#castiel reader insert

[gilverrwrites]

“If you will have me, I am yours.” 

Pairing: Human!Castiel/Fem!Reader (Season 9)

Reader has AFAB body parts & feminine pronouns' are used.

Plot: The reader is a retired hunter, who develops feeling for Cas after he moves in with her. After living in domestic bliss for a while, its only a matter of time before feelings are confessed, and sex is had.

Please remember: to keep going, and keep growing.

Content: Rough/Kissing, blowjob, rough blowjob/face-fucking, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, dirty talk (Cas doesnt really have a filter) rough sex, swearing, accidental cuddling, intentional cuddling.

Rating: M/18+

Words: 3,377

Notice: The follow up: Takeout Tuesday is now available here.

Excerpt: You vaguely recall falling asleep around 40 minutes into a Capra film, but when and how you’d nestled yourself against your flatmate was a mystery. Despite your instinct to jerk away, you remain still when you feel his fingers brushing against your bare shoulder. Between the warmth of his skin on yours, and the soothing beat of his heart, you are soon lulled close to sleep once again. Until the sound of Cas’ low voice in your ear rouses you. “Are you awake?”  When you nod, he continues, “Is this okay?” You nod again, and quietly add, “This is wonderful.”

Having Castiel around was pleasant, if a little surreal. You’d always considered him a friend, but it wasn’t the same. Previously you’d only really been around each other on the hunt. Or if Cas was involved, more like stopping an apocalypse. Your relationship had been entirely based on proximity, and necessity. There was never really time to bond beyond that. Until now. 

You’d decided to attempt retirement a while ago. You’d found a job and started subletting a decent apartment from a friend of a friend, on the preface that they could still crash on the couch when travelling across country. The hunting trade was a small world after all. 

In fact, your new landlord was exactly who you’d expected to see when someone came knocking on your door in the middle of the night. Not a tired, bloodied, and bruised Angel. Confused, you’d let him in, patched his wounds, cleaned him up, and let him sleep it off in your bed. After almost 48 hours of continuous sleep, he’d explained everything to you, thanked you for your hospitality, and told you he’d be out of your hair soon. You’d assertively informed him that the only place he would be going is from your bed, to your couch. 

From there you easily fell into a routine together, effortlessly bonded over shared experiences, old and new. It was nice, seeing his toothbrush next to yours, bringing home his favourite takeout every Tuesday. When he worked the early shift, he’d always make you a coffee before he left, on the late shifts he’d bring home a bottle of your favourite. He did the dishes, and you did the laundry. You were a secure little domestic team.

The surrealness came when you realised just how much you enjoyed it. You welled up with pride whenever he complimented something you’d cooked him from scratch. Starting your morning in his presence calmed any nerves, and on stressful days, coming home to dinner and a film with Cas was your respite. 

You were confused by the bitterness you felt when he called you one night to say he would be home late, citing a date with his boss, Nora. You were truly sad, but relieved when he informed you he had misread the invitation. That he was actually there to babysit. That’s when it hit you. Somewhere along the way, in between all the household chores, and the late-night Hulu binging, you’d fallen for him. 

You’d always thought he was hot, ever since he’d introduced himself as ‘Castiel, an Angel of the Lord’ all those years ago. However, you no longer needed to accidentally catch him leaving the shower, or bending under a table to feel flushed. Ever since the figurative penny dropped, all it took was a smile, or the brush of your chests in a tight hall to make you blush. 

Thoughts of Castiel and your myriad of complex feelings now plagued you, particularly as you lay in bed at night, knowing he was only feet away from you, just on the other side of your paper-thin walls. Paper-thin walls that did nothing to protect you from the sudden and deafeningly loud sound of the TV at 2AM. 

Not bothering to throw on bottoms, you stumble to your bedroom door in just a camisole and panties. The sight of Cas sitting on the couch, clad in nothing but boxers, desperately fiddling with the remote in an attempt to turn down the volume greeted you upon entry to the living room. 

Upon noticing you, Cas drops the remote and hastily reaches for his discarded comforter to cover himself with. In turn you rotated your entire body, averting your gaze in favour of the wall, primarily to respect his privacy, secondarily to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry!” You blurt.

“It’s okay.” He responds quietly. “I’m sorry for the noise. I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“It’s okay.” You repeat back to him. “I was awake, I couldn’t sleep either. You just made me jump.” 

“You can look now.” He informs you. Hoping the dim light from the TV doesn’t reveal too much of the colour in your face, you spin back. He was now covered from the waist down, but you couldn’t help noticing his bare chest, particularly the definition between his pecs, and the sharpness of his collarbones.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it.” You say, trying to re-direct your eyes to any other part of the room. 

“Unless…” He gestures to the television. “Would you care to join me?” 

“Sure.” You answer hesitantly. You weren’t sleeping anyway, what was the worst that could happen?

Castiel smiles amiably at you before returning his attention to the remote. You linger in your spot as he begins flicking through the different apps. When he makes no effort to locate and put on trousers you slowly settle down next to him, careful to leave enough distance to prevent any accidental skin-on-skin contact. 

“So, what are we watching?” 

 ————-

You vaguely recall falling asleep around 40 minutes into a Capra film, but when and how you’d nestled yourself against your flatmate was a mystery. Despite your instinct to jerk away, you remain still when you feel his fingers brushing against your bare shoulder. Between the warmth of his skin on yours, and the soothing beat of his heart, you are soon lulled close to sleep once again. Until the sound of Cas’ low voice in your ear rouses you. “Are you awake?” 

When you nod, he continues, “Is this okay?”

You nod again, and quietly add, “This is wonderful.”

You can’t see his expression from your current position, but he exhales, and you think he sounds relieved. 

It could be the scarcity of sleep, a ‘mind after midnight’ mirage, but this is when it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, he could be interested in you too. Why else would be lying beneath you, half-naked and seemingly completely at ease? Doubtful that you’d ever have this courage again you tilt your head up to look at him and ask; “Do you ever think about us?”

“I do.” He responds, he looks perplexed, which admittedly was his default expression.

“Do you ever think about us, as more than this?” When he doesn’t immediately answer, you resume. “You know, like romantically? Or even intimately?” 

“I frequently think of you amorously.” He speaks tentatively, each word spoken very deliberately. “When Metatron took my grace from me, I never imagined that this was how my life would go. Of course, I never thought that my grace would be taken, or that I would live among humans as one of them in the first place.”

He seems to take a moment to compile his thoughts, sucking his bottom lip in concentration. You remain silent. Hoping he can’t feel the rapid thrum of your heart.

“I thought at first that I was broken. The fall, losing my wings was bad enough, but now, without my angelic abilities, I can’t do anything. Well, nothing of merit, at least where the needs of humankind are concerned.”

“That’s not true.” You interject, you move to sit up, to be at eye level with him, but due to your already precarious position, the only way to do so is by shifting a leg over his lap, thus straddling him.

“I know that now.” He says as he grips your wrists and brings them to his shoulders, offering you extra support. “Without meaning to overstep, or make you uncomfortable, but living with- existing beside you has been a far more fulfilling experience than most of the things I have accomplished in the many billions of years I have existed.

