#and cas has a little vial of it

[clairenatural]

standing by my angel!cas endgame truth while also kicking my feet and giggling writing cute domestic human!cas post-canon fics. a woman can do both

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ CADAVER

tw. wound fucking, blood, gore, don’t read this if you’re squeamish!!, somnophilia, oral, noncon, megumi is delusional in this, yandere, belly bulge but gross! , cannibalistic thoughts wordcount. 6.4k

a/n. this one,,, was me pushing myself to just go buck wild, and channel my inner junji, and i think i got somewhere with it... a select few of you will understand me when i say that ,, this is like my love letter to megumi fr ♡ like i said though, this one might be the one that has people a little yucked out but! it's basically my halloween fic, for the spooky month

fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

When the rattling of the stretcher finally quiets in the halls and the rising rate of adrenaline starts to flatten out, Megumi’s lost on what to do. Any of the other sorcerers can’t decide what the next step is either, it seems. Yuji with his back pressed against the glass and staring off into the empty part of the hall they just came from, and principal Yaga a stern quietness and arms crossed. Ieiri-san will do her best work today of any days if there’s anything to be done about it, but Megumi can tell. That uncertainty hangs over all of them as the faint breathing of a collapsed body grows more pitched and panicked.

Megumi always sort of hated you. He didn’t like you from the second he first met you, and it just grew and grew and grew from there. He hates your stupid demeanor with your higher-than-thou morals and your sky-high milestones and that grin that could make even the coldest heart split in two. It doesn’t escape him that this is the same reason he always did enjoy Maki, but you were — more recognizable to him, and yet somehow much further away.

He always hated the way he’d catch himself watching the soft motion of your lashes, or how your mouth would form words, the heat that would carry color to your face. He always hated the quiet moments you’d sit by his side, rattling his heart out of his chest and laughing at him for his hot cheeks; and he always hated how you’d be the thought on his mind right after he’d made sure his own limbs hadn’t yet been blown to bits. But standing with his hands covered in a coating of blood that isn’t his, dripping onto the panes of the old flooring, he wonders what that hatred ever really got him. It never helped him understand you better, that for someone so alike himself, you were so much better at everything.

His chest is rising and falling too fast.

Gojo’s too late, always is when it comes down to the wire, Megumi thinks as the lankier man rushes through and stops a few feet away from them. Yaga’s brow pinches, before he lifts his head the slightest bit to acknowledge the white blond. “What’s the status,” Gojo has to ask, and before he has another conscious thought, Megumi’s furiously rubbing his hands over his sweater in an attempt to get the blood off while his teeth clack with how hard he’s clenching them. There’s a thickness between his ears that makes everything sound far off. The blood stains his fingers the more he rubs, and his face gets hotter and hotter as it lasts.

But he thinks he hears the principal explain.

How you had been pinned down and knocked clean out, head bashed against the concrete pillars. How Megumi had been too busy trying and failing to keep the uglier curse from blasting you both to shit, to notice. How the other special grade had picked you up by the neck and unceremoniously shoved something into your mouth and pushed until it went down your throat - until you started convulsing, spitting out blood and bile before he could reach you. Megumi hadn’t taken the time to look then, but he knows now what it was, slimy, decaying contents of a little vial that had gone missing a few months ago.

“The girl must’ve been a real good match.” Yaga pushes his fingers to his brow, as if forcibly trying to push the frown down. “Ieiri’s doing what she can.” It doesn’t make any of them feel better when Gojo clicks his tongue and aims his eyes at the door, before casting a quick glance at Megumi under thick, blond lashes. He wants to puke. He’d shoved his fingers down your throat for what felt like hours, trying desperately to get you to throw up the curse. Had carried you all the way back while you were sobbing and wailing in pain. Nothing.

If even the worst case repeats itself, they’ll have another incarnation on their hands, and the noose will be tightened around your throat. Yuji must have already realized this, because he’s yet to say anything since you’d been tied onto the stretcher with blood pouring out of your nose and ears and coughing up grime. Megumi’s not even sure if Ieiri would hesitate to put you down without a second warning before it gets to the same turning point. And he is pissed. At the situation, his friends, himself, you. He’s so angry his hands shake, and so angry tears start stinging behind his eyes, feeling like any motion might cause him to throw up. He hates you.

+

Your chest’s rising with big motions up and down, up and down, as you drum your feet on his bedsheets like an excited rabbit. Megumi grunts, snatches the book from your hands and tosses it back down with the others that were not-so-neatly stacked on his desk. Your shape on his bed makes a dent in his mind that he’ll have to keep replaying over and over when he closes his eyes, and it has a frown pulling his eyebrows down automatically. “So grumpy,” you yawn, and also roll over onto your stomach to tuck your legs to your core, lifting one hand to rest your face into it.

“This isn’t your room.”

“Might as well be,” you giggle back, and he watches for a moment as your hair falls along your shoulders in a gentle brush, making you look even more enchanting. You’re soft and parts of you are shiny like silk, seemingly oozing your rosy, peachy aura all over his stuff. You catch his eyes for just a few breaths, still rising your chest too distractingly, before you push yourself up and slide off the bed to walk up to him. He pivots to thumb through the notes on his desk again, to be farther away from your face probably, and his shoulders rise into an uncomfortable pinch when you approach, feet patting on his floor. “Megumi.” You say his name with a clear pout.

Then heat covers his skin at the base of his throat and he freezes, letting the way you drag your soft lips over his pulse fill him up entirely. His hands shake too hard to keep a grip on the paper, so he spins you around and shoves you back against the desk as you hiss at the sudden painful grip, his fist wrapped into the collar of your shirt. “I already told you to stop doing that.” He hisses, and your eyes are wide and glittering like diamonds, beautiful color peering up at him.

“But you like it when I do that,” you whisper back ever so softly, and his head feels like it’s splitting at the seams, cracking his skull under a non-escapable pressure. He can’t think, can’t even eat normally without the ghost of you hanging over him and shaking him up. It’s unbearable even when you’re not around. His fist unclenches from the flimsy fabric to instead grip your chin with his thumb, and his heart bangs against his ribcage harder than can be normal. Harder than is healthy. A little thought in the back of his skull begs to push. Just once, deny you from digging your claws deeper into him— but he’s already melted to your shape before he can blink.

His face drops like you’re magnetic, thighs pushing you further into the desk and also into him; and it’s truly embarrassing that his hands are still shaking like they do. You lean in when he does, and let your lips meet his hungry, treacherous mouth, other hand sliding to your waist to pull you closer. Your tongue brushes his and he implodes inside, and he swears it hurts to be this close to you.

Not that you care. Your arms wind around his neck to pull him even closer, and his blood feels like it’s boiling under his skin.

+

He finds himself wandering back to the quieter wing of the school when the sun’s already dipped far past the horizon, and the cold starts picking up. He’s dragging his feet, so he won’t fucking rush back to the room he finds himself thinking about so fast he stumbles. He’s glaring at the patterns in the floorboards so he doesn’t cry. You’re stable- quiet puffs of air escaping your nose every few seconds, but you’re still under surveillance. As far as the clans are concerned, they’ll put something sharp between your eyes sooner rather than later, before whatever’s slumbering inside you wakes up. But Gojo’s fighting for you. It makes him grimace to think about.

Knocking his knuckles onto the doorframe, he enters the dimly lit room. Nanami doesn’t stand when he spots him, but does uncross his legs as he takes a deep breath. Neither of them speak for a while, and the dark haired man takes that time to run his eyes over you. You’re not as dirty as you were when you first got back, shivering and shaking. You’re no longer dripping with blood, though he’s sure if he were to look close enough, he’d still be able to see flecks of it between your cracked lips. As he walks up, he finds himself thinking that you look strangely peaceful, and that doesn’t seem entirely right.

Save for the bloody mark that seems branded into your forehead, you look like you’re quietly sleeping on the metal slab that supports your body. After all the pain and agony you’ve caused in him, sleepless nights and long days of wondering, hoping you’d be okay. Why is it that he’s the one affected by you? Why is it that he’s the one who’s going to have to say goodbye again? He stares at your unmoving form as if that’ll give him an answer, but it doesn’t. And the pit in his stomach swells again. He’s just so angry all the time. Megumi breathes out. “It’s my turn to take watch for a while.”

“You’re early,” Nanami’s deep baritone chastises, but he gets up from the seat anyway. He smooths out the wrinkles in his suit, before slowly placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. The weight is heavy, and somehow doesn’t soothe him at all. But there’s an attempt, he guesses. He’s still not entirely sure why everyone is looking at him like he’s the one who needs it most, broken and disheveled and mourning. He’s been able to finish his tasks like everyone else has, and he can banish the thought of you when he’s supposed to focus on work— at least, mostly. He doesn’t need the fucking pity. “Want some coffee? Or green tea?” Nanami asks, letting his hand slide off when Megumi shrugs.

“No. I’m okay.”

The older man seems to hesitate, simply nodding when he walks past. Before closing the door behind him, he once again clears his voice, and Megumi turns over his shoulder. The blond has this look in his eyes, of pity, as he talks. “Megumi, there’s a chance she pulls through.” Why again - that fucking pity? “Don’t give up.” Though it makes him tingle with an unbearable sort of itch deep under the skin, he grits his teeth, and his brain’s hot and irritated when he responds.

“I wasn’t going to.” Nanami doesn’t seem to believe him, but still softly slides the door closed behind him, and when the footsteps grow softer and softer, Megumi allows for a second to collect himself. He braces his hands onto the metal as he leans in, close enough to feel just the slightest bit of your warmth on his fingers, and see the way you’re still breathing, though shallow, too faint for his liking. His brows pinch when he finds himself with his forehead pressed to your stomach, hunched over like he’s praying at your shrine or something. But he can’t help it.

As much time as he spent beside you with a frown on his face, it never feels enough. He can’t stay away, like it’s an involuntary thing— you leave him no choice in the matter. Even here in the darkness, whining softly into your wheezed breaths, it isn’t enough to be beside you. He can’t do anything from here at your bedside; and that uselessness makes him feel even more uneasy. He needs to be closer to you. Wants to be so close you two get stuck together and melt together like an inseparable entity, would want to crawl inside you if he could.

His nose presses into the clean shirt that smells like your laundry, as he clenches his fists so hard along the table edge they start to ache. His eyes are pressed closed tight when he allows him just a second to nose below your sternum, and that uncomfortable stinging sensation comes back to his eyes. “Fucking idiot,” his lips brush against your covered skin, taking in the lack of heat, of your smell and the way you sounded with his face buried there, “I didn’t mean it.”

+

“Aw, ow, ow, Megumi~” You pout with a pitched whine as his hand stays screwed around your knee for a little longer, keeping you trapped under his heavier, taller body so that you start wiggling. Your head falls back against his arm, and you lean to press a few kisses to his wrist that’s holding your own to the floor. “Be more gentle.” You pout when you pull back and flash him that fucking look that sends icy shivers down his spine, and exactly nothing else. “You can be gentle, can’t you?” Every other part of him flushes with heat under your doe-eyed, pitiful look, definitely when you start wiggling out of his grasp like you’re suddenly over the game.

You started it. He wouldn’t put himself in your range on purpose. When you’re about halfway out from under his crouched form, you sit up to be face to face; and you brush your hand past his ear, down his jaw and neck and trail his collarbones, all places he’s convinced are now stained a bright, obnoxious pink from his flush. You let your fingers linger when you tilt your head aside a bit so you can slot your lips over his into a sweet, little kiss, and you pull your lips into another pout. “Swear you’re doing it to hurt me sometimes. I’m never trying to hurt you, you know.” A few strands of hair fall over your eye when you sit below him, and he has to fight every single muscle in his body not to push it back for you.

He wants to see your eyes. He wants you to see him like this, pinned under you like the attraction you render him as— his body collapses on top of you as you start giggling all fucking cutely, and his heart races more than it ever has. Your heartbeat drums into his face when he buries it into your softness, chest against his cheek, too long for his own sanity before he drags himself off you. And it is a drag. His entire body starts feeling sluggish when you’re this close to him, close enough to drown himself in your scent. He won’t ever say it, but that scent gets him hard and awfully mellow all at once, his cock coming to life in his pants before he’s moving.

You look happy. Your eyes are those bright, gentle colors that rain down on him, and your lips are quirked into a soft smile, you must know what you’re doing to him. Setting him up for failure again. He huffs and pushes himself onto his back instead, knocking his head to the floor while you’re moving from the rug - splaying your knees either side of him before you nuzzle right back on top of his chest and make it even harder to get a breath, let alone catch it. He’s sure he’s panting a little when you leave your warmth draped all over him, and you don’t do anything other than be there.

His arms are still on the floor, his body rigid under you, but you’re softly giggling into his peck before he frowns down at you again when you catch his eyes. “What?”

“Your heart is beating super fast,” you admit, not proud, not gloating - just stating the fact, and heat overtakes his neck now too. Instead of letting you wind him up any further, he bucks you off and switches positions again, now with your two wrists caught in his hands as you squeak with the ache that probably lodges in your back.

“Can you get off of me?” He sits back on his feet, not letting go of your hands yet, before your eyes flutter and you grab him back. Well, brush your fingers over the skin you can reach, pawing at him just enough to tickle. “What’s with you today?” he bites back, and also snatches his hands back to escape the onslaught of feelings that wash over him. You don’t sit up this time, and from the tilt of your head, you’re considering your answer for a while before you speak out.

“Do you like me, Megumi?” Fuck. His room seems to collapse in on itself. Or, maybe it’s his body— because he gets a little more short of breath, and his thoughts short circuit as his mouth stupidly drops open. He’s choked up for long enough that he has to clear his voice to try an answer, and even then, he gets stuck. You’re studying him so closely it must show. The blaring warmth that fills him up and makes his ears bright red. After another second, your eyes seem to dim slightly, as you push your cheek to your shoulder, opening yourself up to even more attacks. “Love y’, ‘gumi.”

+

He straightens up with enough tightness in his chest to choke him, makes his eyes sting and his head blare cold, painful warnings— he grabs some of the glasses from the small table beside him, launches it straight into the wall until it shatters into a million pieces upon impact. The loud clang doesn’t do anything to settle his anger, where he fists his hands into his hair and pulls, in hopes the worry will somehow vanish.

“Why do you always have to be such a hero?” he hisses, even though you can’t answer now, “wouldn’t it have been enough to just stay here with me?!” He tilts your face to his and drops his lips to yours, and that familiar softness is enough to have him clenching his eyes shut again against the tears. He kisses you until your mouth opens a bit, then slides his tongue up against yours and grips your shoulders, pulling your limp body towards him more. “I’ll be better to you.” He pleads. You don’t move, and the breaths going over his cheeks are so shallow.

But he can’t stop himself from tangling your tongue with his, licking into your mouth and chasing the warmth until he runs out of breath. You’re so fucking pretty still. He kisses you again, bumping teeth, and grips your hip hard as he lays over you a little more, chest to chest and feeling it brush against him with each soft pant he lets out, each gravelly moan. It doesn’t hurt so much to brush his tongue against yours, to swallow your taste on his tongue until his lips numb — but while it doesn’t ache, it’s also not enough. Before he’s able to think about the morality of his actions, his thumbs are hooking under your shirt and pushing it up, over your soft belly and ribcage all the way up until it’s over your tits, where his lips travel to as soon as the skin’s exposed. You’re so soft still, too.

He’s not sure what he’s doing other than leaving messy, open mouth kisses onto you, kneading your skin between his hands as all the warmth in his body pools into his groin. Your tits are sucked into his mouth, one then the other, as he rubs his face into the doughy skin, then he’s pulling and pinching at your tits like he knows makes you whimper. The sound’s burned into his working memory, and it drives him on to run his face down your soft body to the part where your thighs meet. The skin just above your skirt of the softest, warmest, and he full on moans when his cock twitches hard in his pants and he reaches down to grab himself.

Normally you’d be blinking up at him now, sending him that little look with grabby hands, ready to wrap your puffy lips around him— it’s different when it’s his hand screwed around himself and not even moving yet. he can’t, or he’ll cum in his pants, and he’s not going to waste his cum like that when your warm pussy’s right before him. He’s shaky when he pushes the fabric up, flipping it over your tummy; and groans again when he licks down your panties and mouths at the seat of it. It tastes so much like you his eyes roll back, and his knees give a little, while more precum leaks out of him and into his pants.

He frees his hands momentarily to slide you to the edge of the metallic table, two hands gripping your butt and squeezing, then hooking his finger in your panties to just pull them aside. He doesn’t care about the chaffing he’ll have. Not even a second thought when your little pussy is in front of him, and he pushes his mouth to you for some open mouthed kisses, down to your pussy and back up. Wrapping his mouth around your clit, he sucks hard, and rubs the bud a few times with his tongue. He swears your breathing goes more pitched and heavier when he does, when his fingers trail down your puffier lips to rub the bit of wetness around.

His cock’s painfully hard in his pants, and after a few more times licking you up and down so that your slick covers the entire bottom half of his face, he pushes the zipper down and then takes himself out to watch how red and sore the head of his cock already is, oozing pre and coating both his boxers and his shaft. He spits into his hand to give himself a few tight-wrung pumps, tighter than he likes normally- if he doesn’t, he’ll spill all over your cute, little pussy. He pushes his fingertips inside your now wetter cunt, watching it wink and beg for something to fill, and groans when one finger slides in with ease.

Your soft walls are still soft and hot around him, giving mean licks over your clit again and again in a way that would normally overstimulate you too easily. You don’t whimper or whine now, take his finger nice and sweet inside your squelching, gooey walls, only making a little noise when he slides in a second and he can feel the slight bit of stretching you need. He’s dripping onto the table now, balls tight and heavy - imagines how you moan and look when you’re sucking on them and you smack your lips with each open mouthed kiss or lick. You between his legs is always enough to have his knees giving, and it’s no different now, he has to hold himself up against you before he thinks better of it.

You’re slid back on the table too easily, making room for him when he pushes one of your legs aside— and let out a slight gasp when he hoists himself over your body. He just wants you. So bad. It’s not so embarrassing when you’re not awake to see how fucking crazy he looks, flushed, cock twitching between his legs as he strains to kiss you again, lick over your tongue for more of your taste, and breathes your name. “Baby, fuck- I need to be inside you.” He wants to hide away in your safety forever. A crystalline, fucked up thought springs up in his mind for just a second, but he banishes that with a few blinks.

Instead he lines himself up over your hot, needy pussy and pushes inside just the head at first, grunting tightly at the softness that envelops him. His whole body shudders as he pushes in deeper, feeling that pit in his stomach expand with each inch that he goes deeper, tangles his fingers with yours when he bottoms out and fills you up so well. You’re curled into his touch, and he kisses you, his thoughts blanking as he pulls back, and snaps his hips back inside you. You’re hot and wet and it feels so fucking good, clenching your hand inside his larger one. It’s not fair. He’s losing his mind, and you’re always the end of him.

His cock rubs against your swollen insides with rough, imprecise strokes — he doesn’t mean to, it’s just that trying to focus on anything other than the heat as he slides in and out of your tight pussy is too much. You’re too much; you’re haunting him even now. He kisses down your face to your neck, sucks on your skin and bites down hard enough to make a serious mark, wanting to hear you cry. Normally, you’d cry out his name so pretty, dig your nails into his back until he’s letting you go and grinding back on his cock, but you can’t do that now. His cockhead bumps your spot each time he fucks himself into you further, but it’s not enough.

It’s never been enough. He wants to be closer to you, and that horrible image that was launched into his head creeps back up before his eyes, bloody and horrible. Maybe he always told himself that he hated you because - no matter how much he fought, he would never be able to stomach actually hurting you as much as it hurts him. But now, withering on top of you as his cock thumps with how much blood rushes south, everything else falls away. He wants to claw and bite and carve his way to your insides and make you pay just a little for his sins. His body is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, thighs pumping blood through his body to his lungs, his gut, his cock.

