skin, wants to take the rag from Dean’s back pocket and wipe his face, removing both the crease in his forehead and the gunk. Instead, she kisses her beer, watching as he pops her hood and checks the oil.

The betrayal of her body lingers in her movements when she walks to the front of her car, leaning next to a working Dean. His skin radiates warmth. Tendrils of his cologne overwhelm her. She breathes in, basking in him while trying to clear her foggy head. Fresh air is good, she fruitlessly tells herself. Fresh air is good; when it’s not mixed with the man she adores.

Dean moves his car to the grass, allowing more space for him to work on the Mustang. Y/N sits on the ground in front of the garage as he jacks her car up to empty the oil pan. From this vantage point, she can see Dean in all of his glory. His shirt rides up, reveling a thin line of hair and toned muscles. She clenches her jaw, then takes another drink.

Her head knocks against the garage door, focusing on the baby blue sky, not a cloud in sight. Dean grunts quietly as he works, and Y/N’s mind supplies a different activity for his sounds. His hands would wander across the expanse of her body; across her hips, up to her breasts, down to her pussy. His lips would cover wherever his hands could not, sucking on her neck, leaving a hickey.

Now, Y/N once failed to see the appeal of someone marking up her body. But, fuck, if Dean Winchester said he wanted to cover her skin in bruising kisses, she wouldn’t be able to deny him. She wouldn’t want to.

Fingers snap in front of face. Shaking her head, she realizes Dean finished with her Mustang and hovered over her. “Hey, back to the living?”

Heat rushes to her cheeks. She ducks her head to look at her very interesting, noteworthy knees. “Yeah. Just thinking.” Not a full lie, but not the full truth, either. What could she say? I was daydreaming about making love? Not just fucking; making love.

He retrieves a beer from the pack before settling next to Y/N on the ground, back against the door and thighs touching. “Yeah? What about?” his playful tone forces her further into reality.

She doesn’t answer for a moment, instead focusing on the sharp, stinging pebbles digging into her thighs and ass. “Work.”

“Ah, it’s always work. Something wrong?”

Another sip.

“Not exactly. I talked to Charlie today, and she said she wanted to quit.”

“Doesn’t she always?”

“That’s what I said! But it got me thinking. Am I too comfortable there? I mean, I’ve worked there for, what? Three years?” Y/N surprises herself with her own excuse. She hadn’t actually put much stock in leaving, her own or Charlie’s. But now that it’s out in the open, the weight on her shoulders flutters away. He nods, encouraging her to continue. “I dunno,” she tosses her hands in indignation, spilling a little beer on the concrete, “I don’t want to stay in some dead end job that I don’t really love. Feels like a waste of time,” her voice starts strong but trails off into a whisper.

Dean sets his hand on her thigh, caressing it in an attempt to comfort her.

Another sip, another sigh.

This is the last thing she needs, but the first thing she wants. She once more lets her head fall backwards while Dean studies her in silence, head tilted. “What do you think you’d do?”

“That’s the thing: I don’t know. I don’t have a degree and the only jobs I’ve ever had were serving, or something in that world. Who the hell is going to hire me?”

“I don’t have a degree, either, ya’know.”

“Yes, but you have a career, and you’re good at it. I mean, look at you! You’re ahead of the rest, already. Basically running your own shop; got a whole-ass home. And I’m proud of you, I am. I just feel like I’m headed nowhere. Like, what have I got going for me?”

She closes her eyes to avoid his gaze, but he stays silent. His fingers continue to trace shapes into her thigh. Dean knows Y/N well enough to stop talking; it won’t ease the tension in her breast or pinging pain on her temple. Now that she said the words aloud, however, her mind races wild with the possibilities and risks of leaving the security of Zest.

She could pursue something in writing, a pipe dream of hers. She could get a few gigs in bars and play for a few hours for some cash. She could also quit and not find another job, falling into destitution and then forced to return to waiting tables. Flashes of grabby hands and entitled guests flit through her mind.

Goddamn, she hates customer service.

Mindlessly, she tilts her beer back, only droplets gracing her tongue. Without a word, Dean passes her the bottle he grabbed for himself. She nods in thanks, taking a sip.

He pats her thigh. “Well, it’s no use dwelling on what you can’t do. What can you do?”

Y/N shrugs.

“C’mon, I know you can do more than balance glasses and pretend to care about lobster. You write. What about that?”

“It’s recreational. I don’t have anything published. I don’t—”

“— All right, piss baby. If you’re going to keep complaining, I’m going to smack you.” He rolls his eyes, not really annoyed.

“Fine, fine. I could do freelance, I guess.”

“Yeah, you could. You could work as a receptionist and work your way up somewhere, too. Like, the newspaper. Start there, prove you can write, and they’ll have no choice but to hire you. Maybe pitch a few ideas. Don’t need a degree to be smart; I’m living proof of that,” he gestures to himself.

Y/N laughs, shoving her shoulder against his. “Yeah, yeah. You’re the next Einstein of car mechanics.”

“I could be.”

Another silence, no longer pregnant with her frustration. The sun beats down with a vengeance, however, making the beer in her hand lukewarm. Beads of sweat pool on her brows. Still, she doesn’t want to move. The hand on her leg, pressed thigh to Dean’s, shoulder to shoulder; she wants to savor this moment.

Even still, she can’t sit for much longer. The comfort of the man beside her refuses to extend to the unforgiving concrete beneath her or the heat in the air. With a sigh, she pushes herself up, stretching her sore legs and wiping off spare gravel clinging to her skin. Dean stands too, utilizing Y/N’s extended hand. Truthfully, it doesn’t help much but she would do almost anything to hold his hand, even for a second.

When the pair straighten, Dean’s fingers remain clasped in hers, his thumb rubbing circles on her knuckles. She revels in the gentle caress, wishing she didn’t have to leave. The groceries in her trunk call to her; she needs to put them away before they spoil.

“I have to go,” she whispers. The tightness in her chest returns at breaking the silence and ruining to moment. She refuses to look Dean in the eyes, not wanting to see whatever is there. Instead, she trains her gaze onto his stomach.

“Yeah, I figured. Use and abuse me for your car then skip out,” he jokes.

Finally looking upwards, she takes in his smile and kind eyes. If she had any guts, she would grab his cheeks and pull him down to kiss him. But she doesn’t have the courage to leave her dead-end job, let alone kiss the breathtaking man before her. Instead, she settles for wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him close.

She can do this for the rest of her life, she tries to convince herself. If she can’t have Dean in her bed or on her arm or loving her the way she desires, she can handle these moments. This is okay, this is okay, this is okay.

A kiss to her head and a final squeeze, Dean pulls back. “I’ll see ya soon, kid. Enjoy your ride.”

The two part, Y/N longing to return to his embrace. Her skin prickles from her desire, her feet refuse to move. And then a car honks from somewhere up the road and her wondering mind snaps back to reality. A final goodbye, she clambers into her car. Dean waves as she reverses from his driveway and starts back to her apartment across town. The wind whips her cheeks through the rolled-down windows.

She only looks back once.

#dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #and if this is it #supernatural au #supernatural fic #friends to lovers

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webcricket · 5 years ago

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Castiel Drabbles

Characters: CastielXDemon!Reader

Bat Out of Hell Lyric Prompt: #17 - “You’ve been nothing but an angel every day of your life, and now you wonder what it’s like to be damned.”

Word Count: 1362

Requested by: @ladyofletters67

Summary: The reader uses a bit of veracity and sass to vie for an angel’s affection.

<<< >>>

Over the years, trial after trauma after countless trial compounding into a constant uncontrolled free fall toward humanity’s cause, everything Castiel thought he knew for fact dissolved into mere fiction perpetrated by his Father in a plot seemingly created solely for the entertainment of that self-same Creator.

Everything, that is, except one universal tenet of reckoning arising over and over no matter the situation: Everything comes at a cost. Nothing in life is free, least of all that will he fought fist and wing and wit whilst falling to embrace.

Which accounts for his stubborn suspicion about your motives in helping the Winchesters - not coming to their aid on one or two occasions, but rising from the fires of Hell whenever they get stuck in a rut, and just as often availing your support even when they aren’t. After all, demons don’t take day trips out of the pell-mell of perdition to offer assistance unless they want something in return.

The what is what the seraph cannot figure out. What has him both dubious and intrigued in such a manner he can’t keep his thoughts, idle or otherwise, from wandering to you and the conflict of emotion - a push and pull dance between light and dark, divinity and doom, a cosmic waltz that leaves him dizzy - he feels every time he’s in your presence.

It’s what has him summoning you for interrogation to a generically furnished motel room off the I-90 with Sam and Dean well out of the way - generic save for the addition of a demon trap fastidiously spray painted in crimson on the carpet and for which Castiel’s, or rather, Jimmy Novak’s credit card will be docked for damages after he checks out and housekeeping discovers the disturbing decor.

You’ve dodged his queries before by disappearing - an action usually preceded by a flirtatious fluttering pink smirk and a suggestive wink. The trap guarantees you won’t get away without clearing up his confusion.

You manifest in an onyx-eyed akimbo-stance huff cursing the rudeness of your summoner when they could have simply picked up the phone and called because, ‘Hello! It’s not the dark ages.’