I have very little practice in the ways of human sexuality, and even less so with courtship. However, I would be honoured, and extremely happy if you would allow me to explore such things, with you.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“If you will have me, I am yours.” 

There's a tense moment of silence between you both in which neither of you dare to break eye contact before you surge to him. You instigate the kiss, but Cas is fast to take control, his arms pull your body to him, driving your lips to press hard against his. When he rocks his hips up, kneading his semi-hard cock against your clothed core, you gasp. Cas immediately slips his tongue between your lips. You can’t hold back the groan that escapes you. His mouth tastes like coffee and artificial grape. You savour the feel and aroma of his lips before pulling back momentarily. 

“Only if I can be yours too.” You finally respond before he’s on you again. You freely open up for him, allowing him to explore your mouth once more. His tongue eagerly swirls against yours, exploring every crevice. His hands drop to clutch your waist, holding you in place as he ruts against you from below. 

It was you who broke the kiss again, locking your eyes with him as you climb off his lap. 

“Let me take care of you.” You chime as you drop to your knees on the floor below him. Cas quickly follows, sitting up straight, and planting his legs on either side of you. The comforter banished to the other end of the sofa.  

“You… You look so beautiful like that. On your knees.” He smiles down at you and reaches out to cup your face, strong fingers gently brush along your jaw before his thumb extends up to your lips. You press a kiss to its pad before parting your lips and taking him in. His skin tastes clean, with a hint of salt, and something florally. 

“Let me suck your cock.” You state, voice muffled by the pressure on your tongue.

His cheeks are tinted pink. You’re unsure if it's from arousal or nerves but he stands to pull off his boxers and settles back down. You can’t help but lick your lips when his cock is revealed, it's long and already hard. 

You don’t waste any time, immediately situating your tongue on the underside of his shaft and running it from tip to hilt. You stop momentarily to plant a kiss on his balls, before running back up his length. When you look back up Cas is watching you intensely, brow furrowed, lids heavy, lips between his teeth. You smile before wrapping your mouth around his cock. Pausing only slightly when you feel Cas cup the back of your head. 

You inch yourself down his length slowly, getting a feel for him, his thickness, and how much you can take at once. When you feel his tip hit the back of your throat, you pull back, before bobbing back down. The sound of Castiel’s’ hitched breathing drives you until you’re relaxed enough to take him completely. His thickness stretches your throat, making your eyes water, his pubic hair tickles your nose, and the look of bliss on his face makes your pussy drip. 

After a few seconds, you come back up for air, but the relief in your lungs only lasts a second before you feel Cas’ fists tighten against your scalp. 

“You look even better with my cock in your mouth.” He grunts as he pushes you back down. “You feel so good.”

Unable to respond, you hum your affirmation, drool escaping the corners of your mouth. Cas moans his approval, eyes and head lolling back for a moment before he plants his other hand firmly on the back of your head, holding you in place as he shifts to the edge of the couch and begins bucking his hips into your mouth. 

You plant your hands around his calves to steady yourself, and keep them out of the way as he continues to use your mouth. His thrusts grow heavier, his moans raspier, as you fight your need for air. Your cunt growing hotter, wetter every second, while your throat closes, and your head grows dizzy from the lack of air.

When he finally lets you go, your lungs are burning. You lean back, unable to control the wild rise and fall of your chest as you pant for air. Your lips feel sore, swollen, but your pussy aches. 

“I’m sorry.” Cas reaches over to cradle your face, tentatively brushing the tears from your eyes. “Was that too much?” 

“No! No not at all.” You whisper between breaths. You reach out for his hand, and he takes it. His head tilts to one side as he looks down at you sceptically. You smile back as you guide him between your legs. You brush his fingers against your panties, encouraging him to feel the wetness soaking through the fabric.

“I did that? I made you this wet?” He asks. When you nod his mouth cracks into a smile.

Within seconds he drops to his knees before you, pulling you in for another hot, open-mouthed kiss. Your tongues meet in another fierce, uncontrolled kiss. You cry out into his mouth when you feel his fingers press firmly against your clit, rubbing you through the thin fabric of your underwear.

Without warning Cas clutches onto your panties and pulls until the elastic snaps. He releases the offending article and quickly returns to your wetness. He strokes your clit repeatedly, swallowing your moans, holding you to his chest to prevent you from involuntarily withering away.

You break your lips away from his just long enough to plead; “Fuck me Cas, please fuck me with your fingers.”

He doesn’t hesitate to do as asked, immediately delving two fingers into your pussy. Once situated inside, he massages them against your walls, feeling you out and making you sputter. You grip his shoulders for support, digging your nails into his skin as he starts to thrust in and out of you.

“Like this?” He questions, you’re not sure if he’s being coy, if he’s teasing. Or if he truly is curious. Either way, you’re too gone to really answer. You open your mouth but all that comes out are a series of strangled whimpers. The feel of his thumb returning to your clit, gently brushing just the right spot, pushes you to breaking point. 

“I’m- I – ahhh.” You cry, trying to warn him. When you jerk your head back there is resistance. Cas releases his hold on your back, to grips your head forward. You peek up at him through half-lidded eyes, Cas stares, his blue eyes bare down on you, unblinking. If you weren’t already cumming, that would have been enough. 

You lean into Castiel’s body as you come back down, limp, and incoherent. A low hum escapes you as Cas languidly removes his fingers from inside you and brings them to his lips. You watch lazily as he gives them a tentative sniff before placing them in his mouth. His face seems to melt, and he closes his eyes, visibly savouring the taste. 

When he’s done, he grins at you and ponders aloud; “I’m not sure which is better.”

Still unable to string two words together you watch him, waiting for him to continue.

“The way you look when you reach orgasm, or the way you taste.” 

Instantly your cheeks begin to burn, and heat pools between your legs again. Without a second thought you reach down, grabbing your cami by the hem and lifting it over your head, your entire body now exposed to Castiel. 

He’s on you again in an instant. His mouth latches to one of your nipples, rapidly but lightly his tongue darts over the sensitive nip. Both hands come up to cup each breast. His fingers pinch and roll at your other exposed nipple. When you feel his teeth grazing the sensitive skin you flinch, fisting your hands into his hair. 

“Cas, please!” You gasp.

“Please what?” He responds, speech distorted by his refusal to remove his mouth from your body. 

“Please take me to bed.” You whine, needlessly pulling at his hair to garner his attention. “Please Castiel, take me to bed-”

You’re interrupted by the jolt of your body being lifted. Cas continues his oral assault, kissing, sucking, nipping at your neck as he carries you back to your bed. He sits himself on the edge of your bed and positions you to straddle him once again. You pull his attention back from your neck, sinking your lips onto his as you guide him down, until he’s lying face up.

You lean back and he sucks in a breath as you wrap your hand around the base of his cock. You line him up at your entrance and he begins gradually rocking into you. You steadily sink down, the feel of his cock stretching you out making you shudder. Cas’s head rolls back, he bites his lip and grips your hips, barely fighting not to slam you down onto him.