He pulls out of you to kiss down your tits and over your covered ribs, thumbing over the head of his cock and gliding it over your puffy clit, your wet pussy lips and flicking it just in and out of your drooling cunt— before he puts a sloppy few kisses there too, tongue coated in slick. The blood pumps through his head so hard he feels dizzy, pounding behind his eyes as the heat of your cunt overwhelms him entirely. It’s too hard to stay sane -he’s never felt less sane than now- when you’re laying below him like this, ready to leave him all alone. You wormed your way into his heart when he didn’t want it, and now, now that’s all about to end.

His mouth is dry, but he’s drooling as he grips your thigh and kneads the doughy skin of your tummy— looking so soft and warm and perfectly shaped for him. He wants -needs, needs it, to feel you swallow him, ruin him- to cut you open and eat your insides out with the sick force of what he’s feeling right now— he groans your name again, desperately trying and failing to get it out of his head— the more he tries the better it feels to think it. Despite having his fist around the base of his cock, stings of white shoot over your body as he crumples in on himself and paints you with his cum. He’s still hard though, painfully so, and as soon as he’s done cumming he can already feel the building urge to do it again, trailing his shaking fingers down to your clenching pussy and rubbing your clit until your body starts wiggling back just a little too.

Megumi wants to go, bury this urge down and never think of it again. He really does— but it’s like he’s possessed, drooling over your body and flicking his cock in and out of your pussy without sliding back in. He might’ve had it wrong this whole time, but if this is love - God, he loves you, he loves, loves, loves you so much he’s not ever going to have enough. Can’t ever say goodbye, not when his entire soul’s been bound to yours, has been rotted away into nothing like this. There’s only you, and him; and he can’t get close enough to make this fucking feeling go away.

With black spots swimming over his vision, he’s not sure what he’s doing until he’s knelt on the floor and shards of glass cut his knees open through his pants; he doesn’t feel it - just trembles as he gets one of the larger shards and crawls back to you, right between your plush thighs as he kisses your face over and over until he feels like he’ll be sick. “Forgive me when you wake up, baby.” It doesn’t really sound like him anymore, faint and messy as he ruts his cock against the inside of your thigh and stares at your face for a little longer. He paws at your tummy again, maybe it’s the lack of oxygen - he feels like he hasn’t taken a breath in ages - or the fact that all his blood is cleary in his swollen cock, hot and heavy.

He kisses you again, pants against your chest as he watches between your two bodies as one arm keeps him up, and the other drags the shard of glass below your belly button just hard enough to create a little cut. He just- just wants to be a little closer, you’ll let him, you’ll let him- he’s been so fucking mean to you and if he can just do this, he’ll make it up to you. Specks of blood well up that he swipes his thumb through to slide it into his mouth, get used to the taste of copper on his tongue. Sometimes he bites your lip hard enough to split it, and you tear up and whine, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He could cum on the spot when you yank like that, but the taste now isn’t enough. As he pushes the shard of glass into your skin harder, watching one layer make way for another, tougher tissue that still gives when he grids down a little- he waits for the moment where he feels bad, regrets and walks it all back- but the feeling doesn’t come. Your body looks so pretty like this, robbed of your innocence by his hands; and he doesn’t wanna cum yet, fuck. The adrenaline swimming in his head is pounding too hard to feel anything other than love for you, and the pulling, almost unbearable sensation of wanting to slide back into you. The blood pools around the hole as he slides along, hearing the skin squelch and snap, building a sweat along his neck and collar. Maybe you’d lick it up if you were awake.

The blood runs, covers his entire fist that’s wrapped tight around the glass, it creates little rivers that you’ll both be laying in soon. He coughs, before kissing you below your jaw, feeling the weak pulse beneath his lips— and righting himself to look at his work with a better angle, groaning. There’s both more blood and less than he expected, pooling in your belly button, all over your pretty pussy, his thighs and hands- his cock not yet. He drops the glass aside as he thumbs over the wound and sure enough- he’s cut through fat and muscle and sinew without too much struggle, because you’re soft all over.

He pushes the fleshy gash open more, thumbs over the clean cut he made with a strange sort of fascination before the hot, hot blood gets to be too much for his curiosity and he leans in to lick from your clit up, up, up until his tongue reaches the raised, tight skin— what has he done, what’s he doing, this, this isn’t — he can’t stand the heat that’s coming out of you for long, and it smells, but that isn’t what sticks with him right now. He’s never wanted to be closer. The gaping pouch of your belly’s drooling red for him. The head of his cock twitches when he feels the hot of your stomach coating him in blood, and coating you in turn. The cum from before’s all but washed away, but he’s sure he can give you another couple orgasms before he tuckers out.

He’s strung so high all of this feels like a dream, like his head is about to roll off of his neck; he pushes in with a garbled sort of sound that comes from deep, deep inside him. The skin doesn’t wanna give way at first, but he manages to push back hard enough before suddenly he’s inside, and it’s like nothing else. The pressure of a slab of skin taking him where it’s not meant to go— bleeding and whining out like this, it’s euphoric. He’s able to see his cock’s outline glide into you until it’s bulging your stomach, squelching and sucking him back in; feels like you’re taking him deeper than ever, letting him fuck his cock so deep he’ll hit your ribs soon. You’re so fucking beautiful, even like this, getting coated and letting him fuck it.

He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re dying, but the peace that washes him entirely clean might be close; he grinds his hips into you hard enough to rock your body under him as he laces your hands again. Both, this time, just chasing after an end that seems like it’ll never come.

He feels infinite. Your blood’s so hot it’s almost painful, and the tightness of the hole he carved into you is entirely different from your pussy, pushing back against him like you’re begging him to get out. He imagines you’d beg so pretty- but he’s inside you, finally inside and deeper than anyone’s ever been. He’s able to watch his cock blow up your belly and make it hollow when he pulls back, and God- he should feel worse than he does. He could swallow you whole if you’d let him. The feeling has him shuddering over you as he pants your name, makes your tits brush over his chest- and his balls smack against the smooth stretch of skin until he can’t feel his feet any longer.

Now he’s got you dirtied, he wants to ruin you too, leave you a mangled mess of flesh and swallow every last bit of you until he never forgets the taste. But that would require he’d stop fucking his hot cock into your bloody, little pouch, and that won’t happen. He’s panting, sweat running down his back from the effort, and his groin starts to feel a little raw too. He might’ve been going for hours by now, licking your mouth clean from his drool only to dirty you again. The head of his cock feels fucked raw inside you, and his thighs shake before his shoulders square over you.

Megumi speeds up his pace fucking into your guts -actually- until he clenches every muscle, is overcome again and reaches heaven inside you, spurting creamy white into the pouch he’s created for himself; “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” his hand has to twist into an uncomfortable position to reach for your clit, but he wildly does it anyway— cramping up, until he’s collapsing on top of you and stilling inside. The stench of blood makes the entire room smell, as he thumbs over the side of your blood-coated thigh with one hand, and feels the shaking all the way up and down his spine. He pulls out so slowly, pumping the last bits of cum out with a throaty moan, before he slides off the table onto awfully shaky legs.

If he was any more lucid, he’d think twice before leaning by your side to kiss your eyes, your nose, your pouty lips as the tears that must’ve been building for a while run down your temple— and suppresses the need to actually eat you- for now, he rubs a softer hand over your exposed tummy, before folding the now blood-drenched fabric of your skirt back down to hide your puffy pussy, lest he be tempted again. He whispers his love into your ears, nuzzles at your hairline until the feeling comes back to his hands and feet and he tucks his spent cock back into his boxers, and goes about cleaning the mess he made of the floor.

It’s only when an uncomfortable scratchy sound comes that he notices the burning heat on his neck, the dried sweat painfully sticky— and straightens up beside you when you start to shake again. Immediately his worry is sky high. Even in the gross air of mixed blood and cum and the scent of sex soaking everything, his mind is just clear enough to hold your head when you thrash around a few times, and your chest rises wildly up and down. Then before his very eyes, the damage he’d done upon you slowly starts to stitch itself together, like weaving threads. Lacing you up until every bit of muscle, fat, and skin restores to it’s pristine glory before he ever touched you, with a little puff of cursed energy.

He bites his lip hard when the shaking stops, and your back lands back onto the metal with a soft clang. The noise is louder now it’s quiet in the room. Megumi waits for a bit longer before he brushes the hair from your face, and doesn't mind it that he’s leaving tracks. The darkness is filled with his tense breathing, and then — every sound at once. Your eyes shoot open with a cry, sobbing out like a baby for a few painful seconds. But then spot him thumbing your tears away devoted like he is -though he won’t admit it to you, and you let out a noise of pure relief.

It’s almost poetic, when you crash back into his arms and this time, he lets your arms wind around his waist.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[neverniko101]

Lost in the Deep- The Crew

Hi!! In celebration of Mermay, I’m taking a (short!) break from Horror Dreamtale and Phantasmverse to doodle some of the fellas from my pirates & mermaids AU, Lost in the Deep!

Summary of story:

Dream has the unflinching goal to sail to Thornebreak Island in The Southern Seas to battle the monster that lives there and the pirates it has bent to its will. One problem: he has no idea how to sail. And can’t swim. And is scared of water. He hires retired pirate Geno and rowdy young harpooner Maroon to help him on his journey. Just as they are about to leave, Geno convinces the group to go visit an old friend of his, Blueberry, for some last advice and extra supplies. While Blue was out helping them gather supplies, though, his brother is kidnapped by some of the monster’s pirates, presumably to be dragged back to the lair. A little guilty for unwittingly distracting Blue during the attack, the crew agrees to let him accompany them and help save his brother. Along the way, they bribe convince a member of the Royal Guard’s Navy (Ink) to join them as well.

Oh, and Dream may have forgotten to mention that the monster is his brother, a siren corrupted by a strange parasite. And that he’s a siren, too.

I’m sure everything will go perfectly well.

Geno:

- Ex-pirate

- Lost right eye and left leg

- Pathetic old man /aff

- Could probably still kick your ass

- So tired, somebody get this man some coffee

Dream:

- Based off a koi fish (inspired by @cas-spirit :3)

- He’s trying. So hard. But nothing ever goes right

- Likes to bask in the sun like a lizard

- Insists that the orange scales on his body are just tattoos

- Expending too much energy/coming in too much contact with water could cause him to revert to his siren form (looking like a normal bipedal being is hard work), so he tries to order others around him to do work instead of doing it himself since it’s his boat and he’s the one paying everybody (it does not work he is too nice)

Blueberry:

- big

- Can probably pick you up and throw you 30 ft

- Retired Royal Guard Navy member, fought Geno’s pirate gang and they became friends in between fights

- Started a bakery when he retired- Blue’s Baked Bites

- Sure would be a shame if he bonded with the younger members of the group. In a fatherly way. Almost like becoming a father figure-

- Don’t let his size and appearance fool you, he is a lovable idiot

Ink:

- Just a Little Guy™️

- Easily distracted by shiny objects and hoards them in hidden corners

- His vials don’t help him feel things, but are rather medicine for a magical condition

- Likes to sit in the crow’s nest, obviously

- om nom nom eat all the fish

Maroon:

- Some variety of Fell variant

- Likes playing with sharp objects

- Very high energy, but not necessarily mean

- Insomnia

- Tries to be tough and scary but is secretly precious boy

Okay that’s it maybe I’ll do the pirates next

[supernaturalscribe67]

T-Shot

Words: 8,204

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Castiel x Trans!FTM!Reader

Warning(s): Language, Needles, Description of testosterone injection, slight angst if you squint, hurt/comfort, description of afab anatomy (use of the word 'clit' once), fluff, Castiel not understanding social cues

Summary: The reader has started his journey with testosterone, and his boyfriend, Castiel, promises to be with him every step of the way. What Castiel didn't realize was that the testosterone would change (Y/N) more than he realized.

Request:

Hi I was just wondering if you could do a Sam or even Cas fic (romantic) where reader is trans FTM and also asexual. Where the reader starts testosterone and sam or cas helps them with the new changes. You can just have fun with it. Make it a sad a bit too but end with a happy note :)

Anonymous

A/N: Someone please come and take this pen away from me. This fic was only supposed to be, about, 3k words, I don't know how it turned into my longest fic. I hope you guys enjoy! Feedback is much appreciated!

~Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

As he descended the bunker steps, the paper bag crinkled in (Y/N)’s hands. It was the best sound he had ever heard in his entire life. For, in that very bag, was the key to achieving everything he had dreamed of and more, allowing him to get one step closer to the person he was destined to be. And it all came in a little glass vial.

(Y/N) looked in the library but found it empty, so he walked down the hallway to his bedroom. His steps were rapid, anxious, yet excited. When he entered, he saw Castiel on his bed, who sat up. The movement of the door startled him, but he was quick to recover. (Y/N) flashed a small smirk his way.

“Hey,” he greeted and closed the door behind him.

“You’re back,” Castiel stated and stood from his spot on the bed. He took a couple of steps closer to him. “How did it go?”

(Y/N) held up the bag. “I got it.” His smile widened.

Castiel matched his grin as he stepped even closer. He reached a hand up to cup (Y/N)’s cheek and gave him a soft peck on the lips. “I’m glad to hear that it went well. When are you scheduled to take your first dose?”

“Well, the doc said I can take it anytime I want to start. I just have to make sure to keep it spread out to a dosage every week. So, today’s, what? Wednesday? I’ll be taking them every Wednesday from now on. Preferably at night. Easier for me to keep track that way.”

Castiel nodded as he listened intently to everything (Y/N) told him. “I see. When will you plan on taking it tonight?” He tilted his head to the side. 

“I was going to wait until after supper, but I’m too excited to wait.”

“May I watch you?”

“Of course, babe,” he said before he walked past Castiel and over to his bed.

(Y/N) sat the bag down before he took his shoes off, kicking them to the side. He then unbuckled his belt and let his jeans fall to the floor with a light clink. He stood in nothing but his boxers and t-shirt. He would have taken his binder off to make himself even more comfortable, but he was so focused on getting the medicine in his body that he didn’t even consider it an inconvenience. As (Y/N) sat on the bed, he beckoned Castiel over and patted the spot next to him. Castiel followed his instructions and sat down, his hands folded between his knees. He watched with great concentration as (Y/N) grabbed the paper bag and ripped it open. Inside the bag was a long, rectangular box, two different sets of needles, four syringes, alcohol wipes, and band-aids. Castiel studied the supplies curiously.

“This is everything I’ll need for the month. I have my testosterone, the bigger needles to extract it, the 23-gauge needles to inject it, syringes, alcohol wipes for sterilizing my skin and the surface of the vial, and cute little cat band-aids for when I’m done.” (Y/N) explained, showing Castiel all of the supplies as he talked.

Castiel paid close attention. He examined everything presented to him, taking in as many details as he could. He picked up the small box and opened it. The vial dropped into his hand when he tilted it to the side. His eyes narrowed as he examined the clear content. As he moved his hand back and forth, he watched the solution swish around inside.

“This is what you put into your body to change yourself?” He asked.

“Yep. It may not seem like much, but once it kicks in, you’ll start to see the differences.”

(Y/N) grabbed the box of alcohol wipes and opened them up. He grabbed two from the pack; one for the injection location and the other for the vial. He set the unopened packs beside him and did the same with one of the band-aids. The needles soon followed, one of each being placed beside him, each of their packages opened to allow easy access when he went to switch them out. Next, was the syringe. It, too, stayed in the sterile plastic, but was opened for easy access. He then turned to Castiel and held out his hand. Castiel carefully placed the vial in his hand, and the process began.

(Y/N) grabbed the syringe and connected the larger needle to the end of it. He set that to the side and grabbed one of the alcohol wipes, ripping the corner of the packet with his teeth. Using the wipe, he cleaned off the top of the vial. He disposed of the wipe and grabbed the needles and syringe. The needle was uncapped, and he could feel the nerves bubble inside of him. He pulled the plunger of the syringe, allowing air to collect inside. The doctor said it would make for a more accurate extraction. With caution and precision, he injected the needle into the cap, tilted the vial upwards, and took out the dosage prescribed. The mere sight of the testosterone dripping into the syringe sent euphoria coursing through his body. 

With the extraction completed, he replaced the needle with the 23-gauge. He took a deep breath to steady himself, took out the other alcohol wipe, and disinfected the area on the top of his thigh. 

“Alright, the moment of truth,” he mumbled.

Using one hand to grasp the flesh of his upper thigh, (Y/N) gently guided the needle to his skin. The initial prick shocked his muscles a bit, as he wasn’t aware of how tense he had been. They were tight, and he knew he had to focus on relaxing them, otherwise it would hurt worse than it was supposed to. He didn’t stop pushing it in until the needle was fully in his thigh, the base of the needle almost flush against his skin. Once it was sheathed inside of him, his thumb shifted to the plunger and he began the injection. It wasn’t much - the doctor explained that the first couple of dosages would be smaller until they got a good sense of how his body was reacting to the medication - but it felt as if it took an eternity before the syringe was empty. When he was done, he, carefully, pulled out the needle. A small dot of blood mixed with testosterone appeared on top of his leg. He capped the needle and set it off to the side before he grabbed the bandage and placed it over the blood. 

He stared at the band-aid for a moment - it came in a cheap pack of twelve and had a blurred image of two kittens cuddling on it - before he looked up at Castiel.

“I did it,” he smiled brightly. “I just got my first t-shot.”

Castiel’s eyes shifted to (Y/N)’s and he mirrored his smile. He took a second to look over his features. Slowly, his expression shifted from joy to slight confusion. “You don’t look different.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “It takes some people a couple of months to notice any physical changes. It’s not magic. Wish it was,” he mumbled. “That’s why I need to do it every week, so it stays in my system and makes the changes.”

“Ah,” Castiel nodded. “Well, I’m proud of you, (Y/N),” he took his hand in his.

(Y/N) furrowed his brows. “For poking myself with a needle?”

Castiel shook his head. “You told me that getting your testosterone was going to be your biggest step in your journey of self-discovery so far. I’m proud that you were brave enough to take this step to become the person you’ve been destined to become.” Castiel reached up and gently cupped (Y/N)’s cheeks.

As cliche as it was, (Y/N) could feel his heart skip a beat. Ever since he told Castiel about wanting to start testosterone, he had been nothing but supportive. He always expressed that he wanted (Y/N) to live the life he wanted to live and that he would be by his side for the best and the worst of it. (Y/N) got lucky enough to have a partner like Castiel. It was as if he came right out of a dream. For that, he would always be grateful.

(Y/N) reached up and brushed his fingers against Castiel’s knuckles. “I love you, forever and always.”

“I love you, too. Forever and always.” Castiel replied, leaned in, and kissed him softly.

*~*

“Holy shit, this pizza is so good,” (Y/N) mumbled as he shoved the rest of the crust into his mouth, stuffing his cheeks full.

Sam and Dean gave him a questioning stare as he ate, their bites slow and methodical compared to his. Castiel, on the other hand, stared at him with an intense look of concern. It had been a little over a month since (Y/N) started testosterone and, while there hadn’t been many noticeable physical changes, there was one thing that everyone took notice of almost immediately; his intense change of appetite. 

Man, could that boy eat.

It wasn’t the fact that he served himself more during meals, either. If he wasn’t eating a meal, he was snacking. He snacked on chips, candy, fruits, vegetables, sandwiches, you name it. Anything that could be placed in a pantry or fridge had been eaten by (Y/N). Dean couldn’t even count on one hand the amount of times he had gotten on him for eating in the car, only to get a stern glare from both him and his boyfriend. Castiel hadn’t been too sure why (Y/N) began to eat as much as he had been. When he asked about it, (Y/N) simply told him that it was because of the testosterone, but didn’t give many details other than that. It left Castiel with a lot of questions that sat in the back of his mind, curious about the other aspects of testosterone that caused non-physical changes to occur.