The dissatisfied murmur ceases, a smile spreading your lips to flash the pearly whites veiled beneath when you see the angel is the source of your involuntary vexation because this particular angel intrigues you as much, if not more, than you intrigue him.

Sure, when you first sauntered into the Winchester’s wheel house uninvited it was with the idea of indebting them to you in return for some future favor; but when you laid eyes on their ally, you got a glimpse of actual glory, and although your mortal soul be damned beyond saving, all else fled your thoughts save a taste for a different type of seraphim-assisted salvation.

If he doesn’t recognize your interest - nay, overt attraction - yet through that thickly righteous skull housing his celestial grey matter, all it means is that you need to keep knock-knock-knocking at Heaven’s door a little longer and, perhaps, a little louder.

“Angelcake, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You move a step and a half in his direction, stopping short at the outer line of the circle.

The seraph didn’t doubt the tried and true tactic would hold you, but still, his chest swells with a sense of satisfaction in seeing you at his mercy. Studying your face in anticipation of a frown emerging thereon, a surprising observation surfaces from his subconscious to tickle his rational fancy that the bedlam of twisted soul behind those inky irises, a creature unrecognizable as a human anymore, appears to him as a chaos of stormy hues not sinister in disorder, but as compelling as the shifting colors of a sunset so stunning one cannot look away from it.

The thought, twitching his upper lip, tests his stolid facade.

You peer up in time to catch the subtle crack in his stoicism. Defiant of how he thinks you’ll react, your smile widens, stretching up at one corner in sultry reach toward an equally grinning gaze. “If you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask.”

“What? I-” A squint dims the vibrant blaze of his blues; the lids flare after a second or two in sudden understanding of your debauched implication- “no, that’s not-”

“You really don’t know, do you? You angelic ass.” Smile and patience summarily fading, you interrupt a train of verbalized thought definitely not traveling to the destination you desire. If you stuck a Post-It note to your forehead that read, ‘Fuck me!’ in block letters you couldn’t be any more obvious; not that the feeling is strictly physical for you, that’s just the superficial iceberg of a much deeper emotion.

The hot white neon radiance of raggedly feathered wings stacked over his shoulders - clear as day to your demonic second sight - shudder in revolt of the accusation. “What are you talking about?”

Evidently he needs you to spell it out for him like a prophet writing on a wall; God’s team never did fair well without a playbook. But the problem here isn’t him knowing - that ruffling of feathers tells you on some level, he knows enough to rile him - it’s one of doubt. The problem with him is always freaking doubt. Doubt, like everything, exists in balance; the other side of fear is bravery.

You’ve witnessed first hand he isn’t lacking for courage in other areas, you just need to lube the cogs of the celestial machine enough to loosen them in your favor. “I see the way you look at me, Castiel. The way you don’t look away.”

The continued intensity of his stare and shiver of plumes scream out the truth skimmed by the statement; and yet, his tongue wields incongruous words. “I look because you’re an abomination and it’s my duty not to turn a blind eye.”

“Pshaw, duty,” you blow a puff of disenchanted air through pursed lips. Toeing the very edge of the sigil until your chest tightens in a crush of ribs, you steal a couple of extra millimeters of pain-stifled space in order to drive the point home as close to its heavenly host as possible. “An abomination according to who? You, Castiel?”

The query jars him into motion and the guilty realization you aren’t off base in asking about his assumption gravitates him nearer; demons are a species he thought he knew, but he thought he knew a lot of other things too and he was wrong. He lifts a palm to lightly press your arm to encourage you to retreat back within bounds and out of suffering, confessing in a penitence-laden lowness of tone, “No. No one.”

You swat at the kindness; wincing, arm breaching the barrier to follow his, your fingers wrap his wrist. Panting at the onslaught of pain, you yank him into the trap with you.

Instinct guides his hands to hook your waist, stabilizing you while you steady your breath.

Your body hums in gratitude for the gesture. Straightening yourself with the leverage of his lapels, peering up, you pierce his glossy blues with a blackly earnest gaze. “So then what do you really think I am? ‘Cause I think you’ve been nothing but an angel every day of your life, and now you wonder what it’s like to be damned.”

Although the interrogation didn’t go exactly to plan - things rarely ever do - your challenge to his foundation clarifies to him what it is you want, not from the Winchesters, but from him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, amid the lies programed as gospel on the day of his making, a once firmly held belief that all demons are abominations buries itself in the ruins of false reason. Reverberating in a swift smash of sweetly soft lips to yours, the truth of what he feels asserts itself in the knee-weakening, grace-revving, loin girding proof of a kiss.

Everything comes at a cost, and once in an epoch, payment is tendered in the love-bridled beating of an angel’s heart for his beautiful abomination.

Castiel tag list: (Closed, if you’d like to be removed please let me know!) @jeepangel @sammiesamness @willowing-love @roxy-davenport @blueicevalkyrie @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @thesugargalaxy @bluetina-blog @dont-trust-humanity @honeybeetrash @bucky-thorin-winchester @superwholockz @tistai @wordstothewisereaders @gill-ons @mrswhozeewhatsis @marisayouass @stone-met @castiel-savvy18 @samualmortgrim @trexrambling @magnificent-mantle @kdfrqqg @xdifsx @mandilion76 @rockfairy @peaceloveancolor @unicorntrooper @anisolatedship @itsilvermorny @aditimukul @kudosia @goofynerd-67babylove @uninspirationalsonglyrics @gray-avidan @mishascupcake @mishapanicmeow @praisecastielamen @roseyhxnt @jessikared97 @let-the-imaginationflow @warriorqueen1991 @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @hisnameisboobear @kristendanwayne @fuschiarulerinthebluebox @coolpencilpie @jenabean75 @luciathewinchestergirl @morganas-pendragons @heyitscam99 @fangirl-and-stuff @selahbela @realgreglestrade @splendidcas @pointlesscasey @i-larb-spooderman @thewhiterabbit42 @thelostverse @castieliswatchingoverme @beccollie18 @dragonett8 @dixie-chick @jtownraindancer @carowinsthings @passionghost @ladyofletters67 @futureparent @gabbie7-11 @myfandomlife-blog @dreamerkim @shamelesslydean @earthtokace @neaeri @justanormalangel @lone-loba @supernaturalymarvel @lilrubixx @wings-and-halo @thehoneybeecastielfollows @musiclovinchic93 @81mysteriouslyme @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @jaylarkson @pixiedusts @spookysculderfiles @laqueus-ludovicus @missjenniferb @lexininja @jessiekay2010 @skrratata @rhiannonj79 @calicat79

#castielxreader #castielxyou #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x demon!reader #spn x reader #you x castiel #reader x castiel #cas x you #cas x reader #castiel fanfic #demon!reader fic #fic request #cricket writes cas

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paragonrobits · 5 years ago

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my mom’s hobby, for a few years before she passed away, was writing fanfic, and she got REALLY into it. she never did things by halves and boy she was very intense about her fanfic.

in her case, she was way into the Supernatural fandom for a while, having gotten into it when it was a largely episodic series with a sublte myth arc; she didn’t write fanfic until she started shipping Dean and the angel Castiel, who became her favorite character.

now, bear something in mind; this ship is rather notable for being a likely case of queerbaiting, and i doubt my mom had heard of the term; she wasn’t much into fandom except for yelling at people over mischaracterization, and she only got into the ship after seeing some fanfics that sparked a ‘hrm, that’s an interesting idea’ thought, and then she studied their characters in the episodes, and she decided: “Welp, fuck it, that’s the only interpretation that makes sense, if you say otherwise you’re a fucking liar or this show doesn’t know what its doing”

so! She wrote intensive character-driven romance plotlines, that I think were done in AUs, and according to her, they were basically smutfics but with plot.

(I never actually read them because i didn’t have enough interest in it and... yeah. Do you REALLY think I’m gonna read smut written by my mom!? But she was liked enough that she got both a lot of people interested, and hate comments from rival shippers. Whenever she got anon hate she’d give them long and intense, vitrolic comments that would go on for 20 pages and mostly boiled down to “yeah whatever, go fuck yourself, and here’s why your characterization is shit; WATCH THE FUCKING SHOW AND GET THEM RIGHT”)

though eventually she lost interest in the show when it kept going on and on, focusing on her AUs exclusively and sticking to specific season-era characterizations. Whenever Supernatural came up, she’d go ‘is that STILL on?’

anyway the moral of this story is that while we had completely independent fandoms and story stuff online (we shared similar shows and interests, but wrote for different fandoms: I’d include nods to her shows in my crossover fics, she shipped Finn and Marceline in Adventure Time and would get very passionate about defending Rose Quartz), our outlooks WERE Surprisingly similar and I suspect its a natural outgrowth of the same mentality she had raising me, and that we both enjoyed stuff together in a similar way, so that translated to our respective fanworks.

#personal #johnny stuff

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mercurialkitty · 5 years ago

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POSITIVE 20 QUESTIONS TAG GAME

i was tagged by @peanutbutterandgrapejelly for a different tag game lol! I thought if would be ok to do this one instead. Thanks! These questions sound really interesting!