When his cock is fully inside, you pull back up until only the tip remains inside before you drop back onto him.

With a loud moan, Cas engulfs your body with his own and flips you over. He holds you beneath him with the weight of his own body as he gives a few shallow, testing thrusts. Satisfied he begins building pace and force, until the sound of skin slapping against skin can be heard between ragged breaths and moans. You raise your lower body, trying to match his rhythm but his hands lock onto your hips and push them down, pinning you to the bed.

His lips are tight between his teeth, his brow furrowed, and his skin glows with a sheen of sweat. You can’t help but paw at his shoulders, bringing him down so you can plant kisses on his face and neck.

“Cas, fuck. Castiel that feels so good.” You praise.

In response, he catches your lips in a desperate kiss, all tongues and teeth and jumbled sounds that may once have been words. Your toes begin to curl, as your climax grows near. You lock your fingers in Castiel's hair, pulling his face away as you arch your back. Your eyes close tight as you chant his name.

“I love it when you moan my name.” He murmurs in your ear. He releases your hips, and grips your face, forcing it back up. Your eyes peek open as growls his next words. “Look at me, and don’t stop saying my name.”

At that, the tension in your cunt snaps. Your body jerks and your walls clench around him as you hit your climax. Castiel rides you through it, his strides slowing, but he continues fucking into you at a steady pace until he’s seemingly overcome by his own orgasm. His movements becoming laboured and erratic, he pants your name through gritted teeth as he spills his cum inside you.

You remain wrapped up in your position as you come down from your highs, the warmth of his breath tickles your neck, and your chests collide as you fight to catch your breath. Your mind races, trying to find the right thing to say next, not wanting to spoil your post-orgasm bliss. Eventually, you nudge his shoulder, and he moved away, allowing you to sit up. His cum seeps out of you as you do. Before you can make a move to clean it up Cas attains the tissues from your dresser and begins delicately wiping you down.

“Thank you.” You smile at him as he finishes and begins to clean himself up.

“I… ah.” He smiles back at you, still flushed from your activities. “I feel I should be the one thanking you.”

You laugh at the absurdity of his statement, especially after the performance he’d just given. Cas soon reciprocates your laughter. You stretch your arms out, inviting him back in for an embrace and he eagerly obliges, wrapping his arms around you and falling back against your mattress.

“Will you sleep in here, with me tonight?” Your eyes catch the clock on your bedside, and you note that it is almost sunrise. “Or, for the rest of the morning?”

He kisses your forehead and pulls you in close. “I would enjoy that very much.”

[supernaturalfreewill]

"Cas! Ideas! Now!" you said urgently.

He looked about as frantic as you felt. "Well, the reasonable thing to do would be—"

"Stop. Look at me. Have I ever, in my entire life, been reasonable?" you countered.

Despite the circumstances, Cas smiled and looked at you fondly. It touched his eyes and seemed to send them sparkling an even brighter blue. Your cheeks warmed at the sight. "Alright. The unwise, slightly insane thing to do would be..."

"Thank you."

Prompt: "Well, the reasonable thing to do would be—" / "Stop. Look at me. Have I ever, in my entire life, been reasonable?"

[arjwrites]

— Guess who's back with another request.....‼️‼️‼️

A fluff Castiel x Winchester!Reader where she helps Cas with his wings after a hunt please 😘😻 (I imagine them being dark, HUGE and MEGA soft and she goes like "Woah" (completely distracted for a moment))

Saving Grace- Castiel x GN!Reader

Summary: Cas is hurt after a hunt, and when he's hurting, you're hurting. Sometimes even an angel needs a helping hand. PART TWO HERE! Warnings: None! A/N: WELCOME BACK ANON! Sorry this took me a couple of days- for some reason I was really struggling to get Cas's character right here. I really wanted to do him justice for my loyal requester!!! A bit of context for this one- Cas is able to reveal a physical form of his wings if he chooses. All of the logistics of angel wings are pretty much made up. Good thing I view canon as more of a… rough suggestion! It’s right there in my bio, people. Have a little bit of suspension of belief for a few of the details!!!! Also- this doesn't quite make it to outright romantic territory- it felt to me like a buildup to something bigger in the future! Maybe I'll write a part 2 at some point, who knows... It had been a few hours since you had finished up the day’s hunt. Upon your return to the motel, Sam had instantly run out the door to the local library in search of a better wifi connection to research for the next case, while Dean had followed him into town to grab some supplies. This left you and Castiel, perched in your usual positions on opposite sides of the bed in your separate room. It was common for you and the angel to spend some quiet time together after a hunt- you both often found an unspoken comfort in each other’s simple presence. While you were leaned back, propped up with pillows and dialed into whatever was on TV, Cas held his usual stiff posture, but something seemed off about him. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, and every so often, he would shift in his seat and his whole body would tighten and cringe. You knew he had taken a few pretty serious blows during this hunt, but the fact that he let himself continue to hurt, rather than quickly healing himself, was concerning to you. Usually, this time spent together was silent, enjoying a moment of peace while you each lost yourself in your own thoughts. But after a few episodes and many stolen, worried glances, you felt you had to speak up.

“Cas, what’s wrong? It’s obvious you’re still hurting. Why haven’t you healed yourself?” 

“I’m fine. I just need to figure a few things out.” He continued to avoid your gaze, rising from the bed and pacing across the room to distance himself from you. 

“If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.” Your level of concern forced you to cut right to the chase. 

Cas pondered this for a second. Could you really help him? Was it even okay for him to ask? Humans certainly hadn’t taken very well to an angel’s true form in the past… But that was a couple thousand years ago, and those humans hadn’t known what you know. If anyone could handle this, it was you. If he could trust anyone, it was you. And it was only his wings- just a sliver of his full form. But still, Cas was hesitant. This was unfamiliar territory for him. 

You watched from across the room as the wheels turned in his mind. His expression was pained, and it seemed like he was wrestling with a hard decision. As much as you wanted to close the gap between you, to comfort him, you knew the best thing to do was to give him his space. You were glad you did, because after a moment, his gaze rose from the floor, settled on you, and he opened his mouth to speak. 

“There’s something wrong with my wings. It’s blocking my grace and I can’t heal myself.” His expression was solemn and his tone direct. Clearly, he wasn’t happy to have to bring this up with you.  

“Your wings?” The mention of the most angelic part of your dear angel sent your heart aflutter (no pun intended). For the most part, Cas’s wings were out of sight, out of mind. Usually he was just the dorky man in a trench coat who just so happened to have some pretty crazy powers. But when you thought about his wings, the parts of him that were so divine and otherworldly, your cheeks burned scarlet. It was a reminder of just how different Cas was from you. 

“Yes. I might need you to… Inspect them. Figure out what is wrong and remove whatever is blocking my grace. I can’t heal myself, Sam, Dean, or you until it’s gone.”

You sucked in a sharp, full breath, your lungs holding tightly to the air for just a moment before slowly pushing it back out of you. 

“Okay. I can do that.” Why were you nervous? It was just Cas. You were just helping out a… friend. 