(Y/N) reached for another slice, hesitated, and then grabbed the last two slices.

“Hungry?” Dean asked with a quirked brow.

“Starving,” (Y/N) mumbled, his mouth still recovering from his last bite.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked. “That’s, at least, your fifth and sixth slices.”

“Sam’s right, (Y/N). You’ve been eating a lot recently. Are you sure you’re alright?” Castiel asked warily, placing a hand on (Y/N)’s knee, rubbing it comfortingly.

(Y/N) chuckled. “I’m fine, babe,” he said, cheekful of food. “It’s just the testosterone. It makes me really, really hungry.”

Castiel flashed him another concerned look, despite the nod and small smile he gave. (Y/N) noticed his hesitancy and he flashed him a closed mouth smile. He placed his hand on top of his, swallowed his food, leaned over, and placed a small peck on the corner of Castiel’s lips. 

“I’m fine, babe, I promise.” He said as he looked into his eyes. 

Castiel studied his expression for a moment before he smiled again, one that was more genuine. “Alright.”

(Y/N) nodded briefly. “Okay, I’m going to the bathroom,” he said before he pointed at Sam and Dean. “Don’t touch my pizza.” The threat dripped from his lips. 

Sam and Dean raised their brows and watched as (Y/N) stood from the table, his eyes still piercing their souls as he left the room. Dean shook his head and took another bite of his food. Castiel glanced over at (Y/N)’s plate, then cast his gaze down to the table. His hands were on his knees, and he rubbed them tightly. Sam, noticing the distraught on his face, cocked his head in curiosity.

“What’s up, Cas?” he asked, placing his food back onto his plate. He folded his arms on the table.

Castiel gazed up at him for a moment before he shook his head. “I’m just worried about (Y/N). He doesn’t normally act like this.”

Sam gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s a pretty big change, the testosterone. It’s as if he’s going through puberty all over again.”

“Sam’s right,” Dean chimed in, some pizza sauce and spittle peaking out of the corner of his full mouth. “Sammy ate like a pig when he hit puberty.”

“Not helping,” Sam deadpanned. “It’s just a side effect of the drug. It won’t last forever.”

“That’s what he told me, but I didn’t think it would change him like that.”

Sam chuckled. “Trust me, you’ve just scratched the surface of the side effects. It’ll be an interesting journey, to say the least.”

That comment didn’t seem to ease Castiel’s worry, which Sam took notice of. He sighed.

“Tell you what,” he dug into his pocket and took out his phone. “I have a couple of articles regarding the side effects of testosterone. Keep in mind, not everyone goes through the same experience, though, and not in the same order as others, either, but I can send them to you so you can at least have an idea of what (Y/N) could go through.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you, Sam. That would put my mind at ease.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Dean shrugged as he chewed the last bite of his pizza. He brushed the crumbs off of his hands. “So the kid has a bottomless stomach, who cares? The only bad thing about it is that he steals all the damn food! I didn’t even get a chance to have more,” he gestured to the empty, grease-filled pizza box in the center of the table.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’ll live,” he mumbled.

Dean looked over at (Y/N)’s plate, eying the single intact slice. It was obvious that the gears in his head were turning.

“Dean,” Castiel said in a deep tone of warning.

“What!?” He held out his hands dramatically. “I’m hungry.” Dean paused, eyes still glued on the food. Casually, he reached over and grabbed the uneaten slice. He brought it to his face and was about to take a bite when a loud, booming voice echoed throughout the kitchen.

“Drop it!” (Y/N) shouted.

Dean visibly jumped, eyes wide as he turned to see (Y/N) in the doorway, eyes laced with red fury. He quickly put the pizza back onto (Y/N)’s plate, got up from the table, plate in hand, and walked swiftly over to the sink. Sam snorted and took a bite of his food as (Y/N) stalked over to the table. He glared daggers into the back of Dean’s head. If looks could kill, Dean would have been dead…again. (Y/N) sat back down. 

“Asshole,” (Y/N) grumbled under his breath, picked up one of the slices, and took another bite.

*~*

Every fiber of his being was sore. Grave digging was not for the weak, and that was exactly how (Y/N) felt after the salt and burn. The three of them came out of the hunt with some minor scrapes and bruises that were certain to go away on their own over time. Injury-wise, he was fine, but his muscles screamed in pain and agony as he moved from the Impala to the motel room door. They begged for relief in the arms of a hot shower, but he knew his blessings were limited. The pain, however, wasn’t the only thing he noticed during the aftermath of the hunt. Once the adrenaline wore off and his senses finally came back to him, there was one crucial detail he had failed to take notice of before then.

(Y/N) smelled horrible.

It wasn’t as if he had gotten blood or guts on himself during the hunt. All he did was sweat. He knew there would be some changes in the way his body odor smelled, but, in no way would he have assumed it would be as pungent and foul as it was. He even made sure to layer on the deodorant during his pre-hunt preparation as an extra precaution, but it was all to no avail.

“I call first shower,” (Y/N) said as Dean took the room key out and unlocked the door. “Have I always smelled this bad?”

Dean scoffed. “I was going to offer you the first shower, anyway. You smell awful. I was going to say something earlier, but I figured Sammy would yell at me or something.”

The three of them entered the room, welcomed to the sight of Castiel laid back on his and (Y/N)’s shared bed. He sat up, eyes immediately scanning over their bodies, taking in all of their details for any sign of injury. Sam shook his head and walked over to his duffel bag that lay on the floor next to the opposite bed.

“Yeah, ‘cause you would have probably been a dick about it,” he retorted.

“I would not!” Dean exclaimed as he strode to his bag.

“No, please, be a dick about it. I wanna know for the next time.” (Y/N) shook his head and retrieved some night clothes from his duffel.

“What would Dean have been a dick about?” Castiel asked, head tilted slightly to the side.

“About telling me if I smell.” (Y/N) answered.

Castiel furrowed his brows. “I thought it was considered rude to tell people they smell bad.”

“Yeah, random people. Dean’s my friend, though, and friends help each other like that. They tell you if you smell or look bad to save you from embarrassment in public.”

“Does that apply to myself as well?”

(Y/N) smirked. “Yes, Cas, it does.”

“So, should I inform you of the red and white spots that you have on your face?”

(Y/N)’s smirk vanished and was replaced by a deep frown. Wordlessly, he walked past Castiel and to the bathroom. The dim light illuminated the poorly decorated room, the vent whirring to life. He stood in front of the basin and studied himself in the mirror. Upon closer inspection, (Y/N) gaped. Accompanying the blotches of dirt scattered around his face were red, angry zits. There were some across his cheeks, some on his forehead, and a giant, ready-to-pop whitehead on his chin. Castiel made his way over and placed his hand on the doorframe.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” Castiel asked cautiously.

“No! Everything’s not okay!” (Y/N) whined and squeezed past his boyfriend so he could point an accusatory finger at Sam and Dean. “Some fucking friends you are! First, you don’t tell me that I smell bad, and now I find you didn’t tell me that my face looks like it lost a fight with a pizza!?”

“(Y/N), plenty of adults have acne. I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Sam defended himself.

Dean pursed his lips. “I thought Sam would yell at me.” He shrugged.

Sam shot Dean a glare and (Y/N) sighed.

“I went out as an agent like this.” He complained.

“You look fine,” Sam said.

“Fine? I look like I got out of a five-hour Leave of Legends session and drank Mountain Dew nonstop! That mixed with my voice sounding like I’m going to beg my mom for the new Fortnite Battlepass doesn’t necessarily scream agent.”

Sam and Dean both held in their laughter as they looked away. (Y/N) shook his head. 

“I’m so glad you two find this funny,” he grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest.

Castiel came over and placed a hand gently on his waist. “(Y/N)?”

(Y/N) turned his gaze to Castiel, absentmindedly leaning against him. “Yeah?”

“Despite the marks on your face, I still think you are the most handsome man I have laid eyes on.” He offered a soft, sweet smile.

(Y/N) stared at him and took a deep breath, lips pursed. Slowly, a smile crept onto the corner of his lips.

“You always know what to say to make me feel better.” He said, leaned up, and kissed Castiel on the lips.

“Ew!” Dean exclaimed as he picked up one of his pillows and chucked it at the couple. “Get a room!”

*~*

Another day but, fortunately, not another hunt. It had been a month since the group had been able to rest from the copious amount of cases available, and they were taking advantage of it. They deserved a small vacation. (Y/N) and Castiel spent quality time together in the man cave, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over their laps. A movie that (Y/N) had practically begged Castiel to watch played on the television. Castiel was laid back against the arm of the couch, his arm draped around (Y/N)’s middle so he could hold him close. A bowl of popcorn, coated deliciously in butter, sat between them.

“I don’t understand the conflict that the two storm-chasing teams have with one another. What happened to cause the rift in their relationship?” Castiel asked, eyes glued to the screen.

(Y/N) shrugged. “Honestly, they don’t go into detail about why they’re against one another. I wish they did,” 

Castiel hummed and went back to watching the film. A couple of minutes went by before the sound of footsteps came closer to the room. Dean poked his head into the door. He looked at the TV and then down at the couple.

“Hey,” he said.

(Y/N) glanced at him, grabbed the remote, and paused the movie. “Yeah?”

“I’m heading out on a supply run. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m good, thanks,”

“Alright, I’ll be back in a bit,” Dean moved away from the door and began to make his way down the hall.

(Y/N) watched the doorway intently as he listened to the footsteps disappear into the distance. “Can you do me a favor, babe?” 

“Of course,” Castiel said, his attention fully on (Y/N). “What is it?”

“When Dean comes back, can you distract him?”

Castiel furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“I might, and I’m saying might, have played a prank on Dean that he’s not going to be too happy about.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, you know how, recently, I’ve stopped having my period?”

“Yes?”

“I had a lot of tampons and pads left over, and I didn’t necessarily want them to go to waste. So, I figured, what better way to get rid of them than to prank Dean with them.”

“How would you prank Dean with menstrual cycle products?”

(Y/N) bit his lip, anticipation filling his chest. He practically counted down the seconds, awaiting Dean’s imminent return. His muscles were tense, and the urge to run began to rise inside of him.

“Let’s just say Baby has some new decorations.”

“(Y/N)!” Dean’s voice echoed throughout the bunker.

Castiel’s head whipped toward the door, then immediately returned to (Y/N). “I’ll distract him.”

“God, I love you,” (Y/N) planted a kiss on Castiel’s cheek. “Bye!”

Without a second to lose, he threw the blanket off of him and dashed out of the room as quickly as his legs would allow. 

*~*

(Y/N)’s jaw dropped in a massive yawn. The mere sight of his bed made him want to collapse, but he knew he would hate himself in the morning if he didn’t change into something more comfortable beforehand. Castiel was sat at the end of the bed, loving gaze attached to (Y/N) as he went over to the dresser to get dressed. He was practically on autopilot as he moved, grabbed an oversized t-shirt and a pair of night pants, and proceeded to undress. However, something stopped him in his tracks as he took his binder off. His head was cast down, studying his chest intently. 

Castiel had witnessed that many times before; a dysphoric episode. There had been times when (Y/N) would sit and question himself about his appearance, whether out loud or mentally. Castiel would always take the time to remind him of how handsome he thought he was. How perfect he was. The progress he had made with testosterone. How in love with him he was. That moment, though, seemed different. Castiel stood from the bed and walked over to him.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” He asked softly. 

(Y/N) glanced up at him before his attention shifted to the full-body mirror that rested beside the dresser. He tilted his body so the light from his bedside table illuminated his naked torso. In the warm light, he was able to get a better look at his chest. He smiled.

“Cas! Look,” he gestured to the mirror. 

Castiel stepped closer to him, gaze locked on the mirror. He paid close attention to his chest to see what had caused the sudden happiness in his partner. The presence of smaller hairs scattered precariously around his upper torso was evident in the light. When he glanced up at (Y/N), he noticed that the smile that had been on his face had somehow widened. 

“My chest hairs finally came in! I thought it was gonna take, at least, a couple more months.”

Castiel grinned. “That’s wonderful, (Y/N).” He studied the hairs more closely. “Will they continue to grow?”

“Probably. They should grow a lot thicker, and maybe a little bit longer.”

Castiel stared at him with adoration. Wordlessly, he reached up, cupped (Y/N)’s cheeks, and kissed him. (Y/N) raised his brows, but immediately returned the kiss. The kiss was long and light, filled with love. When Castiel pulled back, (Y/N) slowly opened his eyes. 

“What was that for?” He asked quietly, reaching a hand up to caress Castiel’s.

Castiel hesitated before he let out a sigh. “Admittedly, I was rather nervous about this whole process at first. I was unsure of what would happen and how it would affect you. I never want to see you hurt. However, I see how happy you are when you see yourself now. The negative thoughts you used to have about yourself diminished greatly, and you’re even more handsome than when we first met. I’ve come to realize that my love for you can, indeed, grow stronger, and it does so every day.”

(Y/N) could feel his heart and chest swell. If he was in a cartoon, he swore his pupils would turn into hearts.

“I love you, too, Cas,” He said softly as he wrapped his arms around his waist and laid his head against his chest. “More than you’ll ever know.”

*~*

(Y/N) had been in bed for three hours. Within the past week, he had started to experience bottom growth. Although he was excited to be able to start that part of his transition, to fully feel like his body was conforming to the person he was, he had to admit that the pain was more intense than he had originally anticipated. It wasn’t a constant pain, but when it arose, it felt like a dull, throbbing pain mixed with the sensation of a thousand needles simultaneously stabbing his clit. Painkillers worked for the first couple of days, but the relief gradually faded as the pain became more intense. No matter which way he sat down, stood, or laid down, nothing could dull the ache.

He had done some research on different forums about bottom growth, and he found that only a small - minuscule would be a more accurate word - amount of transmen experience full-on pain during bottom growth. So few that there was barely any information on how to relieve the pain. He could only assume that those people saw the thousands of comments claiming no one would have pain that they were too afraid to post about their own experience. He cursed himself for being so unlucky. His transition had been going so well. Of course there would be a hiccup. That was just his luck.

Perhaps it was similar to that of period cramps. Perhaps the intense pain would only last a while before it went away. Perhaps he was kidding himself. That he was the only transman to experience that level of discomfort. Perhaps that was just karma for thinking he could be a real man.

Fuck that. If pain was what it took to be a man, he was prepared to endure it, even if it killed him.

The icepack had turned warm and no longer provided relief. He had his eyes closed, head tilted back into the pillow, his fingers tangled tightly into his hair. A hiss passed his clenched teeth as another sharp pain attacked his nerves. As the pain slowly subsided, there was a light rasp on the door.

“Come in,” he groaned. 

The door opened a crack. Castiel poked his head into the room before he stepped inside. A worried look was prominent on his face as he closed the door and moved closer to the bed. 

“(Y/N), are you alright? Sam and Dean told me you’ve been in here for quite some time.” He asked, taking a seat next to him.

(Y/N) inhaled sharply as the dip of the bed caused discomfort to shoot between his legs. Castiel glanced between (Y/N)’s legs and his eyes.

“No, I’m not okay,” (Y/N) whined. “I started bottom growth and it hurts like Hell. I’m tired and hungry, but the aches are so bad that I don’t want to get up or go to sleep. I just want it all to pass,” 

Tears brimmed in the corners of his eyes as he ran his hand down his face. Castiel’s feeling of worry only intensified as he saw how (Y/N) had been affected. He shifted in his spot.

“(Y/N), I don’t like seeing you like this. Let me heal you,” he pleaded with him as he reached his index and middle finger towards his forehead.

(Y/N)’s eyes grew wide and he snatched Castiel’s wrist before he could be touched.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, eyes narrowed and words dripped in venom.

Castiel raised his brows, taken aback by the tone of voice that was used. It was the first time (Y/N) had ever spoken to him like that.

“(Y/N), please, I can see how much you’re hurting. Let me take care of you.”

“No! Because I don’t know what your stupid angel juice will do to me. I’ve worked so hard to get where I’m at,” his voice was strained, broken.

“I just want you to be happy again.”

“I am happy!” (Y/N)’s loud voice echoed off the walls of the room as he sat up quickly.

He instantly regretted his movement when a painful shockwave struck his nerves. He clenched his jaw, cupped his crotch, and laid on his side, his back to Castiel. Castiel reached over to comfort him, but his hand was roughly shoved away. (Y/N) paid no mind to the expression of hurt Castiel had.

“I fought with myself my entire life to figure out who I am, and I fought even harder to get to where I am right now. If being in pain will turn me into the man I want to be, then so be it. Your father already made one mistake by putting me in the wrong body. I’m not going to sit here and let you reverse the progress I’ve made to finally fix his fuck-up.”

“(Y/N)-”

“No! I don’t want to hear it. Now get out.”

Castiel froze, surprised by the demand. It had been a while since he saw (Y/N) so angry, and the last time wasn’t even directed toward him. He never raised his voice at Castiel. Sure, they had their spats here and there, as most couples do, but they never shouted at one another. They knew how to talk about their problems, work through them, and discuss the way that they felt, something a decent amount of relationships lack. This was a whole new experience for Castiel.

He hated it.

At first, he contemplated talking to (Y/N) again. Try to convince him to take his offer to heal him. He hated seeing his partner in such a painful state, the same as at the end of any hunt. Castiel’s first instinct would be to heal him. To make the pain go away. To be able to see the smile he adored so much, which was hidden by the layers of agony he was experiencing. Alas, in the end, he decided against it. Instead, he opted to follow (Y/N)’s wants. He stood slowly, and quietly, from his spot on the bed and walked over to the door. His eyes never left (Y/N), his mind performing one last battle with itself, the urge to speak overwhelming. He held the desire back as he opened the door and left the room.

*~*

The library was quiet. Sam and Dean sat on either side of one of the tables, Sam with a pile of books laid out in front of him and Dean with his laptop and a small bowl of snacks. The occasional sound of pages being turned and the mouse pad click filled the room. Aside from the occasional small talk, they said nothing. Castiel entered the room, and their attention turned to him.

“Hey Cas,” Dean greeted.

“Hey Cas, how is he?” Sam followed up.

Castiel walked over to the table and sat down to the left of Dean. A sigh escaped his lips as he slouched in the seat, his folded hands resting on his stomach. He had a visibly defeated look on his face as he took some time to answer Sam’s question.

“He is in a lot of pain. I attempted to heal him, but he wouldn’t let me. He got upset with me and kicked me out of the room. I’ve never seen him so angry before.” Castiel shook his head.

Sam and Dean stared at him for quite some time.

“You tried to heal him?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. “He is in a lot of pain. I am certain I can make it go away.”

“Cas, he doesn’t want to be healed,” Sam said.

“I realize that, Sam.”

“No, I don’t think you do. I can tell you’re still upset about the whole thing. What (Y/N) is going through right now is a normal part of the transition. Granted, he has it a Hell of a lot worse than most, but, that’s why we called you. We thought you would be able to come over and comfort him.”

“I thought healing him would be comforting. It was supposed to make him feel better. To get him back to normal.”

“See? ‘Back to normal’. Don’t you see how that can be misconstrued?”

Castiel looked at him curiously. “I do not.”

“Well, what you see as something to be healed, (Y/N) doesn’t. He’s very proud of the pain he’s in. He views it as an accomplishment. To heal him and take that pain away, it would be as if you’re stripping him of that achievement.”

“Sam’s right,” Dean chimed in. “When he first noticed the bottom growth, he came to us saying, ‘Guys! Guys! I have a dick now!’.” Dean mocked with a smile, causing Sam and Castiel to grin as well. “And then, when the pain started, and we began to get worried, he would say, ‘It hurts like Hell, but I still have a dick’. He was still happy about it, even though it hurt.”