1. Name 4 fictional characters who showcase your personality the best, with explanations if you want.

Castiel: the attempting to follow rules and believing in having rules and boundaries, but breaking or rejecting them for good reasons later -- feeling bad about it, but knowing you’d do the same again.

Sam Winchester: feeling like there was another life/other lives I could have had. Feeling sad about them sometimes, but trying to live and do good in what I can. Liking absorbing facts, learning things, getting knowledgeable. Can be nerdy, or can be intense

Anne Elliot: Just watch Persuasion (1995) and the time with her sister Mary and the Musgroves. Calm, practical exterior; complex inner (100% done) life.

Uhm. This is all I got right now.

2. Aesthetic

practical/hobbity/hufflepuff - Pretty much the majority of hobbit or hufflepuff mood/aesthetic boards work for me

3. Favorite musical/play? (If you’ve never seen a musical or play, one you’d be interested in seeing?)

Gentleman Prefer Blondes - fluffy, campy, sexy, colorful

4. What is the best compliment you’ve ever received?

Kinda back-handed/secret: My co-workers were complaining about how no one ever gets exceeds expectations on our annual evals and who could even manage that, and I’m thinking, “well actually....me”.

5. How many times have you been in love?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ IDK

6. Embarrassing story or fact about yourself that makes you laugh now?

Two of us driving in mountains in winter, and nowhere to pee, or safely get out of van, so husband drove, and I peed into a Tupperware container.

7. Favorite Disney/Pixar movie?

Coco

8. Favorite flower or plant?

Hydrangea

9. What’s your favorite holiday?

damn, I don’t think I have one. Fall in general? I hate to say Halloween ‘cause everyone does, but halloween?

10. Name three things that made you laugh or smile this past week.

fanfic, jane austen movies, tortillas came out ok

11. What song would you play to introduce yourself to someone?

Hold on loosely

12. Name something that truly makes you feel peaceful even at your most stressed moments.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

13. What do you, did you, or would you study at college?

Studied religion, journalism, museum studies, library science

14. This is kind of a weird one, but which outfit of yours makes you feel most like yourself?

jeans and an over-sized teal sweater

15. What is a quote you live by?

"I have been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened."

16. Name the funniest playlist name you have.

Like overwrought singing is a BAD thing?

17. Make a reference to an inside joke you have with someone you love with zero context.

You are very good.

18. What is a message you would give your younger self if given the chance?

So many things! Screw purity culture, don’t feel guilty, and have SAFE sex (if one wants to of course). Don’t spend so much time on existential questions.

19. Who is your favorite family member? (If you have no good blood family members, feel free to mention someone in your found family)

Mom

20. What’s a secret dream of yours?

Fantasy dream: winning the lottery For real dream: I need to quit being just a consumer of fic and art and start creating.

Tagging a few folks in my recent activity, but feel free to join in.

@huskergal93 @janeofcakes @daelenn @flightoftheseraph

#tag game

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jemariel · 5 years ago

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3, 5, 8, and 22, if you would be so kind 🐸

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

Not... really? I don’t think? There’s tropes I’m not terribly interested in and can’t really see myself writing, like sports AUs, and some tropes I don’t feel like I have the experience/knowledge to do justice to. But there’s very little that I just won’t touch on principle. Almost anything can be good with an interesting idea and skillful execution, and I can usually come up with at least one of those.

5. Share one of your strengths.

Hm. Heh. Ah. Okay. You’re trying to get me to say something nice about myself. Sneaky, sneaky ;D Okay. I... think I’m generally good at choosing the right details to set the tone or the atmosphere I’m going for. That’s what I try to do, anyway.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

It’s too long to c+p here, but I think my favorite dialogue scene I’ve ever written is the argument from Human Error. It happened near the end of my magical 8k writing day where everything just worked and flowed. I’m proud of it because I feel like it’s the most in-character I’ve ever written them, and because they’re pissed off even though (and maybe because) they love each other so much but can’t admit it, and they dance close to that edge but don’t actually admit anything, they talk past each other and don’t say exactly what they mean and.... I dunno. I just. Am really proud of it.

(Fun fact, the story was originally supposed to end with a love confession halfway through that argument, but the boys just would not, and so the story kept on going. It’s for the best, ultimately.)

22. Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style. (Person sending the ask is free to make suggestions).

I was seriously tempted to pick one of my old Johnlock stories and just replace the names with Destiel, but instead here have a snip from Dream On, my very first Destiel story. This is gonna get long so, snip snip

(Ask me things if you like!)

Original snip: Cas can’t stay out of Dean’s dreams.

At first it’s an accident. The long hours when the human body requires rest leave him with little to do but make observations, and Dean just happens to be a particularly interesting study.

Three hours earlier Dean had pushed away the last of his post-hunt chow main and declared it bedtime. Sam had stayed up a little longer writing up notes on the case -- a simple salt-and-burn that had left the brothers grinning with the satisfaction of an uncomplicated victory. Rare enough these days. Now, the only illumination in the shabby little motel room is the clock -- 3:29 am -- the blue neon glow of the Vacancy sign outside, and the occasional roving beam of headlights on the highway. Sam is starfished across the bed on his belly, one foot hanging off the edge; Dean is flat on his back with one arm thrown above his head and the other hand resting over his heart. Cas, as always, watches over them.

It isn’t wholly intentional, the way his gaze always seems to rest on Dean. He looks boyish in sleep: limbs flung wide, his face tucked into the crook of his elbow. He’s not snoring, exactly -- the snores come from Sam -- but the shallow shuffling of his breathing has a different cadence and texture than when he’s awake. It’s... hypnotic. Soporific, even for a celestial being with no need to sleep.

Castiel blinks, and just like that he is in another place --

Yeesh, alright.

Well, if I’m honest, if I were writing this story today, I’d probably start it later. I wouldn’t bother showing the first time Cas accidentally slips into a dream, I’d just jump straight to him anticipating his visit into Dean’s brain and being nervously excited for it and low-key thrilled at the risk of getting caught.

So let’s do something with that.

“Man,” Dean moans through a mouthful of chow mien. “Say what you want about this town, it’s got amazing Chinese.”

Cas catches Sam rolling his eyes, but it’s fond, not exasperated. Cas tries not to fidget while they bicker gregariously about table manners and whether or not this hunt is worth writing down in their journal, and hopes they don’t notice his lack of conversational contribution.

Dean’s going to dream tonight. He can feel it. And it’s going to be a good dream. The anticipation floods under Castiel’s tongue; he swallows hard.

“It was pretty cut and dried, probably not worth the time.”

Sam counters, “But if we only write about the weird ones, that’s sampling bias, and doesn’t give the whole picture.” After which Dean questions who they’re actually writing this journal for, and then the bickering snowballs in a different direction.

Cas digs his nails into his palm and curls his toes in his shoes.

“Do what you want, Nancy Drew,” Dean finally concedes, picking up his garbage and tossing it. “I’m hittin’ the sack.”

Cas’s stomach lurches.

It’s time.

#that was an interesting exercise #writer things #ask games #elanor-n-evermind

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waywardnerd67 · 6 years ago

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Study Group

Title: Study Group Square Filled: College AU Pairing: Sam x Reader x Castiel Characters: Sam Winchester, Castiel, Dean Winchester, Reader Warnings: Fluff/Smut Summary: Sam, Cas and (Y/N) are all studying for finals and she decides to make it more interesting. Word Count: 2233 Created for: @spnkinkbingo

Check Out: SPN Kink Bingo 2.0 Masterlist

(Y/N) smacked her forehead down against her Statistics textbook. Her brain felt as if it would explode and her eyes were barely staying open. “I can’t… I can’t study anymore.” She muttered.

“Yes, you can (Y/N).” the soothe, calming voice of Sam Winchester filled her ears.

She rolled her head towards his voice narrowing her eyes at him, “Sam my brain is going to start oozing from my ears at any given minute. I need a break, we all need a break.”

Sam’s hazel eyes rolled as he sat back in his chair. They were all at his parents house for the weekend while their apartment building was being bug bombed. His parents were away on a mini vacation to Sioux Falls to their family cabin. His older brother had come home with them from college but was managing their family’s mechanic shop for the week. Leaving her, Sam and their friend, Cas alone in the house to study.

“I think (Y/N) is right. A break to relax our minds would be beneficial for us all.” Cas said closing his psych book.

Sam sighed giving them both his best bitch face before closing his criminal law book. “Fine. Now what?” Silence fell among them as time seem to pass in slow motion. “Okay, well that was fun can I go back to studying?”

He flipped open his textbook again taking out his notes when suddenly (Y/N) had an idea pop into her head. “Strip studying.”

“What?” Sam and Cas said at the same time.

(Y/N) smiled at them, “Strip studying. We each take a turn asking the other two questions from what they are studying. If you get the answer wrong, then you have to strip off one piece of clothing and if you get it right then you stay full dressed.”

“Sounds like fun actually.” Cas said picking up his psych book.

Sam had an uneasy look on his face, “I don’t know…”

“Come on, it will help you study and be fun. A compromise and I promise if I see your dangly parts I will keep my comments to myself. Please Sammy?” she stuck her bottom lip out and batted her eyes at him.