“It’s very… personal. This vessel you see isn’t really me, but my wings? That is as close as you can get to seeing my true form. I’m… not sure how you would react. It’s not something meant for human eyes. Not here on Earth, anyways. It might upset you or-” 

“If it means helping you, I’m sure I can handle it.” 

“Are you sure-” 

“Cas. Are you in pain?” 

He hesitated for a moment before conceding the truth. “Yes.” 

“Then let me help.”

Castiel sighed, his body tightening in a way that seemed like he was bracing himself. A terse “Alright” escaped his lips, and then the whole room shifted. 

There was no earthly way to describe the sight that unfurled before you. Castiel’s wings were dark, so dark they held no color or shine or reflection- just a void, deep, black nothingness. And yet, they almost glowed. There was some sort of aura that radiated off of them, just as dark as the wings themselves yet tinged ever so slightly blue. It must have been his grace. The aura wrapped around the perimeter of each wing and hugged each individual feather, defining them just enough so you could barely distinguish one from another. Somehow, his wings were dark and light and everything in between- you had never seen anything like it. Cas was right- it was hard to wrap your head around it. You reached down to grasp the surface you were sitting on, half to ground yourself in the moment to believe what you were seeing, and half to make sure you didn’t jump right up to inspect his wings closer. You knew this was hard for poor Castiel- your greatest fear was making him uncomfortable.

“Wow, Cas,” was all you could say. You were completely entranced, absolutely at a loss. It took everything in you not to burst into tears- he was definitely right. This was not a sight for just any human to see. He started to shift underneath your gaze, each movement triggering his wings to follow in a parallel movement. He looked uncomfortable. Gathering your composure, you rose to your feet. It was just Cas, the same Cas you’ve known all along. As nervous as his wings made you feel, you knew he was just as nervous, so you pushed yourself to help him feel at ease. 

“Okay. How do you want me to do this?”

“You can touch them. See if you notice anything that doesn’t look like it should be there.” 

Touch them. Just the thought sent another jolt of electricity through your body. Touching Cas’s wings? He was asking you to touch his wings. There was no stopping the thoughts racing into your mind- How would they feel? How would it make Cas feel? How would it make you feel?

Pushing the worries aside, you crossed over to Cas. Mid-step, your gaze grabbed on to the angel’s and wouldn’t let go. As you inched closer, you were less and less inclined to look away. Because once you did, you knew you would be face to face in the task at hand.

It’s not that you didn’t want to look at Cas’s wings. They were the most beautiful, ethereal things you had ever seen. They just made you so nervous. For the first time since knowing Cas, it truly registered to you- he was an angel, a heavenly creature, so powerful and beautiful that even this small glimpse of his true form had you weak in the knees. But beyond being just an angel, he was a teammate, a friend, and to you, something far more. All you wanted to do was take his pain away.

Finally, your eyes were forced to stray from the angel’s as your feet led you behind him, ducking under his left wing and settling yourself square between them. There was a physical sensation radiating off of them- a warm, low buzz that made your whole body tingle. 

“One more thing.” Cas’s voice stepped in to break what felt like an age-long silence. 

“Yes?” You whispered.

“It will be a bit… sensitive. Please be gentle.” 

“Of course, Cas.” 

And so you were. With the softest touch you could muster up, you reached out and made contact with his right wing, settling your fingers amongst the feathers. You felt Cas’s body shudder underneath your touch, but his low voice mumbled that all was well, to carry on. So you did.

For nearly thirty minutes, your fingers worked through the wings. Touching them was like weaving your hands through silk, sifting through layer upon layer. The feathers were so light and delicate that they almost felt like nothing at all, and the way they kissed your skin was without a doubt the most beautiful sensation you had ever experienced.

Your hands zoned into their task, sifting through the wings to remove all of the debris leftover from the day’s hunt. Cas spoke to you as you worked, teaching you about their anatomy, their capabilities, and everything else. You listened intently, fascinated by this intimate insight, but you weren’t sure if he was speaking with the pure intention of teaching you or simply to distract himself from the feeling of what was going on behind him. Every so often, his voice wavered or his back pulled away, and in response, you would stall your hands, giving him a moment to adjust. 

The process was long and tedious, but you took the liberty of enjoying every second of it. Watching the ripple of the feathers beneath your fingers, the way your hands seemed to disappear as they bobbed in and out, eventually you dropped the last piece of shrapnel into the empty box you had been using to collect it all. 

“There. All done. Is that… any better?” 

Cas didn’t vocalize a response, but your question was answered when his entire form shone with the familiar blue glow of his grace. And when the glow subsided, his wings were tucked away yet again, leaving behind his unadorned trenchcoated vessel. He turned to you with a face of gentle features. 

“Thank you,” was all he could express in his low timbre. It seemed as though every trace of worry had melted away, and everything about Cas’s presence had softened. But if you hadn’t been completely sure of his newfound comfort and ease, the angel confirmed it when he took a long stride closer, halving the distance that had served as the buffer between you.

“Thank you for trusting me to do that,” you breathed through a slight daze, both lingering from the experience and sparked anew from his rapidly increasing proximity. 

“There is no one else I trust as much as you.” Now he was merely inches away, hovering closer to you than he ever had been before. Here you froze, both sinking into the feeling, until the magnetism that emanated off of him grew to be too much. Just as you took the leap of faith to close the gap, you were interrupted by the crash of the front door flying open. You jerked backwards on instinct, reinstating the safe buffer space. 

In strode Sam and Dean, oblivious as ever. Stopped just inside the doorframe, and in complete unison, the brothers tilted their heads in confusion.

Gesturing between the two of you, Dean spoke. “Hey. We interrupting something?”

[theshamelesssimp]

Me when I get to the part of a fanfic that has me giggling and kicking my feet

[corinthianism]

corinthianism's fic recs

here are my personal favorite fanfics! idk how often i'll update this, but i hope you like them as much as i do :) *indicates smut

last updated: march 26, 2024

MARVEL

loki laufeyson - from the void, with love — by whirlybirbs (my fav fanfic of all time!!! i think about this fic several times in a day bro) - riptide — by starks-hero - the tailor* (series) — by birdofhermes (ao3) - time after time (series) — by goldencherriess (ao3) - a friend from work — by cozy_the_overlord (ao3)

thor odinson - god of fertility* (request) — by charnelhouse - highway don't care (but i do, i do)* (part one, part two, part three) — by spacelabrathor

peter parker (andrew garfield) - agree to disagree — by delicate-dorothea - nerdy peter (request) — by webslingingslasher - good boy x bad girl trope (request) — by webslingingslasher - hold you here, my loveliest friend* — by p3mybeloved - your friendly neighborhood sensitive spider* — by jin0 - glad you're home — by withahappyrefrain - the mechanics of a soul — by irndad - 3 is the magic number* — by withahappyrefrain - crush — by ptersparkers - as it goes — by forever-rogue - here comes the sun (part one, part two, part three) — by withahappyrefrain - stability, reciprocity, and a romance for the ages (series) — by privateanxieties (ao3 - need an account to read)

steven grant (moon knight) - hold me close — by stormkobra-5 - gift of min* — by astroboots - puzzles* — by stormkobra-5 - first time* — by luvpedropascal - domestic adonis* — by peterman-spideyparker - where it starts — by silversweetpea - fallen from heaven, grown on earth* (series) — by davosmymaster (ao3) - call me poe* — by kittyfandom (ao3) - elemental — by batsingotham (ao3) - the boy with the thorn in his side — by eating_flowers (ao3)

marc spector (moon knight) - not him — by loud-mouth-loser - it's worth it, it's divine* — by the-archxr - i'm getting to know someone — by davosmymaster (ao3)

wade wilson (deadpool) - tea and sympathy (series) — by bucketsoffrogs (ao3)