Castiel nodded, considering their words. “I see,” he trailed. “I know that this was a big deal for (Y/N), but I didn’t comprehend why he was willing to go through the pain. I understand, now, that it’s because he’s finally happy with himself and the progress he has made. The way I worded my concern for his wellbeing made it appear as if I wanted to reverse the work he has done.”

“Exactly!” Sam nodded.

“I would never want that, though. (Y/N) appears to be in the best mindset I have ever seen him in, and I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that. I would never reverse the progress, even if I could.”

“We understand that. We know how much you love him-”

“Yeah, it’s kind of gross,” Dean mumbled.

Sam sighed. “As I was saying, we know how much you love him, and we recognize you would never say or do anything to threaten that progress, but when someone is in a lot of pain, they don’t always think clearly. Take Dean for example. When I have to stitch him up after a hunt, he says some pretty mean shit to me, but he never means it.”

“At least that’s what I let him think,” Dean whispered to Castiel just loud enough for Sam to hear.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Dean, you’re not helping.”

“Sorry,” Dean cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair.

“(Y/N) is still head-over-heels in love with you.” Sam turned back to Castiel. “Pain can just make us say some stupid stuff. It would probably be best to give each other some space right now, think about what we discussed, and talk to one another tomorrow.”

“I think that is a good idea,” Castiel said as he stood from the table and brushed off his trenchcoat. “Will you keep me informed on how he is throughout the day?”

“Of course, man, yeah,” Sam smiled up at him, which Castiel was quick to return.

“Thank you. I will be on my way, then.”

“Where are you going?”

“To retrieve some of (Y/N)’s favorite treats to give to him. I’m hoping that might make him feel better.”

Sam’s smile widened. “That’s a good idea.”

*~*

It took (Y/N) over two hours to be able to fall asleep. The pain hadn’t been constant, but with how exhausted he was and the tears burning in the corner of his eyes, all he could do was lay there and think. He couldn’t believe the audacity that Castiel had to ask if he wanted to be healed. Scratch that. Castiel hadn’t even asked if he wanted it. He had simply told (Y/N) that he was going to heal him. He didn’t need that, though. He didn’t need to be fixed. (Y/N) was perfect the way he was, even if some things still needed to be tweaked. Nothing about him was broken. Therefore, nothing needed to be fixed.

Perhaps he was overthinking Castiel’s intentions. Truly, he never meant what (Y/N) interpreted it as, right? Castiel loved (Y/N), even though his physical attributes were changing, right? Of course, he did, otherwise, he wouldn’t have practically begged to heal him. Right?

With the image of Castiel’s pain-filled eyes in his mind, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt swell in his stomach. 

He had never snapped at Castiel before. He didn’t think Castiel deserved it. Especially now. All he had tried to do was make him feel better - in Castiel’s own way - and (Y/N) took the anger he had for the pain out on him. How could he do that to him? The shame was eating him up inside. There wasn’t much he could do, though. The aches and pains made any desire to move or speak vanish. He knew he had to apologize, to make things right, but it would have to wait until he felt better. 

Eventually, after another round of pain, (Y/N) could feel the exhaustion wash over him. His eyelids slid shut, and it didn’t take long for slumber to come.

*~*

The pain was more bearable when he awoke. It was more of a dull throb rather than needle-like stabbing. He was able to move around with mild discomfort. Even though he was more mobile, the exhaustion from the day before was still very much present, despite the hours of sleep he had gotten. The desire to crawl into his bed once more was intense. Thankfully, the lack of a hunt made that possible. So, as soon as he awoke, he got up, grabbed himself a water bottle, painkillers, and snacks, and retreated to his room.

While the pain had subsided substantially, his thoughts were clearer than before. He was able to think back to the spat he had with Castiel in greater detail and understanding. With a mind free of any pain-influenced thoughts, he felt even more guilty than he had before he slept. The hurt he had seen in Castiel’s eyes was practically burned into his soul. The only other time Castiel had looked at him with those eyes was when he was on the brink of death after a hunt gone wrong. He never wanted to be the cause for that look. He shouldn’t have snapped. Not at Castiel. Never at Castiel.

As he lay in bed, he pulled out his phone, brought up Castiel’s contact, and texted him.

Hey, babe. Could you come to our room when you get the chance, please?

He placed the phone onto his lap and began to nibble on the nail of his thumb. He couldn’t think of anything else. Nothing could shift his attention away from the problem at hand. Even if he tried to occupy himself with mindless scrolling or one of his hobbies, he didn’t think he would be able to concentrate on anything else. The whole disaster could have been avoided had (Y/N) thought about Castiel’s intentions rather than his insecurities. That was one of the character flaws he had to work on.

It wasn’t long before three soft knocks echoed against the wooden door, and (Y/N)’s head whipped up.

“Come in,” he said.

Just like before, the door opened a crack and Castiel poked his head inside before entering the room. Instead of the worried look he had before, it was replaced by intense nerves. Not only that, but, in his hands, Castiel held a small, decorative box, some items poking out of the top. The box was the least of (Y/N)’s worries.

“Good morning,” Castiel greeted, almost cautiously. “How are you feeling today?”

“A bit better. A little achy, but nothing like it was yesterday.”

“I’m glad.”

They sat in silence. (Y/N) still laid back on the bed while Castiel stood a couple of feet from him. The guilt only intensified. To think that Castiel was nervous to get closer to him because of his outburst broke his heart. Rightfully so. He patted the spot next to him on the bed. Castiel took the silent invitation and moved over to him. As he got closer, (Y/N)’s attention shifted to the box.

“What’s in there?” He asked quietly.

Castiel looked down at the box and then back at him. “It’s some of your favorite snacks,” he said and held out the box to him. “I figured it would make you feel better.”

Carefully, (Y/N) took the box from him and examined the contents. Inside were, indeed, some of his favorite snacks and candies. The guilt was killing him. He gave a small smile and set the box to the side.

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Castiel gingerly sat beside him on the bed, careful of the way it shifted under his weight. “(Y/N), I wanted to apologize-”

“No, Cas,” (Y/N) interrupted. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, okay? I should be the one to apologize for what happened.”

(Y/N) turned his body in the bed, his face contorting slightly to a look of discomfort from the ache and settled for laying on his side so he could face Castiel.

“I should have never yelled at you like that. I should have never yelled at you at all. You were only trying to help. I realize that now, and I’m so sorry for the way I treated you.”

Castiel nodded. “Sam informed me that my intentions might have been misconstrued because of the pain.”

“They were at the time. The pain clouded my judgment and, in a sense, it made me assume you wanted to get rid of my bottom growth altogether. I know that’s impossible, and I don’t know what could have made me think otherwise. If you were capable of changing me to that extent, I would have asked you months ago to use your grace on me instead of taking hormones,” he let out a dry chuckle. “But, Cas, I hope you know that my being in pain doesn’t give me a reason to talk to you the way that I did.”

“I understand,” He replied, gaze cast down.

“Hey, look at me,” (Y/N) reached over and, using his index and middle fingers, turned Castiel’s head so that their eyes were connected. “You don’t deserve to be talked to like that, especially by me. I was a terrible boyfriend at that moment.”

“No, you weren’t,” Castiel shook his head as he grasped both of (Y/N)’s hands in his. “I’ve had time to reflect, and, if I’ve learned anything from my time on Earth, it’s that people make mistakes. It’s okay to make those mistakes as long as you take accountability for them. I took accountability for my mistake, and you took accountability for yours.”

“You’re right, accountability is very important, and people do make mistakes, but those mistakes shouldn’t hurt the ones we love. I love you, Castiel, more than you’ll ever truly know. You’ve stood by my side through every second of my transition and have continued to show your undying love and support for me, even when I’m a dick to you. You even got me a damn basket of my favorite snacks, even after what I did,” Tears streaked down his cheeks, and his voice began to quiver as he spoke. “You are so kind and caring and compassionate, and I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop,” Castiel reached a hand up and used his thumb to brush the tears away from his cheeks. “(Y/N), I love you, too. More than I ever thought possible. You deserve everything, and I wish I could give it to you. It hurt me so much to see you in pain, that I didn’t even consider your feelings. That was selfish of me, but, I know, from now on, I will consider what you want before I consider anything else.”

(Y/N) sniffled. “Oh, Cas, you’re not selfish. You are the most selfless person I have ever met. The fact that you care so much about me is one of the reasons why I fell in love with you in the first place. I wouldn’t change it for the world. I just need to learn to keep my damn mouth shut when you’re trying to be nice,” he chuckled and leaned his forehead against Castiel’s. “Can you forgive me?”

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, to say that (Y/N) didn’t need to be forgiven, but he took a page out of his newly found book of social knowledge and gave him a small smile. “Yes, I forgive you. Do you forgive me?”

(Y/N) attempted to do the same, to say that Castiel had done nothing wrong, to repeat the same line he had just preached. But he just copied the smile and gave a faint nod. “I forgive you.” He whispered as he leaned over and kissed him sweetly.

The kiss lasted a couple of seconds before they pulled away, enjoying their sweet embrace. (Y/N) shifted on the bed to get more comfortable and, again, winced when the ache returned. Castiel took notice, his eyes roaming (Y/N)’s body.

“Are you alright? Would you like me to get you anything?” He asked.

(Y/N) shook his head. “No, babe, thank you. Maybe we could just lie in bed together for a bit while I snack on the treats you got me?”

Castiel smiled. “That sounds like a great idea.”

The two of them adjusted themselves in the bed so Castiel was laid on his back and (Y/N) was laid on his side. His head and hand rested on his chest while Castiel’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders. (Y/N) reached over, grabbed one of the many bags of candy, and sat it between them. They sat in a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other’s embrace, never wanting to let go.

Everyone seeks some type of support and comfort from others. Whether it be family, friends, partners, coworkers, or complete strangers, the strength and stability of the human race depend on the support of others in some way, shape, or form. (Y/N) was lucky enough to be put in a situation where he was surrounded by people who loved and appreciated him for who he was. Despite the trials and tribulations of the past and the ones yet to come, he knew he always had loved ones in his life to fall back on in times of trouble. 

And (Y/N) would cherish that for as long as he lived.

[meabh-mcinness]

I would very much like to ask you about something soft if you please.

I would very much like to see iruma who has been turned back into a toddler seeing the reader and balam as his parents!

Like just little baby bluebell iruma happily holding balams and readers hand as they walk down the hall of babylus.

Just reader also being protective over iruma(epically right now with what our boy is going through!) Just giving him the love and car he really didn't get from his parents.

Just soft family times! Is all I want!

Thank you for taking the time to read this and please have a good whatever time you currently have and thank you for reading.

Thank you so much for requesting this. I didn't realize how much I needed babyboy Iruma until now, and managed to get this out in time for Mother's Day! Also, happy Mother's Day to all the great mom's out there, especially @snippychicke who is the best discord parent ever.

Main Masterlist

Family Day

Despite your very anti-kid-abuse views, you very much wanted to throttle Schenell. The kid was a genius, no doubt about it, and you were very proud of him for being able to do this at all. You just weren't entirely happy about the consequences or that it happened to your son specifically.

Having been on your way to Shicirou's classroom to drop off the textbooks he ordered, you'd been quickly distracted. A loud explosion sound followed by lavender-coloured smoke pouring out into the hallway from a room a few doors up. After working here for months, you weren't too concerned (even Orias-sensei somehow had a student set the astronomy room on fire just last week), until you realized which door it was up ahead. That door didn't belong to a classroom, but a battler room.

Iruma's battler room.

Heart pounding, you dropped the textbooks and raced for the door. Images floating through your head of what could have happened. An experiment went wrong, Kirio sneaking back in, a different intruder having crept in? Atori swept through your brain uninvited, you could quite easily see the thin spindly man sneaking back in after failing to grab Iruma once.

One hand on the door, throwing it open further, the other reaching to grab the dagger Shichirou had gifted you. Iruma injured, Iruma being eaten...

"Iruma!" ... Iruma?

You blinked in surprise as you took in the scene before you. On the ground in front of a lab table covered in vials and beakers of different substances lay Schenell. The newly turned third year who was obsessed with the student council president if you remembered correctly. One of the vials, partially filled with a liquid the same colour as the smoke you saw before, was clutched in his hand. A look of despondency etched onto his face as he stared at a pile of clothes lumped together on the floor in the middle of the room.

Iruma's clothes, your mind supplied, with no Iruma in sight.

You were about five nanoseconds away from attacking the third year and demanding where your son was when you noticed the clothes were squirming and making noises. No, you suddenly realized, it was babbling.

A tiny head poked out from the pile with a familiar shock of blue hair attached to it. You blinked once, twice, and then shut the door, trying to comprehend what you saw. Opening the door again, you once more took in the scene. Yup, it was still the same. Only now, that tiny head was turned towards you.

The wide, shimmering blue eyes of your son stared up at you. His scythe-shaped ahoge started to wave fast in excitement as he recognized who you were. Short chubby arms suddenly appeared next to his head, rising up towards you. Tiny hands grasping in your direction in the universal sign of 'up' babbling at you all the while. You were almost certain you heard the word 'ma' leave his lips. You hadn't even registered moving, but the next thing you knew, you were lifting him up into your arms, his now oversized shirt wrapped around him under his armpits. Coos leaving your mouth at how adorable he was.

A shuffling noise caught your attention and your instincts immediately had you clutching Iruma to your chest, almost baring your teeth at the possible threat. Only to remember Schenell's existence. A quick glance had you confirming that it was indeed the third year moving to get up. He looked almost in tears as he stared at the mostly empty vial. You would feel bad if he had been working in a safe environment for potion-making, and if your child wasn't a victim of his shenanigans, again. As cute as Iruma was in this form aside.

"Mama," a voice called to you, tugging on a free strand of hair to get your attention, or perhaps just to play with the shiny strands. Looking down at the toddler in your arms, the first thing you noticed was the matching set of glimmering azure eyes staring at you. One petite fist was wrapped around your hair, the other clutched to your blouse, and it took everything in you not to squeal at the sight. 

OK, so maybe you were a little happy about the consequences.

"Yes, Iruma?" you answered with a smile, taking the hand holding your hair so that it can latch on your own much larger one instead. He was just so tiny now. Before, he had stood at around your height, and now he was less than half that. You were very tempted to take pictures, only that would require putting him down. Which was an obvious no-go, how could you possibly let this cutie down?

"Mama...upset?" Iruma asked, eyes so wide and bright before dimming at even the possibility of upsetting you, turned to stare at your clasped hands as if contemplating if it was OK.

"What? Honey no! Of course, I'm not mad at you." Your hand quickly moved to cusp his large cheek, watching them puff up as his came with and subsequently was squished in-between. Your thumb started rubbing the side of his face in a gentle, rhythmic manner. Starting from the top of his forehead, continuing down his cheek until you hit your own hand, before starting the whole process over again. He leaned into the touch, almost purring as he nuzzled you. You felt your heart clench, if you weren't reassuring him, you just knew you would implode from the cuteness that was a toddler Iruma.

Perhaps instead of strangling Schenell, you would subtly give him some kind of reward instead.

Speaking of, you saw him slowly inching his way towards the door of the Magical Tool's Battler, out of the corner of your eye.

"Schenell if you move one more muscle I will have you in detention until the end of the school year." His entire body froze, but you could see in his eyes that he was deciding whether or not it would be better to run anyway. You were known as one of the nicer teachers, after all, surely your detentions couldn't be that bad?

"With Kalego-sensei." you continued on. The fight immediately left him as he slumped down to his knees. It really paid that Kalego was the strictest teacher in the school sometimes. You almost felt bad for the headache you were about to cause him with this. Almost.

Still, now what to do? Iruma, as charming as he was, couldn't stay as a toddler. Especially if whatever had been done kept him permanently as one until it was reversed, which meant you needed the reversal now. You really didn't feel like trying to contain the entire misfit class from killing the third year or constantly trying to steal Iruma.

You turned to fully face Schenell, eyeing him up. He certainly looked dejected, but was it because he had been caught doing something, again, or did he genuinely feel bad? Well, there was one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, you tried to gather your thoughts. You didn't want to scare Iruma after all, but Schenell would 100% try to worm his way out of it if you were too soft.

"Explain."

Clearly sensing the danger, Schenell launched into an explanation of what had happened. In his endless quest of gaining Ameri's love, he had decided to try appealing to her maternal side and had attempted to create a de-ageing potion, only to be startled when Iruma had popped out of one of the piles of artefacts. Probably trying to sort through them still, even after a year of doing so. Evidently, the potion had worked, made obvious by Iruma's now rather small form. The resulting explosion sound of Iruma turning younger had been what had drawn you in.

And now you were here, with a 14-year-old toddler in your arms (and wasn't that a weird sentence to think) and a third-year to discipline. A sign left your mouth before you could stop it.

"And do we have the antidote to said potion?" You asked hopefully. Maybe you would be lucky for once and this entire thing could be swept under the rug before it inevitably exploded into something bigger. And it would, it always did when Iruma was involved. The blank stare on Schenell's face before it fell into realization quickly answered your question in the negatives, dashing your hopes. Of course, he didn't. He probably hadn't even been able to test if it actually worked yet when Iruma had accidentally intercepted him.

A sigh left you as you thought over your options. You could of course call Sullivan, but somehow you had the feeling that he would try and prolong Iruma's exposure as a toddler rather than fixing it. You understood entirely of course, having adopted Iruma as a teenager meant even you hadn't got to see him in his full child stage before. This was a rare opportunity to exploit, being able to enjoy that stage. Unfortunately, your rational side argued back that Iruma didn't deserve to be left in this form. Especially when you knew you would have absolutely hated to be left as a toddler had this happened to you. So Sullivan, and by consequence Opera, would probably be your last choice for once.

This left you with either the other teachers or locking Schenell in this room until he came up with a cure. While it would be equitable to have him fix his mistake, it could also take a very lengthy time. Who knew how long he had been working on this one, much less how long it would take to make the reversal?

Which left you the other teachers, but who to ask that wouldn't squeal to Sullivan? Dali-sensei as the overseer of the new magic battler would be a good choice, he likely knew of something similar or at least the process of reverse engineering magic to get results. He was also one of the biggest gossips of the entire staff. This meant the entire school would somehow know within five minutes, and you would have a hoard of students and teachers to fight off when they inevitably tried to get a glimpse of him. 

Momonoki-sensei was also possible, as someone who came from a family whose bloodline magic was to master all magic types it was entirely possible she had some kind of reversal type she could use. But could magic reverse potion effects? It was certainly possible, but you simply didn't know enough of the two subjects to be certain. This event was a rather forceful reminder that you needed to do a lot more research to catch up to even the basics of the Netherworld. 

Kalego was also an option, while grouchy and strict, it was quite obvious that he cared for the entire misfit class, with Iruma as a particular favourite. He fully believed in helping students to the best of his abilities and leaving one as a toddler would go against that code, and as a rank Chet, it was entirely possible he had access to more powerful magic than Momonoki-sensei at rank Zayin.

The problem with those three teachers boiled down to one thing. Not a single one of them knew that either Iruma or yourself were human. While you didn't believe any of them would actually eat you(well Dali-sensei was honestly a wild card), you didn't know if they would run straight to Border Patrol either. Especially with the knowledge that Kalego's older brother was the second most powerful member there. Familial ties were usually worth far more than some being you just met.

Which led you to your last and most preferable choice. Shichirou was also a rank Chet, had knowledge in healing magic (even going as far as making his own salves and tinctures), and already knew of your rather human status. It was highly likely that if he didn't already know a solution, he could contact someone who would without exposing either of you.

And if you got to spend a little extra time with the demon you were courting as a result, well, that was no one's business but your own.