(Y/N) and Sam had been circling around each other for a year flirting with one another. They had kissed a few times during a frat party or once on New Year’s. She knew he was focused on his studies and never pushed the subject any further.

“Alright.” He whispered as she clapped excited leaning over to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you. Okay boys let’s play.” She said pulling out her Chem book deciding that it would be easier to quiz her on that than her Statistics work.

After an hour, Cas was down to his boxers and one sock. (Y/N) had on only her bra and panties. While Sam still had his boxers, t-shirt and one sock on. Sam pulled her Chem book from her searching for a question to ask. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Cas’s intense blue eyes trailing the length of her body.

Cas had extremely striking features from his dark chocolate hair to his sharp jawline and muscular body. Seeing him now, she could see what a lot of her friends chased after him. (Y/N) had never thought of Cas in that way until now seeing him practically naked.

“What is Angular Momentum Quantum Number?” Sam asked bringing her attention back from Cas.

She was trying to thinking but the only thing running through her mind was how Cas’s large hand would feel against her breast. “Um… gives the orientation of the orbital in space?” she answered.

A small smirk appeared on Sam’s lips as he shook his head, “Sorry that is Magnetic Quantum Number.”

“Shit…” she mumbled reaching behind her to unhook her bra letting it slip down her arms. The cool air hit her nipple bringing them to a peak and two different sounding groans had her eyes darting from the two guys next to her.

Both of their eyes were on her. Cas was biting his lower lip and trying to cover the obvious bulge from within his boxers. Sam was staring with his jaw slacked slightly then his tongue darted out over his lips. Any self conscious thoughts she had flew out the window as well as any thoughts of studying further. Right now, all she wanted was for her two hot friends to have their way with her.

(Y/N) crawled over to Sam watching his eyes getting wider the closer she was getting. Straddling his lap, she could feel his hard length nestled perfect against her cotton covered mound. “See something you like Sammy?” she asked placing her hands on his shoulders and squeezing her breasts together.

“W-What?” he stammered his breathing a little erratic.

She looked back at Cas who had his palm over his cock stroking it through his boxers. Smiling she looked back at Sam, “Seems like Cas sees something he likes.” She purposely grinded her hips against Sam making him groan as she got up walking over to Cas.

“What do you say Cas? Should we keep studying or just have some fun?” (Y/N) asked her panty cover sex right at eye level with him.

“Fuck it, have some fun.” He said leaning forward and licking her through her panties.

(Y/N) let out a yelp as Cas’s hands slid up her ass pushing her aching mound further against his mouth. She tangled her fingers into his hair as he kept lapping over her panties. “Jesus Cas!” she moaned.

She was slightly startled when she felt a pair of lips kissing her shoulder. Looking up she saw Sam’s lust blown eyes as his long fingers slipped beneath either side of her panties and pulled them as his lips kissed their way down her back.

Sam pulled his shirt off quickly standing back up behind her as one hand snaked around her ribs groping her breast. She leaned back against him as Cas spread her legs wider his tongue pushing past her soaked lips licking her arousal from her. “Shit (Y/N), you’re so wet and you taste so sweet.” Cas murmured before diving in again.

“Oh… Cas…” she called out breathlessly as she felt Sam’s other hand graze over her ass and his fingers dipping between her legs. “Fuck!” she cried as he pushed one finger inside of her.

With one hand in Cas’s hair and the other wrapped behind Sam neck she clung to the men who was bringing her quickly over the edge. When Sam added a second long finger to her aching core, Cas was mercilessly flicking and sucking at her clit. (Y/N) could only cry out incoherent mutterings as her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave. “FUCK! CAS, SAM!”

She grinded herself against Cas’s face as he lapped up her release and whimpered as Sam pulled his fingers out. (Y/N) turned around to face Sam taking his fingers into her mouth and sucking them clean. “Damn…” he whispered as she smiled up at him.

(Y/N) pushed Sam towards the couch pulling his boxers down his long legs. She looked over to Cas who was still on the floor, but his hand was gripping his thick cock stroking it. “Come on Cas, I can take care of you as well.” She said motioning for him to come over.

Looking down at Sam, she leaned up towards him kissing him deeply as her hand circled around his long shaft. “After this we are going to go on a date, okay.” She said as he chuckled nodding.

“Absolut… shit!” he cried out as she sunk down onto him. (Y/N) let out the most satisfying moan as Sam filled and stretched her perfectly.

“Alright Cas c’mere.” She wiggled her finger at him as he walked over to the side of the couch. Her hand taking over for his feeling how smooth and big he was. Her mouth watered as she anticipated how heavy he was going to feel on her tongue.

Sam gripped her hips lifting her slightly and then thrusting up into her. “God Sam, just like that.” She said and looked up at Cas.

His blue eyes were dark like the midnight sky as he watch Sam fuck her. “You like watching don’t you?” she asked as he nodded. “Good, after the mouth service you provide me I am going to love returning the favor.”

(Y/N) leaned down giving Sam even more room pump into her and she wrapped her lips around Cas’s swollen head. Running her tongue around it she looked up nodding at him giving him the permission to use her mouth as he willed. He slowly pushed inch by inch into her mouth his shaft gliding against her tongue and then pulling back out.

“You feel so good.” He groaned as his head rolled back against his shoulders.

Both men were slowly fucking her driving her mad. She lifted her mouth off of Cas and brought herself down harshly on Sam. “Jesus!” he yelled.

“Boys I’m not a porcelain doll. For fuck’s sakes just FUCK ME!” she exaggerate.

There was a split second silent conversation between the two of them and then Cas placed his hand in her hair pulling her mouth down to his cock. At the same time, Sam held her hips slamming his cock into her repeatedly. Between the two of them she was dizzy with pleasure feeling her body could burst at any moment.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m so close (Y/N).” Cas grunted as he thrusted into her mouth. She pushed her mouth even further down his shaft relaxing her throat as much as she could while bouncing on Sam cock. Cas’s tip hit the back of her throat and he release was sliding down it as the gripped on her hair tighten. “Oh FUCK!”

He pulled out of her mouth and laid down on the floor next to the couch breathing heavily. That is when Sam sat up rolling her onto her back. He slammed into her making her cry out, “OH GOD SAM!”

He was so deep within her that he was hitting the one spot driving her closer to the edge. He held her legs at her knees spreading them wider the look of determination on his face while watching his cock disappear within her. She could feel he was close his body was rigid and that is when she saw Cas lean over her breasts taking one of her nipples in his mouth.

“Oh… Cas yes…” she moaned and then Sam brought his thumb roughly over her clit.

“Come with (Y/N), I’m can’t hold off much… longer.” He grunted.

Between Sam rubbing her clit, his cock deep within her and Cas nibbling, licking her nipple she came hard yelling out their names repeatedly. Sam quickly pulled out of her jerking himself off onto her stomach muttering her name.

Cas grabbed a few of the napkins from their lunch allowing Sam to clean her off before both guys collapsed from exhaustion. “Jesus guys if I knew studying would be this much fun I would done this at the end of last semester.”

Both guys chuckled and then they all heard the front door shut. “What the hell?” Dean’s stunned voice startled them all.

They were frozen like deers in headlights. Dean looked from them to their textbooks and back to them. He whistled lowly a wide smile spreading across his face, “Damn guys if I knew study groups were just another way of having a threesome I would study more often.”

“Dean, we can explain…” Sam started to say as he moved off of (Y/N).

Dean shielded his eyes from seeing his brother’s cock, “No need to explain Sammy, just get dressed and clean up so we can grab some dinner. That is unless you’ve already had your fill.” He laughed at his own joke and even (Y/N) chuckled earning a bitch face from Sam.

A few hours later as the four of them sat around eating pizza, Dean sat back chuckling and shaking his head, “I would have never dreamed of the three of you having sex in the living room. You three? You think you know someone…”

Sam, Cas and (Y/N) all looked to one another all wearing similar pink cheeks and satisfied smiles on their faces. “I mean, Sam and (Y/N) I get. It’s about damn time, but Cas… really?” Dean asked.

“I think love is a shared thing Dean. We can love and be attracted to multitudes of people in our lives. All people are beautiful. I would easily have a threesome with you and any girl of your choosing as well.” Dean spat out his beer as Sam and (Y/N) started laughing hysterically.

Dean mumbled something under his breath while shaking his head. As Cas chuckled taking a bit of his pizza. Sam entwined his fingers with (Y/N)’s leaning over and kissing her lips, “Tomorrow just the two of us are going out on a date and then somewhere private.”