SHERLOCK (BBC)

sherlock holmes - your hidden strength — by okay-j-hannah - sublime dexterity* (part one, part two) — by daydreamtofiction - literally everything by starks-hero

SUPERNATURAL

sam winchester - playing house (part one, part two) — by uncouth-the-fifth - baby i'll stay (heaven can wait) — by uncouth-the-fifth - move over.* — by ggwritesstuff - where's your head at?* — by beau55515 - birthdays: sam winchester style* — by karleekarma (ao3) - the comforts of home — by zepskies - under the hood* — by shawslut

dean winchester - whether you like it or not — by kbeautimous (ao3) - reading you wrong — by zepskies - cherished — by thatonewriter15 (ao3) - soft touch — by wearywinchester - i love her, that's why* — by kaleldobrev - drivin' me crazy* — by lis-likes-fics

castiel - salt n' lick* — by aperfectgrace (ao3) - a bite of apple pie (series) — by ac_deanc (ao3)

THE SANDMAN

the corinthian - bring me a dream* (series, ongoing) — by placeinthemiddleofnowhere - nihil — by lis-likes-fics

dream/morpheus - sweet dreams (are made of this) — by stranger-nightmare

CRIMINAL MINDS

aaron hotchner - from eden — by heliotropehotch - gold star — by honeypiehotchner - love, an abstract concept — by luveline - honeymoon phase* (series) — by hotchsbitch (ao3)

THE BOYS

soldier boy (he's absolutely horrible but so. so. hot.) - break me down* (series) — by zepskies (go read their other stuff too!) - talk to me — by zepskies

homelander (also absolutely horrible. would sleep with him.) - if i can't have you — by watchstarscollide - milky white* — by after-witch

GAME OF THRONES

jaime lannister - i'm not made by design — by ichorai (this legitimately changed my brain chemistry)

STAR WARS

obi-wan kenobi - like turning on the light* — by full-time-make-believer (deactivated acc) (this also changed the trajectory of my life) - where it wasn't* — by 221bshrlocked - your thoughts are loud — by spidersbane - empty me out* — by 221bshrlocked - house of memories* (series) — by meshlasolus - bad idea, right?* (series) — by mischiefling (ao3) - you make me feel like dancing — by saradika (ao3) - it's a wonderful lie — by firstofficerwiggles (ao3) - temptation's kiss — by karasong (ao3) - you make my dreams* — by wickedscribbles (ao3) - like a living mirage — by karasong (ao3) - broken drought* — by rosalindbeatrice (ao3) - never grow up — by doihavetoloseyoutoo (ao3) - never ending story — by kybercrystal (ao3) - volveré* — by kxnobi (ao3)

din djarin (the mandalorian) - the savior* (part one, part two, part three) — by dindjiarin - significant — by softlyspector - touching din — by archieimagines - uncharted territory* — by pedrito-friskito - creed* — by wheresarizona - home is wherever i'm with you* (part one, part two, part three) — by saradika

DRACULA (BBC)

count dracula - the székely* (series) — by theplumsoldier

LOTR/THE HOBBIT

thranduil oropherion - a boon* (series) — by inksplots (ao3) - beauty and the beast (series) — by tamurilofrivendell (ao3)

DOCTOR SLEEP

dan torrance - of monsters and men* — by helaintoloki & obitwo - domestic life (headcanons) — by thornsinmycrown - smut alphabet* — by daincrediblegg

[castielscaplan]

Seventy Percent (Castiel)

Summary: Castiel feels a warmth he must share with you.

Warnings: Fluff

WC: 906

Read on ao3!

Prompt: "I am approximately 70% asleep right now, and you are interrupting my process." used from this list

The bunker was finally quiet.

The hunt had been long, ugly, and covered in mud. You’d helped gank a banshee, stitched up Dean’s shoulder, convinced a witness not to call the cops, and barely escaped a shower of broken glass. The post-hunt adrenaline had long since burned off, and by the time you finished the last load of laundry, your body ached in places you didn’t even know could ache.

All you wanted was to be horizontal.

Your bed welcomed you like an old friend, and the cool sheets pulled you into a soft, gentle embrace. You’d just sunk into that perfect sweet spot between wakefulness and unconsciousness—the mythical 70% zone—when:

FWUMP.

The unmistakable sound of wings filled the room. A breeze brushed your cheek, and the air shifted.

You didn’t even open your eyes. “Castiel…”

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” came his deep, even voice from far too close to your face. “But this is important.”

You groaned. “Cas. My guy. My ancient celestial being.” You turned your face into the pillow. “I am approximately 70% asleep right now, and you are interrupting my process.”

A pause. “What process?”

You finally lifted your head just enough to glare blearily at him. He was perched on the edge of your bed like a confused gargoyle, trench coat still buttoned up, hands folded in his lap.

“The process of falling asleep,” you mumbled. “It’s delicate. It’s sacred. And you’re stomping around in it like a moose.”

He blinked, unoffended. “I see.”

You dropped your head again, sighing. “Okay. You have one minute. What’s so urgent?”

Castiel shifted slightly on the bed, clearly troubled. “There is a sensation in my chest.”

You blinked, then slowly raised your head again. “…Is it a heart attack? Because if it’s a heart attack, I need more than a minute.”

“No. I don’t believe I’m dying.” He placed a hand flat over his heart. “It feels like… fluttering. But also heavy. I observed it happening when I looked at you earlier. You were asleep on the library couch, and I found myself...unable to leave.”

Your sleepy brain tried to catch up. “You watched me sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Cas…”

“I didn’t stare,” he added quickly. “I just… stayed. In case something tried to harm you.”

Your tired heart melted just a little. “Okay, well. That’s kinda sweet. But why are you here now?”

He tilted his head. “Dean says the sensation may be affection. Or possibly indigestion.”

You laughed, curling into your blanket. “It’s not indigestion. Sounds like a crush, Cas.”

“A crush?” he echoed.

“A crush,” you said, yawning. “Or maybe more. You feel safe when I’m around, yeah?”

He nodded.

“And you care what happens to me?”

His expression softened. “Very much.”

“Then congrats. You’re in love.”

Castiel sat with that for a long moment, then blinked slowly. “Oh.”

You grinned into your pillow. “Yeah. ‘Oh.’”

“Would you like me to leave?” he asked carefully. “I’ve disturbed your sleep process.”

You reached out a hand without even opening your eyes. “No. Come here.”