Mind made up you shifted Iruma to be carried fully on your hip with only a single arm for support and dug through your pockets for your hellphone. Pulling out the small device, you shot off a text asking if Shichirou was free to help you with a 'little problem' in Iruma's battler room.

Pausing you glanced at Schenell again, an idea forming. Well, it's not like you couldn't have the third-year demon working on a reversal potion for detention while also working on the problem with Shichirou. It would be both opportunistic for the third year and punishment if you set it up with the right teacher. Such as a waspish guard dog, who just so happened to be looking over detentions this week and was already in a foul mood from dealing with Robin's familiar class this morning.

With a smile at Schenell that probably came off a bit more villainous than meant given the way he paled further, you sent off another text to Kalego letting him know that he would have another student joining him after school and that you would give the full story later. Followed by another text to tell him that Iruma would not be attending his afternoon lessons today.

You had barely seen the return text of agreement from Shichirou when you heard the clacking of talons clicking against the floor and felt the vibrations of his heavy feet hitting the ground before Shichirou rounded the corner into the room. The tall demon still had to duck his already slouching frame into the room, gloved hand grasping the doorframe to keep balance as he did so. 

Briefly, you wondered what it must be like to be so tall, before shaking the thought away to focus on the situation at hand. 

"Hel...lo...?" He blinked in surprise at the scene before him. And you supposed it was a rather odd one. You standing there, with a child on your hip, phone in hand, as you stared down a student before you.  You gave him a tired smile, as Iruma wiggled to lean back out of your arms to look at the newcomer. His eyes went wide and his ahoge started wagging again once he noticed who he was looking at. 

"Papa!" he cried out while reaching his arms towards the gargoyle, squirming in your hold to reach him. Both Shichirou and your eyes widened in shock at Iruma's words. Your mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out as you looked back and forth between the wiggling toddler and the flabbergasted demon. 

Shichirou's eyebrows were raised to his hairline, and you were certain that if his mask was not in the way you would see his jaw drop open. "Pa...Pa?" he muttered as he slowly took staggering steps towards you. You turned so that you were better facing him, and in hopes that maybe Iruma would settle down before you dropped him. 

Shichirou's eyes were darting back and forth between you and Iruma, and you could see the gears turning in his head. Before you could ask what he was thinking, Iruma jerked hard enough to reach Shichirou now that he was closer that you had almost dropped Iruma, quickly shifting your arms to have a new hold on him. Shichirou even crossed those last few steps quickly, arms stretched out slightly just in case you had. 

You really didn't want to let him go, nerves still a little strung out from your earlier fear that something had happened, but you trusted Shichirou. He would never willingly harm either of you, far more likely to harm himself long before he hurt you. With a small sigh, you shifted Iruma once more before turning your attention back to Shichirou. 

"Would you like to hold him?" Shichirou gave you a startled look as if the thought hadn't even crossed his mind despite Iruma still struggling to reach him while crying out 'papa'. 

"You would trust me with your child? Even with my strength?" A snort left you before you could stop it. Of course you would, though you understood that despite you're reassurances he would probably always hold reservations and insecurities due to how strong he was. 

"I've trusted you with Iruma since we first met," you said while carefully holding Iruma out for him to hold, "Just because he's shrunk doesn't mean I trust you any less." Shichirou carefully took Iruma into his arms, a soft happy squeal of 'Papa!' accompanying as he did so. 

Whereas Iruma was easily the same size as your torso he was quickly dwarfed in Shichirou's large frame. The gargoyle demon cautiously cradled him in one of his arms, the small boy fitting almost perfectly in the crook of his elbow. His free hand moved slowly to run his fingers through Iruma's hair before running down the side of his face before starting the process again.

 Quickly putting your hellphone into camera mode you snapped a picture of them. This was most definitely becoming your new background photo. 

Suddenly Schichirou's hand stopped moving as his eyes widened once more as he fully processed what you said. Eyes darting across the toddler's face as he took in his facial details and the very telltale sign of the scythe-shaped ahoge. 

"Iruma!?" Shichirou said startled, staring down at the boy who was snuggling into his chest while in his arms with a new look of surprise and curiosity on his face. 

"Yep, Iruma. He was hit with a de-ageing potion that Shenell here created," you pointed towards the third year still sitting on his knees. His face was pale now that the demon who was still rumoured to run experiments on students was here and his attention put on him. He had forgotten about the rumours that you two were courting and obviously, you would call the highly-ranked demon to come deal with the problem if so. Schenell wanted to cry as his brain ran through all the different torture scenarios the rank chet could perform on him, of course, nothing was worse than never seeing his waifus again. 

Schichirou's eyes narrowed at Schenell and he tilted his head, free hand leaving Iruma's head to clasp his mask in thought as he observed the third year before speaking. 

"And how, exactly, did Iruma get hit with this potion?" He asked, eyes still zeroed in on Schenell like a bird of prey. Getting even paler at being addressed, Schenell launched into his explanation again, stuttering here and there throughout. Diving further into details than he had originally given when prompted by the gargoyle, though the overall story was still the same. He had wanted to capitalize on Ameri's maternal side, so he made a potion that was unfortunately splattered on Iruma when he had startled Schenell. 

Once the boy had finished, Shichirou nodded. Stroking his mask some more, before he suddenly pointed his finger at the Schenell, causing the boy to flinch, and launched into a rant about the dangers of creating new potions when there wasn't someone else to watch his back. Especially in areas that weren't built with that kind of use in mind and where anyone could stumble in on them and become a casualty, like now. Shichirou's hand went back and forth from pointing at Schenell and petting Iruma's head in a fast motion, even blurring at times as you watched it go back and forth like a ping pong ball. 

When the rant had reached over five minutes though with no sign of stopping, you felt a slight bit of pity for Schenell, as you were quite certain his soul was in the process of leaving his body at the long tirade. Though, you had no intentions of stopping Shichirou until you focused back in on Iruma and noticed he kept grabbing at Shichirou's shirt and knawing at it, until he saw the large hand come back to pet him and tried to capture it to bite instead. Occasionally he would screw up his face like he felt uncomfortable before he started biting. 

Oh, you suddenly realised. Iruma was getting hungry. As a 14-year-old while he was never truly hungry, he was constantly snacking on food, and toddlers, while not eating as much did eat more often. Their tiny bodies ran through the fuel far quicker than older humans, and a quick glance at your hellphone confirmed that it was actually an hour past lunch. He would be sneaking a snack in class right about now. You were slightly surprised he wasn't crying out from starving. 

You placed a hand on Shichirou's arm, before raising the other to tilt his head towards you. His voice tapered off as he stared at you in confusion, eyebrows knitting together before you motioned to Iruma. 

"As much as I would love to leave you to your scolding, we do need to fix Iruma soon. And if we can't do that, we need to at least feed him before we have a very angry toddler on our hands." His eyes widened again at your words before he nodded. 

"Is there anything left of the original potion?" He asked turning back to Schenell. The younger demon's spirit appeared to return to his body and he quickly held up the vial he had still been grasping this entire time. Shichirou leaned over and grabbed it, holding it up to the light and twisting the vial around to examine it.

"We can fix Iruma, right?" you asked. 

Shichirou nodded before replying, "Don't worry, because we still have a bit of the sample from the original potion it'll be easy to make a counter one to reverse its effects." He turned towards Schenell, "I'm assuming you wrote out the ingredients and the quantities of each one?" Schenell nodded his head furiously. "Then it'll be even easier to make one. Most likely we'll just make copies of the ingredients list and the directions before handing this off to Dali-sensei. He'll have a cure by the end of the day no doubt."

Shichirou lightly placed one of his hands on Iruma's head, ruffling the hair a little, causing the small boy to laugh in delight at the ministrations, before he grabbed the large hand and brought it to his mouth to lightly bite one of the gloved fingers, suckling and gnawing on it like a newborn. Shichirou's eyes crinkled as he smiled behind his mask at the reaction, no doubt just as happy as Iruma clearly was. 

You raised an eyebrow at him, "And he won't jabber at all? The last thing we need is Sullivan finding out and going overboard with Iruma." You could already see the massive piles of toddler clothes and toys Sullivan would buy and the millions of pictures that would be shot.  Along with the school website being redesigned all over again, and the school newspaper would probably be forced to redo their afternoon editions just to include this. Not that they would probably mind, Iruma was one of their favourite subjects to cover after all.

Though you wouldn't be too mad about having some pictures. Maybe a lot of pictures...

"If you don't want Sullivan-sama taking Iruma, why don't you just kidnap him first?"

You blinked in surprise. "Pardon?"

*******

As you walked through the backways to the cafeteria, a hand grasping one of Iruma's tiny ones so that he couldn't wander off, his other clasping one of Shichirou's fingers, you could see a few wandering students staring at you. They do quite a few double-takes at seeing you and shichirou with a very obvious toddler in between you. You undoubtedly knew that this was going to be all over the school in minutes, but you couldn't bring yourself to hurry up Iruma when he was having so much fun swinging your hands. 

Shichiro stops in front of the entrance of the cafeteria and takes a peek in to make sure it's mostly empty before continuing in, heading straight to the kitchen area. You follow along pliantly, mostly focusing on Iruma's babbling as he seemed to be singing a song of some sort, while he swang your hands to an unknown beat. Your hand slowly sneaked to grab your hellphone to take a photo of him, making sure the flash was off as you snapped a picture before stashing your phone again before Iruma could notice. 

You were starting to understand why Sullivan just carried a camera bat around with him. 

Reaching the kitchen, you both chatted with the chef a bit as he handed a large bundle of bento boxes stacked on top of one another and wrapped in a cloth to act as a handle and help keep them together. When he noticed the tiny Iruma drooling over all the food scents, he laughed before motioning you to stay and left for the back. You managed to exchange a confused look with Schichirou before the chef came back with a tiny box. 

"A treat," he said, "for the little one," as he gave you both a big smile along with the box and waved you out. You had barely managed to say thank you before you were ushered out by Iruma as he tried to follow the scent of food in Shichirou's hand. You laughed as you were briefly pulled into a circle by the excited toddler, before reaching down and grabbing him up into your arms, spinning him in a circle above you, before settling him on your hip again. His squealing laughter rang out through the courtyard as you exited the building. 

It was one thing to trust holding his hand in the halls of the school, it was another to trust it out on the open grounds. Schichirou's story of he got his scar in the first place, flashed through your mind briefly before you shoved it down. Iruma was safe with both you and Schichirou here, and nothing could change that. 

The weather outside was a pleasant temperature of neither too hot nor cold, with a small breeze blowing through occasionally. You could vaguely hear the demon birds screeching in the distance and the rustling of leaves as different critters moved along the branches of the trees. The sky for once is mostly clear with only a few clouds buzzing by, allowing the suns' rays to shine down on you with a gentle warmth. 

"It's beautiful isn't it?" Shichirou says as he starts walking through the courtyard towards the greenhouse set next to the diabotany tower. He held a door open for you and you ducked inside with a thank you before looking around in awe at all of the different plants growing about. There were no raised flowerbeds or even pots, instead, everything grew directly from the ground leaving you feeling like you were walking on a cloud with the soft grass underneath your feet. 

Iruma looks around in awe enjoying everything that surrounds him, before spotting a small blonde demon watering some of the plants, with an excited squeal he pointed her out to the both of you while simultaneously drawing her attention to your arrival.  She turned towards you and waved, putting down the watering can as you drew closer. Letting Iruma down, he immediately made his way towards Suzy-sensei and she started cooing over his small form.  

"Thank you, Suzy-sensei, for letting us do this."

"It's no problem, yis." Suzy waved off the thanks and continued to coo over Iruma's tiny form. Forming small flowers from her hand to wave in front of him, watching as his small hands consistently try to grab at them, only for the flowers to pull back at the last moment.

A shrieking laugh tore from Iruma when one of the flowers dashed forward and booped him on the nose before retreating quickly again to keep from being grabbed. 

"And don't worry, I won't tell anyone you're here, yis."She said before retreating the flowers back and waving goodbye cheerily at you, cooing once more at Iruma before leaving towards the door. 

You waved back, before quickly grabbing Iruma so he couldn't follow her. Instead directing him towards a grassy patch area, filled with blooms that mostly closely reminded you of clovers and honeysuckle, to sit on as Shichirou started unpacking the bento boxes. He distributed the boxes among you, revealing sandwiches, salads, and other delicious-looking treats. Well, as delicious as Netherworld food could look to your human eyes. Regardless it all smelled so appetizing and as Iruma dug with gusto you took small bites of your own meal. 

When you took a glance at Shichirou though you noticed he was hesitating, one hand over his mask as if debating whether or not to take it off. With a quick look over at the meal, you realized that not a single thing here could actually be eaten with his mask on, and he would have to take it off if he wanted to partake. While you were slightly sad he still wasn't comfortable just taking it off in front of you yet, you also understood. Insecurities were hard to let go of. 

Putting your sandwich down, you instead grabbed his fork and took a bit of his salad leaned up and slowly unlatched his mask for him, making sure to move slowly enough that he could stop you if he wanted. With the mask off, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth where the scar was before drawing back slightly, putting the fork in front of his mouth to eat with a smile on your face. His face was flushed but he obediently opened up and took a bite, taking the fork for himself as he chewed. 

With a grin on your face at your accomplishment you went back to your own meal, keeping an eye on Iruma to ensure he wasn't eating too quickly or making a mess. Occasionally leaning over to wipe his nose when some of the sauce somehow gets on it, or help him break up larger pieces into smaller ones. 

When you all had finished you watched carefully as Iruma sprang up and ran about the area, investigating everything he saw from the different flowers to a random pebble he found, as you helped Shichirou clean up. Though you were a little anxious at letting him run about, you assumed you had nothing to fear when Shichirou had simply smiled at the small boy and did nothing to stop him.

As if sensing your anxiety, a gloved hand ran through your hair and you looked up to see Shichirou smiling fondly at you. "Don't worry, this is the safest greenhouse Suzy runs. Nothing here is carnivorous, though you may see a few chomping on each other. And my vines are blocking the only entrance so he can't escape," He said pulling you closer so that you were lounging in his lap. His long legs sprawled to either side of yours as your back met his chest. 

With a soft sigh, you nodded and instead focused on the white strands of hair tumbling over his shoulder and down yours. With a mischievous smile, you went about collecting the long stalks of the clover-like flowers that you could reach before braiding the snow-like hair. Fingers moved quickly to twine the strands with the clover until you were left with one thick braid peppered with green flowers and sharp purple leaves, tied off with one of the grass strands in replacement of a hair band. 

You had been so focused on the task that you hadn't even noticed Shichirou's eyes widening before doing the same thing to you with a blush covering his face (later you would find out that messing around with another's hair in such a way was only done between family members and mates. You had essentially claimed him without even realizing it), only instead of doing one thick braid, his fingers moved deftly to create multiple little ones with the top half of your hair before weaving the bottom half of your into a larger one, throwing the smaller braids and flowers in as he worked to create an elaborate braid from your hair. 

 Light humming filled the air, as Shichirou fiddled with braiding the flowers into your hair. With a start, you suddenly realized it was Shichirou producing the sound in his contentment.  "Sto'ry! Sto'ry mama, sto'ry!" Iruma demanded your attention with a bright smile on his face as bounding back towards you covered in pollen and dirt and clambered into your lap fully, staring up at you expectingly as Nigipnir moved from your shoulder to wrap around the boy's shoulders. You couldn't help the smile that formed on your face and you settled in, leaning forward slightly to wrap your arms around him so Shichirou still had room to play with the strands as he finished the braid. 

"Yes mama," Shichirou rumbled from behind you, still messing with your hair, "Tell us a story." 

You threw a fond glare over your shoulder and he grinned unrepentantly at you, "Alright, a story it is. Let's see, this story will start as all good ones do. Once upon a time, in a place not so far away. There lived in a forest, a proud wolf who guarded his territory with a ferocity unlike any other, and a wise rabbit who helped all who came across her and shone with a beauty never seen before." 

Iruma stared up at you captivated as your voice weaved the story, hands moving dust off the dirt and pollen that had gotten everywhere in the few minutes you had looked away, before running your fingers through the blue strands on his head. With the length it was at you wouldn't really be able to weave the larger flowers into it like yours and Shichirou's but you could still play with it regardless

Between the warm air, the scent of flowers wafting around, and your voice flowing through the air weaving a tale about the wolf and the rabbit finding love, it wasn't long before Iruma was starting to doze off. He was so close to sleeping, just needed that extra push and yet the story was done. For a second, you debated on telling another story until you realized Shichirou was still humming. More quietly now, so that both he and Iruma could hear you, but still there was a light vibration rumbling from in his chest. 

Well. You could work with that. 

"You are my world, my darling. What a wonderful world I see," The lyrical notes left you easily as you booped Iruma on the nose, causing him to let out a sleepy giggle. He snuggled further into your lap, face burrowing itself into your lower abdomen and tiny hands wrapped around Nigipnir like they were a stuffed animal. Though judging by the purring noise they were making, they didn't seem to mind too much. Your hand moved to go back to petting his hair as you fully leaned back into Shichirou's embrace, back flush to his front. "You are the song I'm singing. You're my beautiful melody."

As you sat there with Iruma in your lap and Shichirou wrapped around you, you rather felt like you could fall asleep too in this peaceful environment. A large part of you wishes that this moment would simply be frozen forever so you didn't have to go back to the real world. 

[ghost-go-roasty-mctoasty]

I cant stop thinking about the bmol experimenting with Sam and thanks to @trials-era-sam confirming our hc with Sam's addiction (thank you Jared!!) i just had to write this-

"Names Sam. All we need are names." Toni repeats, tapping her pen against her stupid little notebook.

Even if Sam wanted to, he can't give her want she wants. He doesn't really know that many hunters to begin with, let alone all the hunters in the whole of the united states. Who does she think he is?

She sighs dramatically and puts both her pen and book down on the old table next to her, uncrossing her legs and standing up, taking a few steps closer to Sam.

"Fine." She muttered, "we'll just move onto the next phase, since you're choosing to be difficult."

She starts fishing around in her blazer pocket, in search for something, and Sam can tell she found what she was looking for when a small smile pulls against her lips and she slowly withdraws her hand out, holding what looks to be a small vial?

Sam tilts his head to try and get a better look at it. Is it another drug to induce hallucinations? A truth serum? Who knows what they've invented over across the Atlantic.

Toni scoffs at the confusion displayed on Sam's face, and holds out the vial for him to see, holding it up triumphantly as if she won a race or something.

The first thing he notices is how red it is. He stares for a few more seconds until he realizes, and he can practically feel all the air leaving his lungs.

They've been keeping tabs on him for a good 12 years, they know pretty much everything about him. He doesn't know why this didn't occur to him sooner.

"No." He practically hisses at her, his mind flooding with the pain of detox already. Although he doubts he will ever make it out of here, and hes kind of already given up trying to escape. Whats the point? Dean is dead, Cas will be fine without him. Lucifer is out there roaming free, theres nothing for him anymore.

He's completely content with these british people keeping him here.

But eventually he'll have to detox, he always does.

He can feel his heart starting to pick up pace.

The first detox was bad enough, but he can start to feel the panic raising at the thought of having to live through that now, what horrors would haunt him in his...less than stable state.

He doesn't know what he'd do if he has to see Lucifer or the cage again.

What atrocities would his mind conjure up this time?

He finds his mind rushing back to all the less than pleasant experiences in his life. How it felt to have an archangel inside of him. He thinks that’s why he didn’t realize Gadreel was in him for so long. In comparison to the searing pain of the literal devil in his body, some run of the mill angel was like a tick. Hardly worth his attention.

Toni clearing her throat snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up at her again, and couldn't hide the fact that his hands were shaking.

"Sam," she began "you have made less than ideal choices in your life." A pointed glance towards him. "But, that doesn't mean you still can't be utilised. We as men of letters firmly believe in sufficiency, and your way of...terminating demons is much faster than any excorsim that we have on hand. Don't you think?"