She nodded smiling widely up at him, “Sounds good to me, Egghead.” She laughed seeing his annoyed expression from the nickname she gave him when they first meet on campus last year. Meeting the Winchesters and Cas had been the best thing in her life and she never wanted to let any of them go.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

My Nerd Herd: @waywardbaby @ladywinchester1967 @akshi8278 @ericaprice2008 @deans-baby-momma @spnbaby-67 @1967-essentialghoul @dean-winchesters-bacon @-lovepeacenhope- @destiel745 @carribear31 @srsllydunnodoncare @whimsicalrobots @thisismysecrethappyplace @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @adoptdontshoppets @mrswhozeewhatsis @bella-ca @drakelover78 @imascio08 @pisces-cutie @dwgrl1903 @mannls @the-salty-asian @winchesterprincessbride @xostephanie @superromijn @witch-of-letters @time-travel-bouqet @screechingartisancashbailiff @myinconnelly1 @sister-winchesters99 @thekatherinewinchester @babykalika2001 @maddiepants @tumbler-tidbits @sandlee44 @destielhoneybee @carryonmywaywardcaptain

#spnkinkbingo #study group #sam winchester fanfiction #castiel fanfiction #sam winchester x reader x castiel #sam winchester smut #castiel smut

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prompt-and-circumstances · 5 years ago

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Disrupting the Peace

Characters/Pairings: Reader Insert, Gadreel/Reader, Castiel

Prompt: Police Officer for the Gadreel’s Gigs Challenge by @kazchester-fanfiction (reposting this very old fic)

Word Count: 2,146

Warning(s): Mild Language, Awkward Fluff?

A/N: This is my very first work of fan fiction; I don’t expect much, and neither should you. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated!

Disrupting the Peace

This was the last straw. You couldn’t recall how many times you had called your neighbors about their absurdly loud stereos, asking for them to simply turn it down. You even lost track of how many times you had called building management. You even went so far as to call the dean, vice president, and president of the university. Campus security was next too useless as well, all they said “fill out a form” and then nothing happened. You must have filled over a dozen these past five months. You were blown off every single time. The stereo system was never lowered in volume; in fact, you were pretty sure it was turn up even more if that was even possible. The noise was ever present. It was starting to seriously affect your life, besides the effect it was already having on your sanity. Your health was suffering as you struggled to get sleep at night and now your grades were starting to suffer too. Falling asleep through lectures, forgetting to show up to study sessions, and let’s not even mention the times you spaced out during mid-terms. The whole situation was an unending nightmare and it ended. Now. It was time to take sufficient action against the dickweeds across the hall. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you calmly but coolly called the local police station. “This is Officer Novak, how may I help you today?”

“Uh, hi?” Seriously, how exactly do you greet a cop anyway? “I was wondering how to report, or even if I’m allowed to report, um, I think it’s called a disruption of the peace.” “It’s absolutely acceptable and even recommended to report a person or groups of persons that are disrupting the peace. Who is causing the disruption and how, and where are they so that I may send an officer down to deal with the situation?” “Well that seems fairly straight forward. I don’t know their names I just call them dickweed-7…” you paused as the officer on the other end of the line chuckled. “Sorry, their apartment number is D7. They’re my neighbors you see, across the hall from me. They like to blast indecipherable scream-metal music at all hours at full volume. We’re a campus apartment on the university and I can’t sleep, study, or even think at this point. I’ve asked them several times to turn it down and I’ve also exhausted the management of the building, administration of the university, and even campus security. I get blown off every single time and I’m at my wit’s end.” “Wow, that’s quite a situation you’ve got down there. I’ll send an officer down right away, what is your name please?” “Huh? M-my name? I’d like to remain anonymous if at all possible.” “Sure thing, I understand. I’ll make a note here and just be sure to tell the attending officer that as well. He’ll be stopping by your apartment as well to get a full statement. He’ll explain how to do it anonymously.” “Thank you so much Officer Novak.” “Sure thing ma’am. He’ll be there within the hour.” Sighing in relief, you hung up the phone and tidied up the apartment a bit. You wanted this whole thing to go in your favor after all, so it might be best to give off the illusion of “I’m a totally pulled together and serious college student.” You anxiously stared out your peephole hoping to catch a glimpse of your neighbor’s shocked faces when the officer shows up. However, that task got boring really fast so you opted to make a snack instead. While you were preparing a snack instead of keeping vigil (good thing you weren’t a police officer) you could hear heavy foreign footfalls on the stairs and then down the hall. Following was a heavy knock on dickweed-7’s door; you were mid-chew as you carefully rushed back to the peephole to catch your glimpse. Holy heck! The station sent a giant masquerading as a policeman. His shoulders were as broad as the door! Well if the jerks didn’t turn down for Officer Intimidating then they were not going to turn down for anything. You honestly did not know how long you stood there watching dickweed-7 and company deal with the officer, but next thing you knew he had turned around and started walking down the hall to your door! In a mad dash back to your kitchenette you quickly gulped down the rest of your snack while trying to regain your dignity. As you were leaving your little kitchen you caught a glimpse of yourself from the reflection in the microwave door. Your hair was a shambles. You groaned, no one could write comedy like this. This was real life and it hated you right now. In a panic you fussed with your hair in front of the microwave when you heard that ominously heavy knock on your door. It was now or never; so with your best Ariel impression, you dinglehoppered your hair into submission. Internally you were screaming like a pre-pubescent schoolgirl who had just met Justin Bieber before his voice broke. He wasn’t Officer Intimidating, quite the contrary! He was Officer God’s-Gift-to-Womankind! The man was a total hunk. Tall, broad-shouldered, and muscled. His face was serious and kind at the same time; his pale complexion betraying a plethora of freckles. His eyes resembled a forest in a thunderstorm, green but cloudy unless the light hit them just right. And that jaw, good lord it made you weak in the knees; he had a square jawline that you swear could cut through steel. “Sorry to bother you ma’am, but I’m going to need a complete statement from you.” “O-of course.” Pull yourself together, you can get through this. “What exactly does a statement entail. I’ve never done this before.” “No worries ma’am…” “Miss. I’m a miss, not a ma’am.” He shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, as if embarrassed he had called you ma’am. “My apologies. Miss. Basically I just need you to write down everything involving the situation. When the noise started, the steps you had previously taken to get it turned down, calling the precinct, and that an officer came by to handle the situation.” “Oh, well that doesn’t seem so bad.” You finally snapped back to reality and realized you had kept him standing in the hallway this entire time. “I’m sorry, would you like to come in? I can fill this out at the kitchen table.” “Thank you miss.” Good heavens, he actually had to duck under the doorway a bit, it was so sexy. How tall was he anyway, six-two? Six-three? You both sat at the table and he waited patiently as you wrote everything down. Every now and then you’d steal a glance at him, he looked so uncomfortable just sitting there with nothing to do. Maybe you should offer him a drink or something. “Excuse me, Officer- “ “Novak, Officer Novak.” Novak! That was the dispatching officer! Surely this wasn’t the same man. “Novak? From dispatch?” He chuckled, “oh no, I’ve never worked dispatch in my life. You probably spoke with my brother Cas. That’s more his thing, he enjoys talking with people and sending other officers to help them.” “Well he was very nice and helpful.” “I’ll let him know.” “Please do,” you smiled as you motioned towards the kitchenette, “could I get you something to drink. I really only have water or tea, you know, college budget and all.” “Thanks, tea would be great actually.” He offered up a nervous smile. Geez, he was the one with a gun, what was he so nervous about? “Is chamomile alright with you?” You caught his nod of approval as you disappeared into the kitchenette. You thought about Officer Dreamboat while you made the tea, getting so lost in thoughts of improper situations, you over poured the tea pot of boiling water right onto your hand. The dreamboat raced into the cramped kitchenette upon hearing your cry of pain, genuine concern plastered across his face. “Miss?” There was even genuine concern in his voice. His voice, you hadn’t noticed it before, but it sounded the exact way melted dark chocolate tasted, smooth. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you. I just, I just forgot where my head was. It’s fine, I just need to clean up this mess is all.” Your heart nearly stopped as he ignored your proclamations of normalcy and took your injured hand in his, examining it. He was standing so close you could practically count the freckles. “You’re going to need ice.” “I can get it, thank you. Well at least we have tea now.” You chuckled nervously, desperately trying to put him at ease. Officer Novak grudgingly nodded and went back to the table while you grabbed an ice pack as you brought the tea out. He seemed slightly dejected, his shoulders drooped a bit as he drank his tea and kept a watchful eye on your injured hand as you uncomfortably continued writing your statement. “Officer Novak?” “Please call me Gadreel. Officer Novak is my brother.” “Gadreel? That’s an interesting name. I’ve never heard it before.” “Yeah, it is a bit different isn’t it? It’s an old Biblical name, from an angel.” Of course he was named after an angel, how fitting. “That’s really cool, I hope you’re proud of your name. It’s special.” That did the trick. He sat a little more upright in his chair and his eyes were alight with gratitude, flashing green as he stared at you. “So, Officer Gadreel, I told your brother I wanted to remain anonymous with this whole situation. How do I do that?” “Well, you have to sign your statement but when I make my report and put your statement into the system I leave your name out. We’ll have an unsigned copy of your statement for public records and your signed one will be in a sealed file.” You sighed in relief as you leaned back in your chair. “Thank you. I know it sounds so silly to be anonymous about a disruption of the peace. I mean it would make sense if this had been a murder case and I were the sole witness, but honestly, those guys down the hall are such jerks and if they found out I ratted them out to the police, well, I’m sure they’d get revenge in some fashion or another.” Gadreel nodded all too knowingly. “I understand.” You signed the statement and handed it to Gadreel. You had taken the entire front and back of a page. He did say to write everything down, so you obliged. He folded it up and put it in his chest pocket while also taking out a card. He handed it to you with a smile, “If they do find out and give you a hard time, call me.” Sure enough, the card had the precinct number on it as well as his number. You both walked back to the door and even reached for the handle at the same time, your hands making contact briefly before both parties pulled away. You felt like an electric current just raced through your body and you were shocked to see he was not only avoiding eye contact, but he was blushing! “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get in your way.” You blamed yourself for the mix-up, trying to ease his pain a bit. He smiled and waited for you to open the door this time. As he walked back into the hall he turned around suddenly and looked you in the eye. “About that card I gave you. I mean it. If you ever need, anything, call me. Anytime, for any reason. I will come.” Now it was your turn to blush. “Thank you Gadreel. I will.” You both stood there a few minutes, intently staring into each other’s eyes. You were so absorbed with each other, neither one of you noticed dickweed-7 had opened their door and were just standing there, watching you. Gadreel smiled nervously again and then quickly leaned in and kissed you on the cheek before turning and walking away. He glanced up once while going down the stairs to catch one last glimpse of you and then he was gone. You sighed again, this had gone much better than you had expected. And then you saw them. Dickweed-7 was standing in their doorway dumbfounded. Eyes wide and jaw dropped. You flashed them a confident smirk as you turned on your heel and shut the door. That night was the purest sleep you’ve had in a while. Silent night. The first silent night in five months and all because of Gadreel. You smiled as you went to sleep, he was no office, he was an angel. And you couldn’t wait to call him back.