He hesitated for half a second, then stood and peeled off the trench coat with almost reverent slowness before climbing under the covers beside you.

You immediately tucked yourself into his side, head on his chest, hand fisting the soft fabric of his henley. He was warm—not exactly body heat, but some kind of internal grace-temperature—and solid. Safe.

“This is nice,” he said, sounding slightly stunned.

“You’re nice,” you murmured. “But I swear, Cas, if you start glowing or angel-radioing while I’m asleep…”

“I won’t,” he said solemnly.

And just as you were drifting again, 80% there, the door creaked open.

Dean stood in the doorway in flannel pajama pants and a ratty Zeppelin tee, hair rumpled. He froze like a man who’d just walked in on something sacred and illegal.

Castiel didn’t move. He merely looked over at Dean and said, “She invited me into the bed.”

Dean opened his mouth. Closed it. Raised a finger. Lowered it.

“…Okay, that’s… cool,” he said finally. “Just, uh. Keep the angelic mojo at PG levels, alright? This ain’t a Harlequin novel.”

“Dean,” you mumbled without opening your eyes, “if you say one more word, I’m getting Sam and telling him you sleep with a teddy bear named Zeppelin.”

Dean scowled. “You’re evil.”

“Goodnight.”

He muttered something about ‘damn cosmic beings stealing all the women’ before slinking back into the hallway.

Five minutes later, you heard another knock.

“Cas?” Sam’s voice called softly. “Dean said you’re in bed with Y/N. Is that… real?”

Castiel didn’t miss a beat. “It is. I am currently participating in a ‘sleepover cuddle scenario.’”

There was a brief silence.

“…Good for you, man,” Sam said, and you could hear the genuine warmth in his voice. “She deserves someone who’ll protect her like that.”

Castiel looked down at you, just as you murmured, “You hear that, angel boy? Even Sam ships us.”

He smiled, the expression soft and full of wonder. “Then I am most fortunate.”

You yawned and melted further into his arms. “Next time though… maybe declare your eternal love after I get to 100% asleep, okay?”

“I will take that into consideration,” he whispered, then pressed his lips gently to your forehead.

And this time, you slipped past 70%, past 100%, into perfect sleep—with an angel wrapped around you like the safest blanket in the world.

--

//PLEASE USE THIS AS A REMIDNER TO REBLOG! \\

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡When They Realised That They Loved You｡⋆.

Team free will x plus size reader (separately)

Warnings: smut, lil bit of angst, fluff, (somehow Dean’s isn’t the angsty one), undefined relationship (Dean), mention of scars, sam detoxing off demon blood, childhood friends to strangers to ?, heartbreak, pain, mention of torture and pain and Dean’s death, sam being sad, gentleness, Ruby can catch these hands, seemingly unrequited love on both sides, a kid being lost, castiel being stupidly in love and not knowing what to do with himself, humanity being good WC: 3.8k

Minors DNI

A/N: One assignment left baby!!

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Dean- When you were the only person he could let his walls down with

You weren’t exactly a hunter but you also weren’t exactly a civilian. You were… something else. You could shoot, recite an exorcism backwards and outdrink the most seasoned hunter but you also were stationary, paid your taxes, even had a retirement fund and to Dean, you were safe. And a damn good lay at that.

“That’s it baby. Move those hips for me.” Your nails bit into the muscles of his chest as you lifted yourself up on shaky legs, then slammed back down onto his cock. Dean hissed and bit down on his lip, desperately trying to keep his eyes open to watch you fall apart just one more time before he succumbs to the blinding pleasure he could only find with you.

“It’s too much, Dean.” You wailed but continued to roll your hips downwards like you didn’t even think of stopping. His hands clamped down on the meat of your plush thighs as you tightened impossibly around his thick cock.

“Fuck, baby. I know you’re close; just come for me. Cum, and I’ll give you what you want.” He planted his feet onto your bed and thrust upwards, hitting that one spot inside you he knew made your brain turn into TV static. “Thaaaaat’s it. That’s my girl.” He cooed as you slumped forwards, your mindless babbling only serving to spur him on even more.

You tucked your face into his neck, kissing and licking at his skin like you wanted to swallow him whole. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and pounded into you even deeper. Your soft body trembled against him as you tumbled into your final orgasm of the night, your cunt fluttering around him like it was made for him.

“Dean. Cum inside me.” You managed to gasp out as you rode the last waves of your high. Dean snarled and pushed himself in as deep as he could go as the dam finally broke and he succumbed to his own end. You moaned softly at the feeling of his cum filling you up. 

Dean relaxed back down into the mattress, your body a comfortable weight on top of his, easing away the pain inside him. He ran his hand down the length of your back, coming to rest on the gentle swell of your ass. “You good sweetheart?”

A quiet giggle vibrated through your chest. “I think I saw god, I am more than good Deanie.”

He rolled his eyes as he guided you to lay down next to him, his softening cock slipping from your warm walls. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“How many times have I told you not to wear your boots in the house?” You retorted with a jab to his ribs, quickly followed by a loving kiss against his lips. His heart skipped a beat as he wrapped a strong arm around your thick waist, pressing deeper into the kiss. You let out a pleased sound that made his spent cock twitch in interest.

But all too soon, you pulled away and laid your head down on his shoulder.

It felt so domestic, so real. If he just shut his eyes he could almost imagine that this was your shared home; a place for him to just be without the worry of saving the world or protecting Sammy, that maybe he could have a lawn to mow and tedious chores that he would be happy to do for you. He wished he could wake up in this bed every day instead of once or twice in a blue moon when hunting had dried up or he needed more supplies from your shop for hunters.

“Do you remember the day we met?” His voice echoed through the small bedroom, soaking into the old wallpaper that you refused to let him replace, claiming that it was just fine the way it was.

You hummed and glanced up at him, your eyes still hazy from an entire afternoon of ‘I missed you but I’m not going to say it out loud’ sex. Dean cupped your full cheek.

“‘Course I do. You broke into my shop at 4 in the morning and I almost shot you.”

“We still need to work on that aim of yours sweetheart.” You scoffed but snuggled closer to him, the sweet smell of your skin almost getting overwhelming. Your fingers traced over the scars along his torso, never flinching away or touching them like you wished they weren’t there in the first place. You were mapping out the story of him without question or hesitation.

“Yeah well why would I need to do that if I have you here to protect me?” You said it like it was a fact, that you never doubted he would come to your rescue at a moment's notice. “I’ve got Dean Winchester in my bed, I’m the safest girl in the world.”

His breath caught but before you could notice, he gave you that smirk that got him there in the first place and drawled out a low: “Yeah you do sweetheart.” You visibly flustered, burying your face into his arm to escape the heat of his gaze. 

“You’re always so mean to me.” His laugh bounced your head up and down. You began to giggle, unable to help yourself, and slid your arm beneath his back so you could wrap your body around him. Electricity followed your touch, his nerves sparking to life like the feeling of stepping out from the darkness into the sun.

God I love her.