Sam thinks that his heart is going to give out with how fast it is pumping. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears. The year of shame and regret with Ruby and all his mistakes crashing down on him.

"Please." He pleads, looking up at this awful woman through his wet hair. "You don't know what you're doing." He tries to reason with her, but with that glint in her eye, he knows shes not listening to a word he's saying.

"Cmon now Sammy, you can't tell me that you don't miss it." She exclaims, a soft undertone to her voice, as if shes trying to be understanding towards him. Sam scoffs.

And hangs his head in defeat.

They've burnt him, shot him, cut him up and probably broken a few ribs if his pain is any indication. He has no doubt that they will hesitate to do this to him too.

Hes just glad Dean won't be here to watch him turn into a monster again.

Everything Dean told him during that year comes rushing back as he clamps his mouth shut tight. He knows that this will happen to him with or without his consent, but he won't let it happen without a fight.

After all, she isn't Lucifer, he doesn't have to lay down and let her do whatever she wants to him. Hes allowed to fight back. And for Deans sake, he will try.

Toni notices Sams jaw muscles working, and sighs like a disapproving mother whose toddler just won't listen to her.

She roughly grabs Sams face and lifts his head up, making him look up at her.

And although his face is rock hard with determination, pure fear is flashing in his eyes.

He doesn't want to go back to that. To that feeling of desperately needing more and more.

Hes fought so hard against his addiction for so long now. Why is this happening? Chuck must think his life is a joke to do this to him.

But, he keeps his mouth closed tight as Toni tuts and pinches his nose closed, staring down at him patiently.

He hopes he's strong enough to let himself pass out before his mouth inevitably opens to let in air. At least then he could say he tried. But he knows the human body, he knows that when survival insticts kick in, he won't be able to fight it.

But he closes his eyes and tries to stay calm as toni pinches his nose tighter and grows more annoyed.

He starts to count.

Hes gotten to fifty seconds when his lungs really start to hurt.

67. His head has started to spin.

89. His teeth hurt from how hard he's clenching them.

92. He can feel the presence of the vial hanging above him like a carrot on a string. Patiently waiting for his mouth to open like they both know it will.

107. There are spots dancing behind his eyelids. He knows his body will betray him soon.

He lets out a silent prayer at second 115. Begging for someone to help him.

He wonders if Lucifer can hear him.

121. He gasps.

Before he can even suck in some precious air, the vial is being shoved in his mouth, and the metallic taste of blood on his tounge is the only thing his senses can focus on.

Its okay. Dont panic. He just has to spit it out like he did before. No biggie.

He ignores the way his body yearns for it. To swallow it. He ignores how his muscles are remembering how powerful they used to feel. He ignores how his throat is trying to gulp it down, actively working against the only rational part of Sam's brain.

The smell is overwhelming. The taste practically irresistible.

He doesnt have to swallow it. He doesn't have to let her win. He doesn't.

He goes to spit it out. Toni sees. She acts quicker than Sam can even realise.

She's pinching his nose again and roughly keeping her other hand over his mouth. Making sure that he can't possibly spit it out and cutting off all access to air.

Meaning he'll need to swallow it to be able to gasp for air.

He looks up at her with tears in his eyes. His head starting to spin again from lack of oxygen. He shakes his head softly, once again begging her not to do this to him, even though he knows this grovelling will get him nowhere.

She looks down at him with no emotion in her eyes. Even the smile on her face has faded. She just seems a bit bothered now. As if Sams resistance is just a small inconvenience to her.

He'll have to swallow soon. She knows it. They both know it.

Eventually Sam finds his throat working against him and swallowing down the sweet sweet blood.

As it goes down, he gasps out and Toni removes her hand. A satisfied smile on her face.

Sam, on the other hand though, couldn't be more disgusted with himself.

He would start crying if there was any liquid left in his body. He can already feel it. Feel the power thruming through his veins. He can feel his body yearning for more already, protesting that it wasnt enough.

He starts to shake. Silently sob. He cannot believe that this is happening to him again. That he has to go through this again, and all for what? Because some british people want to study him to see how he works and then do who knows what with him?

He starts sweating. Even that tiny amount enough to bring back a pretty severe addiction.

Toni sits back down looking smug. "How do you feel, Sam?"

He glares at her, although how effective it is with his shaking chin and dried tear streaks on his cheeks, he doesn't know.

"Alright." Toni nods at him and starts to make her way back up the stairs.

Sam starts to freak out, but refuses to show it. Not at least until she leaves the basement.

Theyre leaving him here. For how long? Are they going to make him go through detox now? Study his symptoms? Wait for him to start begging them for some more? Maybe, if Sams lucky enough, it wont be that bad, since it was only one small vial.

But he can already feel it. The way his head feels like it's getting squashed between two rocks, the way his stomach is rolling like he's about to vomit, the way his limbs are shaking quite violently.

Sam is never lucky. And this is going to hit him hard.

He hopes it doesnt get so bad that he starts begging for more blood. He'd never forgive himself if he fell that far.

He wishes Dean were still alive.

[fallenstarsgc]

Hihi!! This is a blog dedicated to (mostly) the Fallen Stars, 2019-2021 Version!

This is kinda like an FAQ thing, tho I take it more as "For (almost) All Questions" than "Frequently..."

Asks are open!

Warnings are at the bottom of the post, before the "About the Admin", sorry!

I use mostly what I have from the Gacha community from back then as inspiration/goals for them/etc, tho they have a bit more character than just "emo uwu baby" or the like! I still place a lot of their characters into the old tropes.

This also means they don't follow the truly canon characters! A lot of it is made up and fanonised!

Another factor into this is that I also cannot find a lot of canon information to ALL these characters in the time span that I'd still be motivated to even do this, as it takes a lot of time. So it's headcanons and fanon mixed!

There are two Chara's and Frisk's in this team, one pair are adults and dating Sans (19 y/os) + she/her pronouns, the other pair is small Frisk and Ghost!Chara who both use they/them! Also I mix a lot of the ideas people have/had for both Star Sanses and Fallen Stars, this meaning the team'll end up pretty big!

This is like found family trope but instead of them just having a "family type" they're also dating kinda! Like a really big poly but unknowingly from some sides! They're confused but they got the spirit!

Small Character introductions here!

Shattered/Dream; a kind-hearted spirit and prior Positive Guardian that has fallen due to his brothers hatred towards him, and several other factors. No one besides the team knows he is corrupted. (he/him)

Ink; after his friends' disappearance and other friends' crash in the antivoid, his vials had been taken away. Occasionally at Error's for fights or "fights" still (he/they)

Blueberror; prior Swap, after being (more or less) forced to stay in the antivoid for just too long he has glitched out and became this version. Mocks Error often and has taken on a slight parental role, just more strict and rude. (he/him)

Unlust/Cher; used to be Lust, but after Events in his au and with Red, an underfell sans, she stepped up for themself and went with Yanberry into the Fallen Stars. His LV has changed her body drastically. She's also the tallest. (any pronouns)

Yanberry; named Blueberry prior to seeing his brother killed in front of her by his Chara. After the reset, he had somehow kept his memory, making him go mad and kill almost everyone in her AU. Shattered had found him and brought him into the Team while he was stalking Dust. (he/him w occasional she/her)

Frisk; since she is now an adult, she is casually dating Sans and Chara. Often goes onto "missions" with the team. She's more or less of a hypocrite and a bit mean, tho she tries to be nice still. Will attack you if you try and hurt Sans. (she/her)

Chara; since she is now an adult, she also started casually dating Sans and Frisk. She feels bad for what happened, and the yellow flowers blooming on her head are a constant reminder of her wrong-doings. (she/her)

Little Frisk/Fry; they're a little sweetheart! But they're also dangerous. Don't step on the bugs they'll kill you for harming their friends :( (they/them)

Ghost!Chara/Charm; they're nice, but also like your intrusive thoughts. And they don't leave Fry alone ever. Also their crush is chocolate fyi (they/them)

Cor!Classic; not a lot is known about him. all we know is he's LV20 and dangerous. (he/him)

Honorable Character mentions:

Sci (neutral ground), Outer (occasionally drops by), Core (had no true choice), Ghost!Dream (from another dimension)

The Bad-Now-Good Guys:

Nightmare; Usually really mean and rude, but is also the only one allowed to hurt Dream. Could possibly corrupt back but doesn't due to fear, most likely.

Killer; more of a malevolent person to the Stars. Knows Cross's dirty little secret but keeps shut about it so he stays still about his own. Nightmare's right hand

Horror; Usually stays at Farm's place, but is also still more than not in the castle, usually by Murder's side. Keeps out of missions a lot but is pretty brutal when it comes to it.

Dust; A somewhat nicer version of Murder. Unaware of Yanberry's stalking&yandere behaviour towards him.

Murder; Stays with Horror a lot. His face is just gone and it unnerves Yan. Just as brutal as Horror and Killer, with LV20.

Cross; Stayed by Nightmare due to not wanting to come over as a traitor. However he is a traitor by simply dating/loving Dream. Keeps undercover.

Honorable Character mentions:

Error (doesn't care a lot), Farm (kind, neutral side character), Color (tries salvaging Killer, it doesn't work)

Please stay kind for all of this! I'm still learning how to do blogs such as these.

I might end up drawing human version instead of skeletons, and this doesn't really have a lot of big meaning, I just felt like drawing humans that day XD

Dust and Murder are two seperate Dust's/Murder's to me. This is why Yanberry can stalk Dust while Murder will be left untouched by this.

This account will mostly run off asks, so sending them in, no matter what they may be, is appreciated!

Also if there's text instead of a drawing to an ask, then that day I wanted to reply but could not find the energy to draw one! It's not because I favour anyone, I just have changing energy/motivation.

Updates can vary, due to me not having my computer and tablet with me 24/7

Possible triggers/warnings/might mention: self-harm/sh, past abuse, yandere behaviour, genocide routes (UT-way), death

(more to be added)

About the Admin!

↳ Orange ; they/them ; main - @orange-dreamzer

↳

-

(always updating) Videos from that time range:

How Bad Sanses found out... - Link

Bad Guys react + Passive... - Link

Bad Sans Meet... - Link

Bad Sans react... - Link

Fallen Stars meet Bad Sans - Link

Singing Battle(s) - Links one ,

Other memes: Lambada , Stars+Fallen , Angry Too ,

[destielomegaversebigbang]

Love Potion Number 17

Posting 21st October 2023!

Fic by MalicMalic

Art by Hexentaenzerin

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Omega Dean has spent his life hoping to find his truemate, but all he managed to do was to introduce other people to theirs. It just never seems to be his turn. Looking to help, Charlie takes him to this witch that sells love potions, but all Rowena has to offer is some good time. Dean leaves the shop with a little bottle with some glowing blue liquid swirling inside. The tag on it says: Potion No.17.

Castiel works his days as an accountant in the “Smith, Banks and Associates” and spends every free minute gazing out of the window at the Delaware River. His parents are retired and live in Florida and he has a roommate Balthazar who is his only friend and loves to party. He longs for a meaningful connection. One time he lets himself be persuaded to join Balthazar on a night out, he ends up bored enough to talk to a perfect stranger. He even goes so far as to trust Crowley when the man claims he’s got something that will allow him some fun. That night he goes home with Potion No.17 in his hand.

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Alpha Castiel. Omega Dean. African dream root. Dreaming. Idiots in love. Some angst. Some fluff. Bookstore owner Dean. Accountant Castiel. Falling in love. Dean and Cas first kiss. Oral sex. Voyersm. Exhibitionism. Anal sex (alpha Cas enjoys anal sex, but it isn't described in the story). Happily ever after

Excerpt: Below the readmore

“Like I said, I call it The Love Potion. It’s a mixture of herbs and spices that allows you to have a better control of your dreams, in a manner of speaking. See, with each of these you can form a scenario that brings your… deepest desires to life. Gives you some fun time during your nights. Of course, most use it to conjure a partner and have wild sex, but it can be so much more than that. You can imagine someone nice to talk to and spend time with, or work out what kind of a person fits you best, the possibilities are endless.”

Castiel bites his bottom lip, staring at that one little bottle, unable to look away. “Is it… Is it some sort of a hallucinogen?”

The other alpha huffs a laugh. “I am not a drug dealer, darling. It is all perfectly safe and legal. The main compound of the potion is the African dream root, you can look it up.” Crowley must have noticed how entranced Castiel is because he still hasn’t closed the case. Castiel doesn’t even make it past his first breath before he reaches for the vial with that transcendent green. His entire body tingles as he wraps his fingers around it, a small tag with the number 17 swinging off the neck, grazing his fingers. Castiel knows that he won’t be able to put it down until he tries it. The idea is simply too tempting and he has been so lonely for far too long.

[assbutt-in-the-garrison]

I have this sorta odd destiel fanfiction in my head that I have actually had dreams about and it involves a bit of memory erasure, time travel, incarnations, and Amara/the Darkness...

Remember when Amara kissed Dean and they both saw some sort of "vision" about their future and how they will always be "bonded"? And in 11x1 Amara said "we will always help each other, no matter where I am, no matter WHO I am, we will always be bound."

What IF. Amara IS Cas? And she doesn't know this at first of course. Like. Idk, I just have this fic idea stuck in my mind where the reason why that particular version of Castiel in that universe, unlike every other version of Cas in other universes, is the "famous spanner in the works" who constantly rebels and has to have their memory erased, the reason why Cas is so bonded to Dean and would do anything for him, is because originally that Cas was the Darkness. When Jack and Amara became balanced, they became aware of the reality of the multiverse and Amara knew she needed to give up her power to Jack and become something else and go back in time to the beginning in order to "fix" the storyline so that Chuck inevitably loses and to make sure Jack is born and Dean and Sam can truly be free. So she gives up her darkness powers to Jack and Jack and her go back in time to the beginning, secretly planting her as Castiel, a being of light now, an angel with no memory of being God's sister. And so THAT Cas always has a rebellious streak in them, defying the "natural order". And throughout all of history, that Cas rebels against unjust orders. When that Cas meets Dean, he can't help but feel completely connected to him profoundly. And no matter how many times his memory is wiped and controlled by Naomi, the bond between them cannot be broken. Then when Cas is brought back from the Empty by Jack, he is given his memory back of being Amara/the Darkness. And this is why Dean and Cas are so profoundly bonded. No matter who Cas is, no matter what body/vessel they're in, they will always love Dean.

The empty won't give up on dragging Cas back though because after all, he made a deal, and as an angel, Cas will always end up in the Empty, and even as the darkness, technically the empty was there first before the Darkness so it's technically stronger. The empty just hates Cas. It will still be summoned every time he experiences true happiness. And will go after Cas and his loved ones at any cost. So in order to protect heaven and his loved ones, including Dean, Jack and Cas decide that Cas's best and only option is to convert his grace into a human soul and be reborn as a human in a different, magic-less universe, where the Empty cannot find him and even if it does find him, it's power would be inert in a seemingly magic-less world. (there's magic, it's just unseen and the laws of physics implemented there make it harder for monsters to exist there with any noticeable power.) But Cas saves a little bit of his grace, bottling it in a little vial pendant, and tells Jack to give it to Dean to remember him by. When Dean gets to heaven, Jack tells him the truth and gives Dean the vial of grace that Dean wears as a necklace. And Dean is free now, traveling the multiverse in his TARDIS car (which Amara secretly created at some point so Dean would always have his freedom). So Dean is completely free now, of any and all Gods destinies for him and his family. He can make his own choices whether that be peacefully chilling in heaven with his family, or traveling the multiverse, stopping sometimes to work a case in some world or universe, saving people, or enacting change in worlds still being wronged by evil Gods "destiny". Maybe he even meets the Doctor at some point lol. And He'll know when he's found a version of his Cas because the vial of Cas's grace will glow a vibrant purple when Cas is close by.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

28 DAYS: CHAPTER NINE

Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given a choice to go to rehab for 28 days or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.

Chapter warnings/tags: mentioning thoughts of self-destruction

Words in this chapter: 2,100

Author’s notes: you might recognize a few nuggets (per Stuie) from SPN here.

Many thanks to @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker for pre-reads and for being my friends.

text divider by @talesmaniac89

CHAPTER NINE

“My buddy, Cas, he’s... well, he used to be my buddy,” Dean pauses, squinting down at the smoldering butt between his thumb and fingers. 

Meg remains silent next to him. 

Dean assumes she knows as well as he does that he can’t predict whether his friends before rehab will still be his friends after. Not to mention friends like Castiel, the authority Dean defied when he took it upon himself to burn his life and career to the ground in that high school fire three weeks ago.

“Cas is a widower with a teenage daughter,” Dean continues, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“He’s a weird little guy.” He exhales smoke and chuckles, looking at Meg sideways. “You’d like him.”

Meg snorts, flicking her ash before taking a drag of her own. 

“I, uhh... Cas was my boss. He’s the big chief.”

Meg quietly listens as smoke rolls from between her lips.

He and Meg are as close as he’s ever been with anyone. They share things, and he considers her to be a real friend. They’re all so fucked up, bleeding emotion right and left, that it’s taken no time to bond, even when they don’t know every central life point of each other. Until this moment, Dean didn’t realize that he had yet to tell Meg what landed his ass here in the first place.

He drags his gaze from her cherry lips and focuses on his shrinking cigarette. 

“I fucked up.” Dean bobs his head, then takes the last drag from his smoke before tossing it toward the bucket of sand as he exhales. “I’m a firefighter — battalion chief, 15 years of service, saved lives and homes — but I fucked up that day.”

Dean thinks about the stories everyone has and that Jack is so enthusiastic about. He’s not been forced to tell his story, but he’s hungry for that last connection with his newfound family here. The desire to share swirls in his chest, threatening to pop out, sloppy and chaotic.

When he peeks at Meg, she’s listening closely without a hint of judgment.

Dean slowly and quietly tells her what happened that day. How he’d been at Gordon’s until the wee hours, drinking and fucking his way between a couple of women he barely knew. How he stumbled home less than two hours before getting called in on a conflagration.

“What’s a conflagration?” Meg asks, lighting two cigarettes at once before exhaling and handing one of the smokes to Dean.

“It’s a... thanks,” he pauses, accepting the cigarette from her and taking a drag. “A conflagration’s a big fire that’s on target to destroy a lot of property, land... take a lot of lives.”

Meg exhales and nods, squinting through the haze of smoke. “So you showed up drunk to a killer fire?”

Dean slowly blinks and nods. “BAC of .23 six hours after leaving my drug dealer’s house, yeah.”

Meg whistles.

“Waltzed into that job with a vial of coke in my pocket and more substances in my system than a raver on a Saturday night. And Cas, my boss and best friend... he told me to...” Dean pauses and draws a deep, clean breath. “He told me to stop — to stand down — and I ignored him.”

He takes a long pull from his smoke, recalling that morning, not wanting to leave anything out.

“Do you know why you ignored him?”

Dean looks at Meg. She looks like she knows the answer already, even though Dean didn’t even realize it until now.

“I was in self-destruct mode.”

Meg nods and huddles in closer, narrowing her gaze.

“Two years ago, I’d never be out ‘til three in the morning, never test those boundaries.  But the farther I got from a real life, the less I cared about bein’ careful.”

His words hang in the air between them. He can almost see them mocking, shiny, and bubblegum pink like something out of an after-school special.

“Real life,” Meg hums. “What’s not real about your life right now?”

Dean shakes his head and takes the last drag from his cigarette. “I wanna settle down with someone. I want a house with a yard, not an apartment. I want Em... I want where I live to be her home.”

Meg nods, sitting back and finishing her own cigarette. “So now you know.”

Dean chuckles, tossing his butt toward the sand bucket.