Tags: (tried to remember who was a Gadreel fan)

@manawhaat @rowdyhooliganism @pawsandscrubs @room-with-a-cat @totally-not-gadreel @blondecoffeecake @thewhiterabbit42

#gadreel's gigs #kazchester-fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #gadreel #fan fiction #SPN Fanfic Pond #reposting an old fic #castiel #castiel novak #gadreel novak

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themadamelibrarian · 5 years ago

Text

Dead Flowers - Part 3 of the Sister Winchester series

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Sam Winchester, Original Female Character(s), OFC, Castiel Additional Tags: Soulless Sam Winchester, Soulless Maggie Winchester (OFC), questionable consent but they’re soulless, Oral Sex, Rimming, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Female Ejaculation, Squirting, Incest, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform, Angry Dean, Doggy Style, Missionary Position, Hair-pulling, Breathplay, Marking, Come Marking, Come Shot

Summary: Dean should have paid more attention. Maybe then Maggie wouldn't have been driven into the arms of another.

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Tagging: @copperseraphim; @thenanahunter; @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell; @idabbleincrazy; @truxblooded; @helvonasche

LINK TO AO3

Dean finished tying Sam to a hotel chair while watching Castiel handcuff Maggie to the headboard of the motel bed. Wondering if he should have followed that advice because both of them had been acting odd. At first, Dean thought it was because they were adjusting to being back from the Cage, but as the weeks passed, Sam’s drive to hunt bordered on fanatical and Maggie was, for the most part, so calm and reserved that she barely spoke during the day. Unless she was pissed off and trying to get a rise out of Dean.

Maggie was the first to wake from the angelic induced sleep and immediately began jerking her wrists against her restraints, as she asked venomously, “Are you going to make me call you ‘Daddy’ or ‘Sir’ this time?”

Castiel straightened up and narrowed his eyes at her, “Neither, since I am not your father nor your superior.”

“Not what I meant,” Maggie said, her voice not giving away anything as she continued, “Is this how you want me, Cassie?”

At first, the question baffled Castiel, but he brushed it off. Lifting a single eyebrow, he leaned down so that he could look directly into her eyes and said, “For now? Yes.”

“Knock it off, Mags,” Dean warned from his side of the room as he leaned against the dresser, “You see what I mean, Cas? Her and Sam have been like this since they got back. I tried calling Gabriel, but his ass has been MIA for weeks.”

“Curious,” Castiel said as he straightened up and crossed over to Sam’s unconscious form, “We should wake him. The quicker we can get to the bottom of the situation, the better.”

The next hour had to be the longest Dean had had to endure in a long while. Between Castiel’s interrogations of his brother and sister, then watching the angel plunge his hand inside them, Dean felt wrung out by the time it was done. Neither one of them had souls. It was a lot to take in, that and the fact that there was little to no chance of ever getting them out of the Cage.

“So, are you gonna untie me?” Sam asked from his chair, twisting his wrists to loosen the hastily tied knots holding the ropes together.

Dean shook his head and snapped, “No.” He needed to think. He needed a plan. One that would get his family back the way they were before all this mess started.

“I think he likes us right where we are, Sam,” Maggie said, crossing her legs and rattling her wrists for emphasis, “Can’t trust something that doesn’t have a soul.”

“How the hell am I even supposed to let you two out of this room?” Dean asked, clearly annoyed at them as he started to pace.

“Dean, I'm not some psycho. I didn't want you to get hurt. I was just trying to stop the vamps,” Sam sighed heavily, feeling one of the knots give way with a subtle shift of weight.

Eyeing his brother, Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “You're kidding, right?”

“Well, what are you gonna do? Keep us locked up in here forever?” Maggie asked, shifting her shoulder to see if she could get one of her wrists loose.

The thought of releasing them had crossed his mind, but so did images of them strangling him in his sleep or worse, “You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“Okay, fine. Look, I get it. I get it, Dean. I was wrong, but I'm telling you It's still me. And Maggie’s a bitch but she always kinda was,” Sam shot back, testing to see what Dean really wanted to hear.

Dean snapped his head around to stare at Sam in disbelief. That Sam would actually call someone a bitch, let alone his sister. Studying Sam closely as he slowed his pacing, Dean asked, “Is it?” Part of him wanted to believe that it was true. That it was still Sam and Maggie in the room, but without their own Jiminy Cricket to help them become real boys, rather than the wooden puppets he was stuck with.

“Yes,” Maggie said in exasperation, “so just let us go and stop being a dick for ten minutes.”

“No way in hell,” Dean shook his head, standing his ground. This was for the best whether they realized it or not, at least for now.

Sighing, Sam shifted in his seat, and feeling the final knot unravel, “I didn't want it to come to this.” The ropes fell to the floor and Dean cursed internally at having forgotten that Sam could free himself from some of the more intricate knots. Standing at in a completely bored voice, Sam said, ”You're not gonna hold me, Dean -- Not here, not in a panic room, not anywhere. You're stuck with the soulless guy, so you might as well work with me.”

“I'm gonna be watching every move you make,” Dean warned as he glanced back at Maggie, who had gone quiet and was staring at Castiel like she was willing him to burst into flames.

“Fine. Sounds about right to me,” Sam agreed with a nod, keeping Dean on his side was his best option.

“Cas, clean him up,” Dean ordered as he dug into his pocket. Retrieving the handcuff keys, he went to free Maggie. “All right, if we're gonna figure out what happened to your soul, then we need to find who yanked you out. You say you don't know?” he asked Sam, knowing that Maggie probably wouldn’t answer him anyway.

“No idea,” Sam said.

Once Maggie’s hands were free, Dean took the cuffs and shoved them back in his duffel, “Then we start a list. If it's so hard to spring someone out of the box, then who's got that kind of muscle?” Dean looked to Castiel for his guidance. He was the only angel he knew that had the first-hand experience with springing people from Hell.

“I don't know,” Castiel said as he broke the staring contest with Maggie and diverted his attention to Sam, “You have no memory of your resurrection?”

“I woke up in a field. That's all I got,” Sam provided helpfully.

“No clues? Nothing?” Dean asked, looking between his siblings. He needed something to go on, otherwise, they’d just be spinning their wheels.

“I've got one,” Maggie drawled, thinking of Gabriel as her eyes turned to each of the men in the room, “But he’s unavailable.”

.oOo.

Slamming the door to the motel room, Maggie tossed her bag and went straight to the bathroom. She didn’t know where her brother was and at this point, she didn’t care. She knew that she was supposed to, something Sam had brought up, but neither of them could muster the feelings to care about Dean, or anything. They’d found his phone in the middle of the crop circle but no sign of Dean anywhere. It was inconvenient. They were supposed to figure out what was going on and now they had to wait around the room for something that would happen eventually. It was the waiting that frustrated her.

As Maggie took out her displeasure on the motel room, slamming doors and trying to find something to occupy her time, Sam decided that he wouldn’t waste the effort on sharing his sister’s irritation. Relaxing on the bed, he started to think about what could be making Maggie act this way. They were both soulless, and he rarely felt irritation unless pushed, even then it was quickly resolved. But nothing was pushing Maggie. He figured it must be situational, and as he considered the events of the past few days and weeks, it hit him: she wasn’t getting laid.

Sitting up in the bed, Sam ran through the list in his head before he said anything. He needed to be certain, no use pissing her off further by bringing up some nonsense. Since she had come back, she and Dean hadn’t been alone except at night. But when they were alone, from what Sam could hear, they weren’t going at it like recently reunited penguins. Sam had overheard Maggie enjoying some alone time, and now that he thought about it critically, she had been doing that every day for the last few weeks, sometimes more than a few times if she could get alone.