The thought slammed into his chest, briefly knocking the air from his lungs. He expected a sense of panic, maybe dread, but all he felt was a sense of calm that settled against his soul. Dean just pulled you tighter against him and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. You returned it with a soft peck right above his heart.

He didn’t want to run from this, not this time. You were everything to him and he wanted to stay right here, even if he knew he didn’t deserve it. Your breathing evened out as you succumbed to some much-needed sleep.

Maybe staying another few days wouldn’t be so bad, Sammy kept telling him he needed a vacation.

Sam- When you were kind to him even after he broke your heart

Sam’s voice had gone hoarse over an hour ago but they still hadn’t let him out. He knew that they wouldn’t but still he had begged and pleaded, even succumbed to tears yet there was no answer from outside the heavy iron door. 

He slumped back against the cot in the centre of the room, the sharp metal scraped against his back but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt in every waking moment. The cold concrete beneath him did nothing to soothe the burning inside of him. 

“Please.” The word was barely even audible, escaping his lungs with little more than a whimper. Sam let his head fall back onto the thin mattress.

As soon as the door was slammed shut, all he felt was blinding rage. Didn’t they understand why he was doing this? The blood gave him the power they needed to help people! But when hours had passed without so much as a hint that they even heard him, the anger melted away into a sort of numbness. Dean and Bobby had tricked him into this, you had tricked him.

It was your face that he saw last as the door was shut. Your lips were pulled downwards, your eyes rimmed with red, your shoulders slumped. You had looked like you were in mourning. Guilt curled in his stomach, just like every other time he looked at you since the day he left for Stanford. But this time, the sour taste of betrayal filled his mouth like bile.

You were turning your back on him, siding with his brother when all he wanted to do was to make the world safer, for you. 

Sam forced himself to take a deep breath, even as his body screamed with the ache of movement. The air was stale and settled heavily onto his chest but he was grateful to feel it, he was grateful to feel anything besides the searing pain of his nerves. This was the first break from the hallucinations he’d had in days, or weeks, time, just like everything else, had no meaning within the iron walls that enclosed him.

The cotton of his shirt felt like it was rubbing his sensitive skin raw but to take it off meant moving and he was far too tired to withstand the pain anymore. His head turned, letting the right half of his face press into the cot. The single flat sheet on the bed smelt of the flowery laundry detergent that you always used, it made something inside of him twist sickeningly.

A single tear slipped down his cheek.

“Sam?” His eyes squeezed shut.

“Please not again. Please don’t hurt me again.” He begged with broken words. He cringed at the sound of metal scraping against concrete. He couldn’t do it again, he wouldn’t fight it. Sam was going to let the pain take him.

Soft footsteps drew closer. He braced himself for the first strike. Would it be the sharp pinch of a scalpel or the burn of a propane torch? Or would it be the voices of people he loved reminding him of just how tainted he was? How evil? 

He whimpered as they stopped right beside him. There was a beat, then two, then the gentle whoosh of air as someone kneeled down beside him. 

“Sam.” Your voice washed over him like a gentle breeze, easing the stiffness in his bones. “Sam? Can you look at me?” He wanted to say no, to yell at you to get out and leave him alone like you did when you first locked him in here but the exhaustion in your tone made him crack open one of his eyes.

You sat on your knees mere inches from him, letting him see you in stark detail. One of his flannels hung from your shoulders partially concealing the form-fitting tank top you wore beneath it. Normally, his heart would have skipped a beat seeing you wear his clothes, but now it only reminded him of why you stopped. Bruise-like dark bags marred your full cheeks, your eyes blood-shot.

“Oh Sammy. I-“ Your voice cracked. You reached for him but quickly thought better of it, your hand dropped back down to your side where there was a bucket of water now on the ground. “You know you can’t come out yet but I thought you might like to clean up a bit, maybe eat something that isn’t dried or jerkied.” 

Sam opened his other eye but made no other efforts to move. You sighed, your shoulders dropping as you sat back on your heels. “Will you let me wash your hair and change your clothes at least? I bought the softest ones I could find and even washed them in the fabric softener Dean keeps secretly buying.” Your lips quirked up, attempting some sort of reaction from him.

You looked so worn out, Sam wondered if you had sat right outside the door waiting for him to stop screaming. His head bobbed and the hardness in your gaze eased. “Thank you. I’ll be as gentle as I can, squeeze my leg if you want me to stop.”

He bit back a whimper as you guided him to the floor. His broad shoulders rested across your plump thighs, letting his head hang above the floor. You kept one hand beneath his neck, taking far more of his weight than he would be willing to admit, and reached for the small plastic cup floating at the top of the bucket. 

His fingers curled around your knee, his short nails digging into the denim as you poured a cup full of hot water over the crown of his head. You paused for a moment but continued when Sam loosened his grip. 

As you placed the cup to the side and retrieved a small bottle of fragrance-free shampoo, he let his eyes shut once more, this time, his mind wandering to the last time the two of you had spoken.

It had been in the days after Dean died. You refused to break down in the face of losing your best friend, the man that taught you to drive, to throw a proper punch. You wanted to stay strong for Sam and for Bobby but Sam knew it wouldn’t last long. 

You had been slowly, methodically cleaning Baby, just like Dean taught you to when the younger Winchester approached you with a bowed head and a duffle bag on his shoulder. Just like the day he left for college.

You didn’t wait for his excuses.

“You’re leaving?” You said but it didn’t sound like you, not really. Sam didn’t answer and you scoffed, throwing the sponge you’d been using onto the dusty driveway. “Just like that, running off days after-“ Your breath caught but you swallowed down your tears, “What are you planning, Sam? You know selling your soul won’t work, we’ve already tried that.”

Sam huffed and pulled the strap of the bag higher on his shoulder. “I’ve got a friend who might know a way to get him back.”

He should’ve seen the way your back straightened as your body went stiff. “A ‘friend’?”

“She knows a lot about hell and right now I’ll try anything to bring him back.” And then he did something truly stupid. “Unlike you.” 

Silence crashed down around you like a falling building, immediately filling the air with a tension so thick Sam could almost choke on it. He watched your shoulders draw up, your hackles raised before your chest expanded fully and you exhaled through your nose.

“Then I won’t stop you. I trust you Sam but I don’t trust Ruby and I won’t be around forever to fix up your messes, not anymore. I’m worth a hell of a lot more than just being the girl you always leave behind but keep running back to.” You fished Baby’s keys from your front pocket, tossing them at Sam as you passed.

“Ruby’s dead.”

“Is she?” You shot him a look before opening Bobby’s front door. “Don’t get yourself killed. Lose my number.” The door slammed behind you and suddenly Sam felt like he was making the wrong decision, again.

You ran a hand through his hair, letting the shampoo run through your fingers as you carefully washed it away with the lukewarm water and with it, you washed away his pain. He turned his head into your hand, soaking up every ounce of touch you were willing to give him. It’d been so long since he had felt anything other than lust or hurt pressed to his body. 

You refused to meet his gaze, not that he could blame you after everything he had done, but he wanted so badly to look into those perfect e/c’s even just one more time. To feel that peace and acceptance that had always swirled within the deep colour of your irises. 