The reason he brought Cas up, to begin with, was because he thought Cas and Meg would like each other. They have a similar sense of humor and have made Dean feel less awkward about different stages in his life with distinctive grace and compassion. He doesn't know if Cas will speak to him at this point, but he can’t keep himself from imagining two of his favorite people becoming favorites of each other.

Sam pulls out of the hug before Dean.

“Lydia said you looked good. She was right.” He nods, clapping a hand over his brother’s shoulder. “How’re your injuries healing?”

“Good.” Dean misses the embrace. He wishes he wasn’t so needy, but holding his baby brother has always been the best cure for his ills. “You sure I don’t look skinny? Lydia said I looked skinny.”

“No, man. You look great. It’s been a while.” Sam looks cagey as he glances around at the other patients and their guests.

Dean doubts Sam’s comment was meant as a kick to the gut, but it sure as fuck feels like one.  

When Sam was a kid, he looked up to Dean. He used to tell Dean that he couldn’t wait to be big and strong like him. Now Sam looks at him with pity. Dean wonders if one day he might earn back even a fraction of Sam’s admiration.

“Want a cup of coffee or anything?” Dean tries to be hospitable, but rehab isn’t exactly the Ritz.

“No, thanks, I’m good.” 

Dean also tries not to get pissy about Sam’s really fucking noticeable uneasiness. 

“Let’s take a walk, Sammy.” He doesn’t wait for Sam to argue; he turns and heads toward the trailhead he walked with Meg and Pamela earlier that morning.

Thankfully, Sam follows without further ado. Once they’re on the trail and other voices are a distant hum, Sam relaxes, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief.

“So,” Sam starts. “You’ll be out of here in, what, a week?”

Dean chuckles, dropping his gaze to his booted feet on the packed trail. “Sammy, you and me both know that you know exactly when I’m gettin’ outta here. You’re the one who set this all up, remember?”

Sam bobs his head, matching his brother’s stride. “Just trying to start a conversation, Dean.”

His voice is quiet and contrite, and Dean feels like an ass for calling Sam on the bogus question.

“Sorry, man. I know this ain’t easy. But, yeah, eight days, actually.”

Sam nods, looking over at Dean. “How d’you... how are you feeling about it?”

Dean smiles up into the partly cloudy blue sky. “Scared.”

Sam slows to a stop, and Dean does the same.

“Do you need more time?” Sam asks, concern furrowing his brow.

Dean shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, dude. Gotta take the training wheels off sooner or later.”

Sam nods thoughtfully. “Have you found a sponsor yet?”

“Not yet. Next week.”

Sam gazes off into the woods, stress rolling off him like a stench.

“Hey.” Dean reaches out and tugs the wrist cuff of Sam’s flannel shirt to get his attention.

“I hate that you’re scared, Dean.” Sam holds Dean’s gaze. “I’m glad you’re being honest, but I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

Dean nods, carefully choosing his next words.

“I’d rather be scared than what I was three weeks ago. Scared means careful. It means I got somethin’ to lose and to look forward to. It means I got my baby girl back, and this time I’m keepin’ her.”

Sam steps in and grabs Dean in another hug. This one lasts longer than the first, and Dean basks in it.

“My mom died in a house fire when I was four.”

These are the things that haunt him. He could be insolent and say they’re the reasons he drinks, but the truth is, they’re more than that. 

“After the fire, Dad changed; he, uh... followed a downward spiral.” Dean shakes his head and chuckles. “He was angry, usually at me.”

Dean avoids using the words he and Billie discussed. He avoids saying that John was abusive because this is his story, not John’s. And he avoids looking anyone in particular directly in the eyes.

“Started workin’ at the family garage before I was in middle school. Child labor laws be damned, I guess.” He huffs another sardonic laugh.

In less than a month, Billie Pilgrim has given Dean the space and permission to believe he was hurt and abused and has suffered trauma. Stating the facts out loud in front of a live audience solidifies that belief.

“It felt good, though, ya know? Like I was doin’ somethin’ special. And I was a quick learner.”

Dean genuinely smiles, remembering how Bobby would brag to John about what Dean had learned that day.

“I was never great at school. Dropped out during the 8th grade, settled into the role of Mom and Dad to Sammy...”

He pauses for a deep breath. 

“Sometimes I can’t believe how good he turned out.” Dean shakes his head and then continues. “When I was 17... I got caught with a couple high school girls doin’ what teenagers do when their parents aren’t home. Dad was... well, Dad about it. He shipped me off to Afghanistan.”

Dean briefly flicks his gaze up to Pamela, who nods, mouthing thank you.

“Later, Dad’d tell everyone it was my choice — to follow in the footsteps of my old man and become a Marine, but I was fuckin’ terrified, man.” He looks down at his hands in his lap. “I served two tours before Sammy graduated high school. He sent me a copy of an offer letter for a full ride to Stanford... I came right home — I knew Dad was gonna fuckin’ lose it.” 

Dean clears his throat, shifting in his seat.

“We fought — Dad and me. I was just tryna run interference for Sam to get his shit and... it was bad. I said some things. John... my dad, he was so mad, like red-faced, veins bulgin’ out...”

Dean finally looks around the circle. Everyone is listening; even Crowley is engrossed.

“Turns out he was in the middle of a massive heart attack. Killed him on the spot. Not even CPR brought him back long enough for me to say I was sorry and g’bye.”

Dean stops talking. There’s more to his story, but that’s all he can do for the day. 

“Thank you for sharing, Dean,” Cain speaks.

Dean nods, staring at his feet.

“Does anyone want to say anything to Dean?”

Jack immediately raises his hand.

“Yes, Jack,” Cain smiles.

“Dean, you should know that these are just things you’ve done and things that have happened to you, not who you are.” 

Dean looks up at Jack and smiles.

“Yeah, I know. But the mark... it’s still there, ya know?”

Jack nods.

“What’s Billie always say? No one’s a monolith?” Meg asks.

Dean grins at her. That was one of the first deep lessons he learned from Billie.

He wasn’t exaggerating when he told Sam he was scared. Hell, he still hasn’t looked at his email, and he deleted his text logs with Gordon and others like him without even taking a peek.

But Dean’s armed with tools from Billie and Cain, and he has a community to rely on in a way he’s never felt he had before. There are things and people — feelings that he wants to experience differently, or maybe even for the first time.

Maybe he did have support before, and he was just too numb to feel it.

Regardless, this is a new day.

Dean’s 16 years old. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat of the Impala, and John’s sitting shotgun. 

John’s teaching him to drive, to get his learner’s permit, and Dean is nervous and excited, hands gripping the wheel. 

This isn’t a memory; it’s a dream. Dean knows this because, in reality, John taught Dean to drive when he was eight. He put a couch cushion on the front seat and tied blocks to Dean’s tennis shoes.

In the dream, Sam’s in the backseat, begging to take a turn. 

Finally, they pull up to the house — the family house — and Dean parks in the driveway. 

John looks over at his oldest child then and says, "Perfect landing, son." 

Chapter 10

Please let me know what you think!

Series Masterlist

MJ’s Masterlist

[casinblue]

No One Will Ever Know

Dean/Castiel

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Castiel's Confession Scene, Chaotic Dean Winchester, High Dean Winchester, Crack Treated Seriously, Non-Graphic Smut, Spit as Lube, Not Canon Compliant, Unhappy Ending

Summary: Before Cas can finish confessing his love to Dean, Dean interrupts him and proposes that he and Cas finally fuck before he's gone.

Or, Dean gets high on a potion and wonders, "What if we kissed and fucked under an indoor storm cloud?"

Prompts Covered: Dark and Stormy Night, Witch's Brew, Limbo, Electric

A/N: I had this idea stuck in my head so now it's a VERY weird, probably illogical crackfic. Full disclosure, I have not watched s15 yet but I have seen the confession scene and other things from that ep five thousand times. Just thought I'd mention that. On to the fic.

Before Castiel can finish his confession and as the tears stream down his face, a figurative lightbulb floats over Dean's head. He takes a potion in a glass vial out from his pocket and downs it, ignoring Cas' confused look. Dean throws the bottle on the floor like a magician about to pull a disappearing act via smoke bomb. And now there is a grey puff floating up, not smoke exactly, more accurately fog and mist.

Dean attempts to shake off the weird feeling protruding through the air and tries to swat away the fog in front of him. He can no longer view Castiel and panic sets in. Before the panic can rise into a panic attack, however, the fog and mist rise above his friend and form a storm cloud above the two of them. 

"Cas, you're still here," Dean says with gratefulness to the potion. 

"Dean, what did you do?"

"I, um, froze things."

Cas sighs. "Time. You froze time."

"For you."

Cas looks fondly towards him with an undercurrent of frustration. "Dean, you shouldn't have."

"Look, I don't mean to steal your thunder but-"

"You know you shouldn't mess with time."

"I know. I know. I just needed more of it with you."

The words are so sweet they worsen the lump in Castiel's throat. He had forgotten that he had been crying. But now, he's currently worried about the consequences of freezing time.

Dean, on the other hand, is on an entirely different wavelength and train of thought. Well, this is gonna be an entirely new topic.

"Cas," he inhales, trying to be brave with his proposition. Here goes. "Fuck me."

The expression that Dean can see on Cas' face this very moment made this all worth it. 

"Before you're gone. It's all I can give you right now. Please. Put me against that wall. You can have at it, while we still have time."

Cas is still too speechless to answer.

Dean starts begging. "Please, Cas. No one can see us, no one will ever know. We don't have an audience."

He's too excited now. And on a weird high, he notices. He wonders if it's the potion's fault. Is feeling stoned a side effect? The scene has had a whiplash effect on the two of them but Dean has already recovered from it.

He returns his attention to his goal. "It's just our little secret. Please, Cas, before you're gone. There's something that won't allow me to give you something better. To talk to you properly and give you the right response. Maybe it's the potion or maybe it's just me. But..."

He finally kisses his angel. It's short, goading, asking for more from the angel. 

"Dean, we don't have enough time," There's frustration in his voice but not in his eyes, which gaze into Dean's with the purest hope.

"And how do you know that?"

"I can sense it. I can sense the way that the wheel of time is beginning to turn again. I can...hear it."

Indeed, the sound of the wheel of time did waft through the air for him. But it did not for Dean. 

"All the more reason for us to hurry up." He looks Cas right in the eye. "We might not have another chance again. Come on."

"The effects will soon wear off. I estimate that you will only have the power to keep time frozen for a short time," Cas says.

"Yep. That was all in the fine print. I get the power to freeze time for a while. And that storm cloud is just going to keep getting bigger and bigger until time unfreezes. I think." I kind of skimmed the fine print.

Cas gazes up at it with curiosity. He is silent for a few moments, then, "How did you find this potion?" 

"Let's just say I got it from a witch."

Another sigh. A few more quiet moments pass. At Dean's urgent look, Cas tells him, "Let me think for a moment."

The room is quiet now, partly made up of anticipatory (and very horny) silence and partly made up of a hesitant, contemplative silence. Castiel's eyes move from wall to wall to Dean to the cloud to the floor and back again. Dean thinks to himself, Forget the wheel of time, I can hear the wheels in his head turning from here.

"Cas. You got one chance and I'm here and I'm willing."

In response, Cas reaches for Dean slowly and holds his head to bring him in for a kiss, but Dean is far quicker than that. He pulls on his tie to bring Cas' head and more importantly, his lips closer to his own. It's a softer kiss than before since Dean is distracted with untying the tie and pulling Cas' coat off. When they have been thrown to the floor, Dean grabs at Cas' other clothes, haphazardly pulling them off. The kiss ends and it disappoints Cas a little that it's over so soon, but he listens when Dean speaks again.

"Might as well take everything off at once, since we don't have much time," Dean says.

Cas nods. Dean swiftly tears his own clothes off and Cas follows suit, not that he had many articles of clothing still on his body, thanks to Dean. Mere moments later they're both naked once more and-

Crack!

That's the sound the wall makes as Dean's naked spine hits it when Cas pushes him against it, kissing him like he's been planning for it, regardless of his earlier hesitation.

"Ugh!"

"Dean, are you okay?"

Dean grins at him, happily observing the short distance between Cas' and himself. "I'm great. I'm so great," he speaks with a delirious, high happiness. "It'll just be a bruise," He shrugs it off. "What about you?"

"I would like to enjoy this but I can't stop thinking about what comes after."

"Then just...Try to focus on me. Stay in the moment, I guess. Enjoy what you can right now."

Their mouths meet again, and Dean tongues him until he feels tension about the near future release from Cas. When they part, Dean grins at Cas again. Cas smiles back, looking into his green eyes, before turning Dean around so he faces the wall.

"Cas, just use your spit, we don't have lube and we don't have time," Dean directs eagerly, though not unkindly.

Prep is rushed and hurried and full of grunts, groans, and directions from Dean. 

"Dean...?" Cas asks afterwards.

"Go ahead, Cas. Bang me like a drum."

At first, Cas is far slower and a bit more delicate with him than Dean would have wished for him to be, but they don't have proper lube so it's tight. Still, Dean leans with his hands planted against the wall and takes it all in. It's so unbearably quiet, except for the sounds of sex, that Dean feels like making it less quiet.

"Cas. How does it feel to finally have me?"

"Triumphant," and with that answer, Cas' mouth touches the side of Dean's neck.

They don't speak anymore after that. Dean groans as Cas rocks into him from behind. The mouth on his neck, with sometimes slightly bared teeth, causes little sighs to come from him.

Cas has his arms around Dean's torso and one hand slowly slides down Dean's stomach taking him in his hand. 

Dean makes a small, surprised noise. A guiding hand holds Cas's hand gently over Dean's erection. Soft, measured and shared strokes slowly build speed until the rhythm is the same as Cas's movements behind him.

The little grey cloud has stormed on, growing bigger while they were distracted. The storm cloud begins to glow in patches with blue lightning strikes. The sound of thunder doesn't make the lovers stop. If anything, it urges them on, reminding them that the clock will start ticking again soon. Rain falls upon them. The water droplets wash off their sweat and wipe away the smell of their activity.

Five lightning strikes and five thrusts lead Dean over the edge. "Cas!" he exhales.

The thunder above reaches their ears as Cas too, climaxes, his head thrown back to view the cloud above them, crying out towards it.

The floating, stormy timebomb under the ceiling explodes in a wet, blue-grey ball of light and fog. The wetness of the rain wipes away all evidence of their close encounter and they return-magically cleansed and clothed-to exactly where they stood once before.

The song remains the same. At the end, Dean sits against the wall with his head in his hands. He thinks to himself with regret, We finally did all of that and no one will ever know. 

@wigglebox

[neko-naruto]

Twins? You're lying, where has he been all my life then?

Summary: For ten entire years Camilo Madrigal was virtually the only guy in the family, he just simply doesn't know it could've been someone else in his shoes until Casita falls; enter Carlos Madrigal, the forgotten, giftless heir to Pepas side of the family.

Warnings: Minute gore, check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: I figured out what the absolute mad lads of the Encanto fandom did with the concept arts for characters and decided to write a fic about it, and @sobredunia you're being subjected to Camilo propoganda, reblogs are appreciated.

Carlos Madrigal has been living in Casitas walls since before he could walk, Bruno popping in when he turned five was a neat surprise for him. He has his half of the Casitas walls, Bruno has his portion, at least, that was the idea until the both of them realized it'd be wiser to share the kitchen place. He's sure his simple personality makes Bruno want to strangle him, but at the same time, it brings him a little bit of joy to watch his face light up in agitation as he teases relentlessly.

It was a quaint ten years, passed by faster than he could keep track of, but eventually, Bruno refused to let Carlos enter his parts of Casitas walls; he agreed to bring him food after he had moved to a different spot. And he did move, completely out of spite though, taking his worn and restitched red ruana with him, he never talked to Bruno much after that, he was nine when that happened. So, doing a brief count, he's spent most of his life alone, afraid and stuck in the darkness of Casitas walls without knowing anyway out.

He doesn't even know if he really is a Madrigal, or if he's just some eldritch spawn living in the walls birthed of dust and magic residue alike, he just knows that he is Carlos, and he lives 'with' Bruno. He knows he has no gift and that all Madrigals do, but Bruno refuses to tell him much more about the rest of his family in general, nothing that goes much further into detail. And it's driving Carlos up the walls because he's trapped between the outside world and the family Madrigal and he doesn't know where he belongs.

That all changed when Casitas walls came crumbling down around him and he was caught in the blast, the families discord finally taking its toll. He was distantly awake for most of that, distantly aware no one heard him scream for help, nor the sickening crunch of bones, vaguely knowing no one would hear him whine in agony with the magic gone. That didn't stop him from sobbing as he tried to stay awake, as he tried to call out for anybody in hopes that he could garner attention before the blood oozing from his shoulder caused him to faint.

Carlos didn't seen manage though, with one final plead of 'help,' he passed out, slumped between chunks of Casitas walls. He didn't know that Camilo was the first to start traversing the further edges of the damage, the first to find Carlos and be smothered in shock. The freeze response was short lived when he saw the blood, rushing over to start heaving up slabs of his home to try and unearth the unrecognizable boy. Although, Camilo wasn't sure that he liked what he saw when he picked up the boy who grimaced in his sleep, it was like looking in a mirror.

Camilo simply cradled the boy in his arms as he walked back through the rummage, finding everyone mourning in their own way, some falling for Mirabel. He tried to stay out of view, he really did, placing down the still breathing and oozing body against a chunk of land before calling for Pepa and Julieta; they both came running. He simply stood and stared when they arrived, Pepa gasping in shock and Julieta in horror at the injury, she was quick to pull out a vial, Pepa held out a hand to stop her which confused Camilo deeply.

"Pepa, let me help him," Julieta said sternly, Pepa begrudgingly lowered her hand to let Julieta through.

"Mamà, do you know that guy?" Camilo asked, gesturing vaguely to a still passed out Carlos who was being force-fed a vial of juice in his sleep, no response as his wound mended itself.

"I'll explain when he wakes up," Pepa said quietly, stroking her braid out of reflex even though her powers had been disabled with the fall of Casita.

Soon enough Julieta was standing with a hand on her sisters shoulder, watching and hoping that Carlos would come through, Camilo stuck in shock. Who was this guy? A replacement? Shared hallucination? Culmination of the families turmoil? He didn't know and it was driving him mad, this kid could hold all the secrets even Dolores is unaware and he's laying limp on the ground in a pool of his own blood. He starts to come too soon enough and Camilo practically bounds over to help him up, only to get shrugged off with a sharp 'Get off!' he reluctantly pilled away afterwards.

"Carlos…" Pepa murmured softly, Camilo almost didn't catch it, but perked up before throwing an accusation.

"You do know him! Explain!" Camilo practically demanded of his mother, now with nothing to immediately fear.

"Easy now, don't blow a gasket faker," Carlos said, tone only semi-sarcastic, he got a glare from Camilo, he smirked in response.

"Carlos, this is Camilo, Camilo, this is Carlos," Pepa said, getting introductions done with swiftly, she took a shaming breath, "he is your twin brother."

"Twin? You're lying, if he's my twin then wheres he been all my life?" Camilo demanded, his confusion inly rising and it showed very clearly, Carlos experiencing something familiar but doing a much better job of hiding it.

"Living in the walls," Carlos said matter-of-factly, Pepa nodded when her first son turned with a questioning glance.

"How could you do that?! I went alone for ten whole years as the only guy in family Madrigal because you put Carlos in the walls?" Camilo asked, his rage only simmering after the initial spill over, Pepa struggled for words.

"In the last fifteen years a lot has changed, when you were born this village had a superstitious belief that if you had twins the second one was an unholy spirit, not wanting to truly get rid of Carlos, Pepa simply trusted that he would last, she spent her time in the walls with him until he was four, always sliding food through the cracks for him but never mentioning him," Julieta explained, Pepa nodded along confirming every word said, "it was pure chance that Camilo was born mere minutes sooner than Carlos."