“Maggie, can I ask you something?” Sam blurted, without Dean or any other people around, there was no point in preamble.

“What?” Maggie said as she jerked the pins holding her hair up.

Sam scooted to the end of the bed, and without considering her feelings, asked, “When’s the last time you fucked?”

She stopped for a moment as she thought about it, counting back until her last memory of having sex. She hadn’t been properly laid since before going to the Cage. In fact, she could only think of one time, “The weekend before I agreed to be Michael’s vessel. So, nearly a year on Earth if I’m doing my math correctly. Why are you asking?”

“Making an observation is all,” Sam said, “Just like I’ve noticed it's been quiet with you and Dean lately. Which is surprising.”

Maggie finished letting her hair down and shoved her jeans down to the floor which left her dressed in a shirt that barely covered her panty clad ass. “He isn’t interested,” she said as she stepped out of the bathroom to put her discarded clothes in her bag, “Last time I tried to anything, he gave me some song and dance about the traumas of Hell. I tell you what’s traumatic: being horny with only your hand and a warm shower.”

His eyes followed her every movement. It wasn’t that he’d been oblivious to the fact that Maggie was an attractive woman but until that moment he’d never entertained the idea that she was a sexual creature. As quickly as the idea popped into his mind, images of her bent over the table as he pounded into her had his cock tingling with interest.

Reaching out, Sam took hold of Maggie’s wrist and calmly pulled her toward him, “I think we can fix that.”

“Fix what?” she asked.

His free hand drifted up her thigh, squeezing along the way, “You need some release that isn’t self-induced. I’m bored and interested. All you have to do is say ‘yes’ and your problem is fixed.”

Maggie considered his words for a moment while she chewed on the corner of her lip. Sam made an excellent point. Why go to the trouble of searching out a new partner when one was available right in front of her? Carding her fingers through his hair, Maggie crashed their mouths together, kissing him like like this was how she would sate the only hunger she’d had since coming back. Lowering herself until she was straddling his leg, she ground her sex against his thigh, feeling the tension build.

Rising from the bed, Sam kept his lips to hers, sucking and nipping until he could hear soft sighs coming from her. Sam smirked against her mouth before spinning her around so that her back was pressed to his chest. His hands moving across her body until one was cupping her breast through her shirt. “I can’t tell. Is this a yes?” Sam murmured, easing his hand down the front of her panties. The tip of his long fingers dipping between her folds to find her already wet and slippery, a fact that he took advantage of by spreading it over her.

“Yes,” Maggie hissed, bucking up against his palm and gasping at the brief, teasing pressure on her clit, “Don’t stop, Sam.”

Sam trailed his lips down the side of her neck, inhaling the scent of the hotel soap mixing with the smell of dried sweat. With a subtle shift of his wrist, two of his fingers slipped into her opening. Slowly pumping into her at first to savor the gripping heat but Maggie didn’t have the patience for slow. She grabbed hold of his forearm and pushed his fingers deeper, her hips moving faster as she tried to chase after her own pleasure. “Do you think you get to use me like a toy?” Sam growled as he untangled their hands and pushed her panties down her legs, “You got that a little backward, Mags. You’re my toy today and you will be happy with what I give you.”

She twisted around to glare at him. This was a new side to him that she’d never seen before and she wondered why she never saw any hint of this before now. The growl in his voice sent a chill through her that made the ache between her legs grow. “Is that so, Sammy?” she taunted, her surprise melting into wire tight need as she ran a hand over the bulge in the front of his jeans, “Then show me how big boys play with their things.”

He didn’t waste any time before pushing her face down on the bed she was supposed to be sharing with Dean. Neither slept, so the two beds were pointless, until now. She only laid under the covers, staring at the ceiling for the four hours that Dean would sleep. She let out a satisfying grunt as she landed on the mattress. Sam pulled his shirt off and tossed it away in time to land a firm slap on Maggie’s upturned ass when she tried to twist around to face him. “Kitty up, face down,” he commanded as he reached down to open his pants and shoved them, along with his boxers, down to the floor.

“Is it in yet?” Maggie asked, glancing over her shoulder from her newly assumed position.

Sam didn’t utter a word, throwing her a knowing smirk as he sank to his knees on the bed behind her, disappearing from her view. Facing Maggie’s bare pussy, Sam ran his fingers over her slit, spreading her open to reveal the pink, delicate folds. Leaning down, he ran his tongue over her inner lips, moaning at the salty taste of her slick. With or without a soul, this had always been Sam’s favorite thing to do to a woman. To bring them to shuddering completion with his mouth wrapped around their clit.

Maggie couldn’t hold back the moans that escaped her. During her younger days she’d nearly perfected the ability to suppress any sounds during sex but today she didn’t control herself. The feeling of him licking and sucking at her pussy had her balling up her fists in the thin blankets of the bed. It’d been too long since she’d had anything between her legs that wasn’t attached to her or powered by batteries she’d forgot how good it could be. “S-sam!” she gasped when he moved up and flicked his tongue over her ass.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had this done before,” Sam said as he pushed his fingers back into her, thrusting quickly and swirling his tongue around her puckered entrance.

“N-no..” Maggie groaned the new sensation of her ass being licked open had an orgasm building to the point where her thighs were starting to quiver, “He thought it was dirty.”

“It is,” Sam purred, turning his face to bite at the curve of her ass cheek, “but I’m not Dean and I can feel how much you like it. Quivering around my fingers just aching to cum. Aren’t you, Sis?”

She didn’t have time to answer before the tension inside her peaked and she fell apart under Sam’s mouth and fingers. It wasn’t an earth-shattering orgasm but it was still damned good, leaving her lax and panting against her forearms.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me, Mags. Not done with you, yet,” Sam said, standing up on his knees and pulling her hips back against him. Gripping his cock, he stroked it a few times, rubbing the head against her entrance and slowly easing inside her. Moving his hand from her hip to the back of her head, he grabbed a handful of the long tresses before snapping his hips forward, sinking all the way to the base with a single thrust.

Maggie’s head reared back as she cried out. Sam was bigger than Dean, there was no doubt about that any longer. She could feel him stretching her in ways she hadn’t felt since she’d lost her virginity. Pushing up onto her hands, she braced herself against each of Sam’s thrusts. The strength of which made the cheap bed frame creak in protest. “P-please. Sam.” she gasped.

“Do you like that? Getting fucked by your little brother?” Sam grunted, fingers digging into the curve of her hip to hold her steady as he pounded into her, “Tell me it’s better than Dean ever gave you.”

“Fuck yes,” she moaned.

“Say it...” Sam ordered, giving her hair a sharp tug.

“B-better than Dean… so good,” Maggie said, one hand flying back to try and touch him. She wanted more. She wanted him closer; to feel the flex of his muscles against her, “So fucking good.”

Growling low in his throat, Sam released her with a shove, earning a protesting whine from her. Flipping her over onto her back, he pulled Maggie’s legs up onto his shoulders and positioned his cock at her entrance, “Beg for it,” he said with a wicked grin.

When Sam spoke she was taken aback. She didn’t even know what to say to a request like that. All she wanted was for him to get back inside her and finish what he’d started.

“I said beg,” Sam reached between them and gave her pussy and open-palmed slap, “Beg, like a bitch in heat.”

Maggie squirmed beneath him, the sting of his fingers against her sex making her body spasm. She had opened her mouth to protest when his hand slapped against her again. “Oh fuck!” Maggie keened, “Sam, stop teasing and fuck me.”

“Good girl,” Sam growled, as he pushed his cock into her with care to take his time, to really feel her stretch around his girth. Rolling his hips against her as his hand skated along her sides until he had a breast in each hand, taking his time to circle each of her nipples with the pads of his thumbs.

The new angle and the way he moved had his cock head brushing against her g-spot. Moaning, Maggie arched up into his touch, meeting each of his thrusts with resistance to feel him deeper inside her. So lost in her own pleasure, she didn’t notice his hand moving until it was wrapped around her throat, squeezing hard enough for her to feel her breath restrict. She grabbed hold of his hand and bucked up against him, staring up at him in confusion.

“Don’t fight me, you trust me, don’t you?” Sam asked, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth, his hand relaxing to let her breath, “This makes it better, I promise. Don’t you want to cum on my cock?”

Sam’s cock brushed up against her sweet spot again and Maggie nodded, laying her hand over his and tightening her grip. She had to admit that his fingers felt good around her throat. Almost as good as him being inside her. He positioned his grip and held tight, making sure to only restrict her breathing a little, not the carotid arteries, his hips snapping forward and all Maggie could do was gasp for breath. She gave up and held her breath as the tension inside her shifted; opening up until she felt like she was going to explode and float away at the same time.

“That’s it, Mags,” Sam urged her on when he felt her cunt start to flutter around his cock. His fingers opening and closing to let Maggie drag in little snatches of air, “Cum for me. Cum for your baby boy.”

Maggie’s eyes nearly rolled back in her head as her orgasm crashed into her. Needing to hold onto something as her world shook apart, she grabbed onto Sam’s shoulders with both hands and dragged her nails down his arms, leaving angry-looking welts behind. With a guttural moan, she gushed slick over his cock, coating him from tip to base and drenching his balls.