"What you're saying is that I could've been in the walls, that I got lucky and Carlos took the hit for me without even knowing he had a brother?" Camilo asked, two nods from his mamà and his tìa, before he could continue Carlos spoke up.

"So, does this mean I'm not some eldritch horror terror spawned in from all the families residual magic and arguments alike?" Carlos asked, he got a no from Pepa.

"More importantly, is he going to get to live with us now that the superstitions are gone? Now that I know he exists?" Camilo asked as Carlos got up too his feet, a mere inch taller than Camilo.

"We'll have to talk it over with the rest of the adults, Camilo," Julieta said before leading Pepa away, leaving just Camilo and Carlos to their own devices.

They simply stood and stared at each for a few solid minutes of silence, unable to speak, both admittedly uncomfortable being alone, knowing the roles could've been swapped. Camilo was visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting a little bit and the such while Carlos held it purely inside, refusing to give any show of emotional existence. But that didn't stop Camilo from speaking up first despite how tense it was the rubble of Casitas once stable walls.

"So, did you ever get your gift?" Camilo asked, Carlos raised a brow.

"No, I couldn't've, I was living in the walls, everyone knows you only get a gift with a door, idiot," Carlos said, dropping back down on the ground, gripping the hem of his ruana, Camilo sat opposite to him, orange and red parallels.

"Right, what did you even eat in there, Carlos?" Camilo asked, giving a crooked smile, trying so desperately to keep a loose string of conversation in the air so it wouldn't fall back into that awkward silence again.

"Arepa crumbs, and whatever my housemate surrendered, Pepa stopped sneaking me food after I turned five, which is around when Bruno came to live in the walls with me," Carlos explained as though it was common knowledge that Bruno was living in the walls despite the fact Bruno not being dead was still unknown, Camilos eyes widened.

"Bruno lives in the walls?!" Camilo practically exclaimed, getting shot with a glare that had him covering his mouth for being loud.

"Lived in the walls, yes, but given Casitas state, I don't think he'll be living in the walls anymore, idiot," Carlos stated, his unrelenting glare easing just a little bit, this was the first person he's met outside of Casitas literal walls, he needs to stay chill if he wants to be accepted, does he want to be accepted if everyone is like this? He's not sure.

"On another note, I have a name Carlos," Camilo said, Carlos gave a false face of shock.

"Really? I had no clue, what is it, mouse," Carlos said in a weak attempt to insult Camilo, unaware that 'mouse' doesn't have negative connotations he grew up thinking it did due to rat influence.

"It's Camilo, goat," Camilo muttered, already feeling a little bit discouraged, over half of his life he's wanted a brother and now that he has one, other than Antonio, he's really wishing he didn't; he hoped his insult came across clear, instead he was greeted with a pause.

"Whats a goat?" Carlos asked quietly, living in a wall and refusing to interact with your one housemate stifled his knowledge, and his speech ability as well, it sounded a bit disjointed, Camilo had to refrain from laughing at the response.

"You don't know what a goat is?" Camilo asked, fragments of snickers slipped into his voice here and there, he saw the red rise on his twins face.

"Shut up! I've been living in the walls for my entire life!" Carlos exclaimed, leaping from his spot to try and tackle Camilo who effortlessly rolled out of the way, a growl erupted from Carlos chest.

"Use my name and I'll tell you," Camilo said, leaning over Carlos face with a smirk, he got pushed away.

"Fine, Camilo, whats a goat?" Carlos said, spitting Camilos name with venom, Camilo grinned, progress, maybe a friendship or a brotherhood of any form could be forged with this previously unknown Madrigal.

"A goat is like a donkey, except it eats garbage and screams at you sometimes, they're fun," Camilo said, Carlos gave a look of agitation at the previous comparison, "and a mouse is like a rat but a lot cuter and cuddlier, its a compliment."

"And that's what living in a wall does to you, fuck," Carlos said, another thing years of living a wall does to you, prevents you from building a filter because you've only ever heard muffled conversations through walls full of cracks.

"Preach, never lived in a wall, but trust me, living with six girls will change you on a metaphysical level," Camilo said, Carlos raised a brow, Camilo gestured vaguely to the eye shadow, if he could he would gesture to how he speaks and acts in general.

"Glad I didn't have to endure that," Carlos said with a chortle, his grin undeniable.

"Glad I didn't have to live off arepa crumbs, man, you're going to love living in the Casita, my, our Tía Julieta makes the best food," Camilo said, pausing to correct himself halfway through, remembering that this was his twin, his missing half in a sense, the balance he never had in a house of six girls.

"I'll take your word for it, do you think Bruno died in the collapse?" Carlos asked as he sat up a bit, propping himself on his elbows, Camilo shrugged.

"If he could live in the walls for ten years, he'll be fine, probably," Camilo said, he laid down on the ground, hands behind his head, eyes closed, "I don't mind just talking for a little bit."

"That would be... Fine, hope you're up to teaching me about life outside the walls though," Carlos said, Camilo grinned, propping himself up on his shoulders.

"Okay, we have a lot to talk about bro," Camilo started with, letting himself ramble to his twin, Carlos nodded along intently, absorbing the information with ease.

Maybe he could do fine if everyone outside the walls was like Camilo.

[meismalis]

Virginity & Marriage in Medieval Times — The “Virginity Test” and How Women “Cheated” Such Tests.

Berthold Furtmeyr, The Tree of Death and Life, Munich, Germany, 1489

Throughout the ages, a woman’s virginity was a highly prized attribute and a symbol of purity. Women were expected to be free from the stain of the sin of sex before marriage. It was impossible for a woman to lose her virginity before marriage and be considered “holy” but unsurprisingly, this standard did not exist for men. Medieval Christianity told women that, as the daughters of Eve, they are responsible for the fall of mankind due to their innate sin and this heavily influenced ideas of women’s sexuality–including the importance of virginity before the holy sacrament of marriage.

As we know, you were expected to be a virgin when getting married for the first time, and to prove that the woman was indeed a virgin, they inspected the bedsheets for blood after the consummating of the marriage. (I would of been shamed/exiled/killed/whatever punishment they laid upon me back then as I did not bleed my first time 😂)

Miniature from Le livre appelle Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, 1460s

What we know about the female body and modern medicine now, is that you don’t always bleed during your first time—that the hymen doesn’t always stretch/tear from your first time having sex. It can happen earlier on in life from various things, you could be born without a hymen or you could have a hymen that just doesn’t bleed, as the hymen doesn’t necessarily “tear”, it usually stretches because the hymen is a thin wall of membrane that extends across the vaginal opening but it usually has an opening (a “hole”) already in it that then stretches during sex (if it didn’t already earlier on in life) UNLESS you have an imperforate hymen which will tear and then stretch as it doesn’t have a hole in it at all.

It’s actually more common for women NOT to bleed than it is to bleed during their first time, or to bleed so little that it’s not very noticeable. The fact that a lot of women’s reputations and very lives depended on if they bled or not which was wholly out of their control, is just INSANE to me, but it’s very interesting how women dealt with this and prepared for if they didn’t bleed.

Book of Hours (Cistercian), ca. 1440, Walters Manuscript W.218, fol. 28v

Women often deployed methods to make themselves bleed or fake the fact that they bled, on their wedding nights. In the Trotula (an assembly of texts on women’s medicine written in the 12th century that was widely circulated and depended upon by women up until the 16th century), such methods are listed. A “How to Cheat a Virginity Test” guide, if you will. Some suggestions being:

* Arranging the Wedding when the Bride is on her period.

* Substituting the bride with another woman when it came to consummate the marriage. (Lol—the fact that this would work a lot of times… men 🙄 😂)

*Have a vial of Goat’s blood hidden under the pillow or somewhere and dash it on the sheets when the groom is not looking.

*A mixture of Herbs to bring on a period.

* Lastly, one of the more interesting and unusual methods was to put a leech on the labia (yes, you read that correctly) a few days before hand so that it creates a wound that will then turn into a scab and then during the rigorous motion of having sexual relations, the scab falls off and bleeds. 😳

Early 14th century (France), a copy of the intermediate Trotula ensemble, p. 65 (detail): pen and wash drawing meant to depict "Trotula"

Many Women were aware that “popping your cherry” during your first time didn’t always happen, or they weren’t virgins as their religion and society so unrelentingly demanded, and the fact that the method of confirming virginity with the sight of blood upon the sheets was relied upon (the “virginity test”) for years and years just goes to show how little women’s knowledge and experience were valued back then—even when it came to their own bodies! So, women did what they always have done: take matters into their own hands.

[angelsdean]

sam has a little vial with an eye dropper and every morning he takes a little dripdrop of demon blood like a daily vitamin and it’s fine because it’s a measured dose and he gets to have his badass psychic powers and nobody cares because 90% of their friends and family are supernatural anyways and having a little demon blood ain’t a bad thing and dean is literally over there glowing a little bit ‘coz he’s so full of cas’s grace. make of that what you will.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Suptober 27 Oct.: Liar

"Sam, he's not waking up." Dean looked over and saw the terror dawning in Sam's face too.

deancas, established relationship au

"You want him, you can have him," Dean sneered. "Do it, fucking cowards. I'm certainly not going to stand in your way."

The demons glanced at each other uneasily. Good, Dean thought, you should be scared.

"That goddamn angel has betrayed me I don't know how many times now." Dean choked out a harsh laugh. "He's not worth much to me dead but even less to me alive." He felt the blade of the demon knife tucked in his waistband bite into the small of his back and let it bolster him. "You wanna kill him right now? He's injured – you know it as well as I do. This whole forest stinks of his blood. Let's go find him together."

His smile, he knew, was cold as a corpse and too wide, showing off his canine teeth too well – he was one of them, a predator to his marrow.

The taller demon stepped nearer. A twig snapped beneath his foot, like a bone cracking. It was better than a whistle: Sam wound out from behind the giant oak, striking fast as a snake. The holy water sizzled in the first demon's eyes, then the second's; Dean sunk in the blade and ripped it clean away twice in fast succession, and the bodies twitched and sparkled like unleashed roman candles as they fell heavily to the earth.

"Gross," Sam said, wiping a spray of blood off his cheek.

Dean took a second to be grateful at how little interest Sam seemed to take in the blood otherwise. 

He patted down the wider demon's vest and came up empty, shaking his head in frustration. 

"Here," Sam said, reaching quickly into the other demon's pockets. "Yes, got it."

The vial of whatever the fuck antidote it was flew at Dean. He caught it and pushed off the ground, trusting Sam would catch up in no time, as he clambered down the tree rooted trail to the thatch of fallen maples. Cas was pale as the grave as Dean slid on his knees down beneath the maple with the most clearance, where Cas laid curled on his side, unconscious and unmoving in a pool of crimson, not all of which were leaves. 

Dean put a palm to the side of Cas's throat. "Cas, buddy, you gotta wake up now."

Sam crawled under the tree and knelt up by Cas's head. "Let's sit him up."

They maneuvered him mostly into a sitting position, and Sam braced Cas's jaw as Dean uncorked the vial and tipped in the potion. 

"C'mon, c'mon," Dean muttered, his whole body about to shake apart suddenly, as it dawned on him this might not work. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty. "Sam, he's not waking up." Dean looked over and saw the terror dawning in Sam's face too.

The giant wheezing breath Cas sucked in at that exact moment saved Dean's life.

Dean bent over and felt his heart kick in his chest like he'd been hit with lightning. "Hey, hey, hi." He patted Cas's chest and stared into his face until his eyes opened. "How ya doin', man?"

Cas squinted back. "I've been better."

"We believe it," Sam said as he pushed Cas a little further upright.

Cas coughed a few times and gingerly touched the low spot on his abdomen where the gouge had been, where his white shirt remained wet and stained. "Please tell Eileen thank you," he said, turning to speak directly to Sam. "I owe her for this one."

"Nah, she was happy to help." Sam looked at Dean and cleared his throat. "I'm, um. Gonna go call her, though, and let her know everything's fine." He stood up and ducked out onto the trail again.

Dean was about to speak when Cas said, slowly, "I heard you, when you were talking to the demons."

"Oh yeah?" Dean swallowed against the bile that had immediately risen at the back of his throat.

Cas nodded, his eyes on Dean as warm as sunlight. "You were a very convincing liar."

Dean grabbed his face between his hands and kissed his mouth softly. Less softly the second time. In his peripheral vision he saw Sam approach and wheel away again, and it didn't stop Dean from kissing Cas until Cas made a small pleased sound.

"Please stop getting stabbed trying to save me."

"All right," Cas said. "I promise."

Dean let him fib. He'd figure out a way to hold him to it later.

[estrel]

Saving Grace (And Staying Put)

destiel december 2020 prompt: presents | wc: ~1.3k

russian translation available thanks to @hereigoagain !!

[READ ON AO3] [RUSSIAN]

"What'd you think?"

Dean's staring at Cas, a glass full of eggnog resting against his lips. Behind the rim of it he’s hiding a smile at Cas' thoughtful squint, as Cas watches the end credits roll on the television.

"I think...I still don't understand. Are you meant to be my George Bailey?"

Dean splutters into his drink at that, sitting up to wipe eggnog from his mouth and set the cup on the coffee table. He shoots Cas a look, but Cas is still frowning, head tilted in question and maybe a little bit of concern at Dean's reaction.

After watching a myriad of Christmas movies that included Gremlins (a classic), Home Alone (another classic) and Krampus (Jack was not a fan), Sam and Jack had disappeared off to bed and Dean had stuck It's A Wonderful Life into the DVD player. His hope had been that Cas would get his Clarence references after watching it, but instead Cas was comparing Dean to the suicidal businessman that the angel saves in the movie.

What had made Dean choke was that he wasn't exactly wrong.

"I—I guess I am, man, yeah. I mean, I'd like to think I'm a little less pathetic, and I'm probably not as nice as he is, but it's...you're not too far off."

Their eyes meet, and Dean reaches between them for the remote.

"But I'm," Cas says, in a tone that makes Dean pause. "I'm not an angel anymore."

Dean sits back on the couch again, shifting once to get comfortable. "So?"

"So..."

He waits for Cas to continue, rubbing a thumb over the buttons on the remote as the silence stretches. The credits on the TV come to a stop. 

"So, I'm not...’Clarence’ anymore."

"And...what? Is that supposed to faze me, or something?" Dean looks at him again, and Cas' face expresses his apparent uncertainty. 

Dean smooths out his frown, opting instead to get across some of his own sincerity by dropping the deflections for a second.

"Cursed or not, Cas," he says gently, "Angel or not. Doesn't matter, we're...I—I'm better with you. So none of that leeriness, okay? Because you're more than just a set of fluffy wings and a halo."

He thinks Cas might take a crack at him again, indulge him that angels don’t have halos or harps or whatever Dean had said, but he doesn’t. He watches Dean for a long moment, all the while Dean pointedly tries not to notice, flipping channels for something else to watch. The Grinch might be good. 

“I have something for you.”

Cas reaches into a pocket, keeping his hand there while he thinks of how to proceed.

“I know it’s Christmas Eve, and that’s not typically when gifts are given... I also know that there’s probably a whole ritual that has rules and I’m sure you’re very picky about them, but I still...I don’t know if this will count as a present. But I still want to give it to you, if you’ll accept it,” Cas says. 

Dean feels his heart racing, thrumming against his chest so fast it makes him lightheaded. He simply nods, not trusting himself to speak, and watches as Cas pulls out the chain of a necklace until it reveals a small glowing vial that hangs off of it. 

On instinct, Dean reaches out to touch it, hovering his fingers just over the glass. He lifts his gaze to look at Cas. 

“Cas...what is this?”

The essence inside the vial swirls, a bright blue almost the shade of Cas’ eyes. Dean’s entranced, watching as it rhythmically shifts and moves against the glass. 

“It’s me,” Cas replies. “Well, more accurately...it’s my Grace.” 

Dean freezes. 

“Come again?”

Cas sighs softly. “My Grace.”

“You—you saved it?” Dean means to ask ‘How?’ next, but his mouth says, “And you’re giving it to me?”

Cas nods. 

“Why?”

Cas lets his arm relax, lowering it so that the necklace rests between them on the seat cushion of the couch. “You...gave me my humanity, Dean. You showed me how to care about...about everyone. I know I can never repay you for that, but I thought...I thought the least I could do was give a part of myself in return. I—” he hesitates, biting his bottom lip in thought.

“What?”

“No, nothing. I just...hope that you’ll accept it.”

Cas lifts it again in offering, and Dean moves his hand to fit the vial against his palm. It's warm to the touch. Dean wraps his fingers around it, and Cas lets go of the chain. It falls limply against Dean's knuckles.

"Thank you, Cas," He says, bringing it close to his heart. Cas smiles.

"Actually, I uh...I have something for you, too," Dean adds. With his free hand, he digs into his jean pocket and pulls it out, suddenly feeling that it’s a little dumb in comparison to the gift Cas just gave him.

"It's, ah, not exactly angel Grace, but," he holds out the flat of his palm, showing Cas.

Cas takes it from Dean's hand, holding it as if it’s as precious as the necklace Dean is clutching onto for dear life. He levels Dean with a serious stare.

"Are these...?"

"Keys," Dean says, "One's for Baby, and the other's for the Bunker."

Cas is quiet, so Dean keeps going. "I figured, y'know, without your Grace, you'll be needing to get places and, well, keys...open doors." He mentally curses himself. Keys open doors? He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head a little to reset himself. 

"What I mean to say is, now it'll be easier to get home. You can come and go when you'd like, and you don't have to wait for one of us to let you in."

Cas' eyebrows twitch at that. "Home," he repeats, but it’s said like a question.

Dean nods, smiling softly. “Yeah, Cas. Home.” He looks away, startled a little by Cas’ sincere eyes that search his face. “If—If you’ll accept it.”

“Yes,” Cas says quickly. “I accept.”

“Good,” Dean responds. He tries to ignore how the racing of his heart makes his hands shake. He looks down at the necklace. It swings a little, gently touching his chest.

“Um,” Dean holds it out to Cas. He waits a moment too long, though, because he can see Cas’ smile beginning to falter. “Do you think you could help me with this?”

Stunned, Cas takes the necklace and Dean bows his head, feeling his ears go red. It’s a sign of trust, Dean knows, to let your guard down like this in their line of work. It’s like baring your neck to a vampire, or falling asleep next to a djinn.

Cas moves closer on the couch, and their knees touch just barely. Dean watches Cas’ Grace dip underneath his chin as Cas pulls the chain around his neck. He can feel Cas’ arms raised on either side of him as he fastens it, can smell Cas’ scent from how close they are. 

Then Cas is done, fingertips brushing the back of Dean’s neck as he rests the cold chain there. His touch lingers, and Dean’s breath catches, and then Dean is lifting his head up. 

They’re closer than he thought. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. Cas gives a small nod, eyes a little wide. His hands are still at the back of Dean’s neck, fingers brushing gently at the hair on Dean’s nape. Dean shivers, unable to contain it. He brings a hand up to Cas’ tie, holding it a moment, before deciding it could use some adjustment. 

Then both hands are fixing the knot, and when Dean is done, he uses the tie as leverage to pull Cas closer. There’s a pause, when both of their noses bump against each other, where Dean gives Cas an out. 

He doesn’t take it.

Dean presses forward, fitting their lips together. It’s the satisfaction of two missing puzzle pieces finally sliding into place, after years of being lost and collecting dirt under a couch. It’s clean, and it’s warm, and it feels like Purgatory all over again—like purity.

When they pull away, Dean’s a little out of breath. He places a hand on Cas’ face, running a thumb over his cheek.

“Stay,” Dean says. “Don’t leave my side again. I want—I want you to stay.”

Cas’ eyes glisten. “I will,” he says. “I will.”

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