“Oh shit,” Sam exclaimed through clenched teeth as he felt his sister squirt all over him. It was too much for him. The moment she’d started to cum he’d wanted to join her but had held off. This had been the first time he’d gone bare in any woman and the temptation to let loose deep inside her, but he refused to take the risk. Riding out the last of her shudders, Sam pulled out just before he was about to cum and wrapped his fist around his cock, carefully aiming until he unloaded thick and hot across the top of her pussy.

Maggie dropped her arms to the bed and watched Sam with detached interest as he sat back to inspect her and the bed. She was spent to the point of feeling like a marionette with cut strings. “That was exactly what I needed,” she said with a hint of a satisfied smile.

“You must have,” Sam looked up from where he was running his fingers over her cum coated pubic hair, watching his leavings spread thin over her skin, “We made a mess, well… you did.”

She sat up and hummed, sliding into Sam’s lap like she’d spent years doing it, “That’s new.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow, pulling her closer, “You never? Not even a little bit?”

Maggie shook her head slowly. She’d enjoyed herself more in the past hour than she had in the past year. Being soulless obviously had its perks if it led to letting go enough to enjoy sex completely instead of worrying about what others thought or did. “Actually,” she said, winding her arms around Sam’s neck, “I wouldn’t mind trying again. As soon as you’re up for it.”

Without a word, Sam dropped her back down to the bed and immediately began to kiss across her breasts. He’d just reached the peak of the first one when the door to the hotel room burst open and Dean rushed inside.

“Maggie, Sam,” he began then stopped cold in his tracks. His fists clenching and eyes going hard when he saw Sam on top of Maggie like he had a right to be there and bruises starting to form on her neck, “What the fuck, Sam?!” he growled with barely contained rage.

Sam looked up, the picture of innocence with a hint of the devil in his smile, “Giving her what she needs.”

#My Writing #Madamelibrarian's Writing #Wincest #winchester twins #Dean/Sister #Dean/Sister Winchester #winchester sister #Dean/OFC #Sam/OFC #Sam/Sister WInchester #Sam Winchester #dean winchester

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data-monkey · 6 years ago

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AO3 stats project: correlations

Okay. Now for some really fun stuff: correlations between different categories of metadata (like, correlations between ratings and tags, character tags and genre tags, etc). And as with the previous post in this series, some of the content I discuss may not be strictly work-appropriate.

Thanks to @eloiserummaging for beta reading these posts; any remaining errors are my own. A Python notebook showing the code I used to make these plots can be found here.

All right. We've got a list of top tags now. How do those tags relate to each other? That is, if I have a work labeled "Fluff", does that change how likely it is that that work will also be labeled "Angst"? I'm plotting, here, a matrix that answers that question directly. I can compute how often "Fluff" and "Angst" would appear together if they were just randomly assigned to all 4.3 million works that I collected metadata for. The blocks I'm showing below are colored by whether the actual number of times "Fluff" and "Angst" appear together is greater or lesser than that expectation. (We do it that way, instead of just counting the raw number of connections, because otherwise it looks like everything is correlated with "Fluff", just because there are a lot of works labeled "Fluff" in the data set.) If I pick two tags--say, "Fluff" on the bottom, and "Angst" on the left--I can follow them to where they intersect, and the color of that little block tells me about whether they're correlated. Things that are pink are less likely than you'd expect to appear together, while things that are green are more likely. The diagonal line is always that pale green-grey color because, by definition, "Romance" appears with "Romance" exactly as often as you'd expect, and the graph is symmetric across that diagonal line because it doesn't matter if we take "Fluff" then "Angst" or "Angst" then "Fluff."

So one really interesting thing is that this plot is mostly green (so things are correlated). Not only do these tags appear a lot, but they appear together more than you’d expect, and even when they’re anti-correlated--that is, when being labeled one makes you less likely to be labeled another--it’s not by very much. The strongest correlation is between “Romance” and “Humor”, so I guess the rom com is alive and well! Angst and hurt/comfort also appear together a lot, which I suppose makes sense.

We can make correlation plots like this for other things. How about pairing types?

Per the AO3, “Multi” means “more than one kind of relationship, or a relationship with multiple partners”, and “Other” means “everything not covered by the other labels”. The structure of this is kind of interesting, too. Remember, pink means things are anti-correlated (appear together less often than expected) and green means they’re correlated (appear together MORE often than expected), so M/M is the Lone Ranger of pairing types, making all other pairing types less likely if it's included. Even more than Gen, which you’d expect to exclude other categories!

Now for the REALLY fun stuff: how do all of these things correlate with other things? Here's an obvious one: ratings vs tags. No more symmetry, because we're showing different things on the two axes.

Not too surprised by this: “Smut” has a really strong relationship with rating, because most works of erotica deserve the higher ratings. The other tags are much less correlated with rating; Fluff and Humor incline to lower ratings, Established Relationship to higher ratings, and the others are kind of in the middle.

Do ratings and tags correlate with pairing type?

Hmm. Interesting. Romance is way more likely to be F/M than you’d expect. (Do we not write as many M/M romances, or do we just call them something else? A couple of friends also pointed out to me that this might mean “romance” as in “the publication genre of romance” not as in “romantic plotlines generally”, which makes sense and would make them more M/F-heavy given publication trends.) Established relationship is very skewed to M/M. Gen anti-correlates with most of the tags you’d expect. Apparently only single-pairing romantic relationships can be fluffy. F/F is neither as funny nor as angsty as chance would indicate.

I think this pattern can be explained this way: Gen is way more likely to be a low rating, and the trend you see for most other things is just that we’re comparing to the average--if Gen is way more likely to be rated General Audiences than is typical, then the other pairing types have to be slightly less General Audiences than you’d expect to make up for it. (This argument doesn’t necessarily apply to the other correlations I was showing, because in those plots there are a bunch of tags I’m not showing and because non-ratings tags can appear together.)

How about the top relationship tags--do they correlate with anything?

Huh. Well, most of these ships have preferentially high ratings--I think that’s the same effect as in the rating and pairing correlation: things without a romantic/sexual relationship have lower ratings, so on average the works containing relationships will have a higher rating. That’s not universal--look at Magnus/Alec, for example--but it’s common. The other two obvious things here are 1) Dean/Sam really skews to high ratings, 2) apparently Harry/Louis fans reject the rating system.

Okay, that’s...less interesting than I was expecting. Lots of Harry/Louis smut, lots of Keith/Lance modern AUs. The most likely established relationship is Derek/Stiles. Magnus/Alex and Yuuri/Victor are the fluffiest. Not much romance, except for Draco/Harry, and that pairing also has an unusual amount of humor.

What about character tags?

Hmm. Looks like there are a lot of teen-rated Marvel works, and Supernatural leans towards the higher ratings (which we already knew).

This basically just repeats stuff we already noticed in the relationships plot, I think. One thing I didn’t notice up there is that John and Sherlock are not that likely to be tagged in Established Relationship works, which is kind of interesting as they’re long-term partners (not necessarily romantic partners) in most versions of the canon.

How about characters and pairing type...are there characters that appear more often in one kind of pairing than you'd expect based on randomness? (Note that all these characters appear most in M/M stories, because those are by far the most common--this is just asking a relative question about how much they appear in other kinds of stories.)

Mostly not super interesting, I have to say. Steve, Tony, Natasha, and Harry Potter are all more likely than usual to appear in poly relationships or in F/M stories, apparently, and Stiles and Castiel are less likely than usual to appear in gen works.

Finally, a really fun thing (that I have to link to an external site to do, because tumblr doesn’t like javascript in posts). Instead of just looking at the top 10 tags, here are the top 100 tags portrayed as dots, arranged in a connected graph: the dots represent tags (with the popularity of the tag represented by its size), and they’re connected by lines whose thickness indicates how often the two things appear together, relative to chance. You can also use this kind of setup to work out sets of interconnected tags that are more closely tied to each other than to the other tags. I colored those sets with different colors, so you can identify them. Hovering your mouse pointer over a dot should tell you which tag it is.

Here are the blocks of tags that the algorithm found:

Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Christmas, Crack, Cute, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff And Humor, Humor, Light Angst, One Shot, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Dark, Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Magic, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence

Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Crossover, Drabble, Drama, Family, Friendship, Future Fic, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Spoilers

Alcohol, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff And Smut, Jealousy, Kissing, Mpreg, Polyamory, Sex, Sexual Content, Slash, Smut

Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bdsm, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Dom/Sub, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rough Sex, Spanking

Angst With A Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff And Angst, Friends To Lovers, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Love, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags To Be Added, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Swearing, Unrequited Love

I love this! To me, those sets look like: fluffy plot-based tags, violence and disturbing content tags, more action-oriented plot-based tags, less explicit vanilla-ish erotica tags, more explicit or kinky erotica tags, and romance. That’s so cool. (Not everything makes sense--why is Drabble where it is?--but still, cool.)

Or in other words: some numerical routines correctly identified the porn. :)

Up next: what gets kudos?

#fan stats #ao3 #fanstats

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