Suddenly, all Sam wanted to do was curl up in your lap and cry. He’d spent so many years taking your warmth for granted and now, after months of being denied even a sliver of your presence, he couldn’t imagine ever being away from you again. He wanted to prove to you that you were worth staying for, you were worth everything to him, but all he could do was let you care for him with hesitant hands.

He loved you, he always had, even when he was trying to run away from his life, even as he fell in love with someone else. It was you that kept him from falling into that well of darkness that would be so easy to slip into. You with your sass and your gentleness, your softness and your bite, your laughter and your grief. He loved you.

But how could you ever love him back?

Castiel- When you made him remember why he loved humanity in the first place

It was the sound of crying that drew Castiel to the playground across the street from the motel you had been camped out at. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sound to the angel given his age and how many prayers he’d heard throughout his existence, but the pitch was so high, so truly filled with fear that he didn’t hesitate to follow it.

“Angel? Where are you going?” He glanced back at you as you were pulling on your boots.

“There’s crying.” He said simply before descending the concrete steps to the ground floor. You let out a noise like a scoff and scrambled after him, barely grabbing the room key and your hunting knife before the heavy door slammed shut.

“Cas!” His pace didn’t falter as the crying picked up in intensity but he was confident you were following close behind him. His blue eyes flicked over the colourful plastic structures, expecting some siren or ghost to pop out at him. The weight of the angle blade against his forearm and your steady footsteps behind him reminded Castiel that he would not fight this battle alone.

He slowly rounded the bright yellow twisty slide just as you skidded to a halt a step behind him. Thankfully, you remained silent, a palm pressed to his back to remind him that you had him covered. The crying was louder now, though it did not sound like it was from any creature he had encountered before. 

There was a shadow at the edge of the monkey bars. Castiel’s blade dropped silently from his sleeve, sliding perfectly into his grip. He took a single stride forwards, ready to attack before it could when your fingers suddenly snagged the back of his trenchcoat.

“It’s a kid.” You breathed, he imagined it was out of relief but your human emotions always confused him. You slid the knife into the sheath you kept at the small of your back, tugging down your shirt so it was completely hidden as you cautiously approached the small figure curled up in the wood chips.

“Hi sweetie, are you ok?” Your voice dripped with sweetness, like he remembered syrup to taste like. You leaned forwards, your shoulders dropped as low as they could go.

The crying stopped but small hiccups still echoed through the maze of playground structures. The sun had been steadily setting and now sat just above the horizon, the darkness creeping in. 

Castiel watched closely as you squatted a foot away from the child, a soft smile on your face. “Are you lost?” The child finally looked up, their eyes wide and sparkling with tears in the low light of the evening. They nodded.

“Can we help you find your parents?” Their nodding got quicker and they reached out their arms to you. Your smile grew wider as you stood up, easily pulling them up and resting them on your wide hip. You turned back to face Castiel, a hand rubbing up and down the child’s back.

They must’ve been only 4 or 5 and wearing an outfit that was far from appropriate for the dropping temperature. “We’re going to go to the police station, I bet your parents are waiting there for you.” They looked up at you, still silent, but now clinging to your t-shirt in a way that made Castiel’s heart inexplicably skip a beat.

“This is my friend Cas,” You leaned closer to their little ear and loudly whispered the next part, “He’s an angel.” The child’s eyes widened and their head snapped around to look at him. Cas stepped closer, the child didn’t flinch.

“I am and so is she, that’s how she was able to find you.” He could almost feel the heat from your cheeks even feet away but still the child seemed convinced. 

“Really?” You hiked them up higher on your hip, your arm wrapping tighter around their little body to keep them warm.

“Really really. Now why don’t we get you back home?” They rested their head beneath your jaw and nodded, snuggling closer to your soft body. 

Cas dutifully followed you as you walked out of the park, watching the child bounce with each of your steps. You chattered away about things you were seeing around the street, your voice filling the silence like a white noise machine. Cas could feel the calmness radiating from the child and it warmed something long forgotten inside of him.

You had no duty to this child, nor any other person that you saved and he knew that you would receive no thanks for your actions but yet you still did them. You threw yourself into harm’s way to protect complete strangers from things they could not possibly understand. You had once confided in the angel that you had been pressured into hunting but you had stopped trying to run away from it long ago.

He’d felt anger for you, just the same as he felt for the Winchesters and all the other unfortunate children who never had a choice. He felt angry for himself, at humanity.

But seeing you now, caring for this child like they were your own, Castiel understood why you stayed. You didn’t do it for the glory of saying you saved the world, nor for some duty bestowed to you by your parents, it was because you cared and because you knew what evil was. 

The near empty streets soon gave way to rows of shops and townhouses, leading directly to the lit up police station only a few blocks away. The child started to fidget against you as they began to recognise their surroundings, making you laugh quietly. “I know sweetie! We’re almost there. You’re so close.”

You came to a stop right at the entrance. “You can go right in and tell them your name and that you were lost.” They nodded dutifully while you carefully lowered them to their feet. “Ok sweetie, you were so brave today but make sure you stay with your parents next time.” You ran a hand over their head and stod to your full height.

They looked at you and Castiel before gracing you with a toothy grin. “Thank you nice angels!” Then they threw open the glass door and rushed inside just as two grown ups turned the corner behind the reception desk. They fell to their knees, catching the little one in their arms.

Something warm brushed the side of his hand, making Castiel tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. You took his hand into your own, your eyes shimmering with tears. You didn’t say anything and he found that no words were needed.

Tomorrow, he would tell you how incredible you were, that you were what angels should be and that he was feeling something for you that he never thought he could ever experience. But for right now, he wanted to watch this child reunite with the people that loved them most while the chill of the night and the monsters in it were kept at bay by the brilliance of your soul.

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Chapter 4 - Release

Main Masterlist - Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), angst, very light fluff, mutual pining, smut (oral both receiving, fingering, thigh riding), time loop!

Summary/Warnings: A lot of truths are revealed. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: I love making up spn lore. The whole thing is made up anyway. I'm thriving.

Word Count: 6.9k

Chapter 3 - Read on A03!

You’ll have to learn how to entertain yourself.

Some part of you feels like it’s slowly and dreadfully withering away, but you’re here and never leaving, so you might as well make the most of it.

Lying on the sheetless bed, staring at the ceiling, hearing Dean swear from down the hall.

You’ll just have to entertain yourself.

“Son of a-“

You’re out of the bed in a minute. Running down the hall because fuck this, if you’re going to be here you might as well make the most of it, if you’re stuck listening to Dean say everything you’ve ever wanted him to in all the worst ways, you might has well make the fucking most of it. 

You skid to a stop in the kitchen—narrowly avoiding the counter—and Dean stands a little taller, his gaze shooting between you and the mess on the floor as his hand goes behind his back. 

“Morning, sunshine, what are you-“

No more waiting. It won’t matter in the end, and you have to entertain yourself, so any pointless dance around it would be like playing a game you already know you’d win.

You’d much rather have the prize. No matter how quickly it’s snatched from your hands, you really want the prize.

So you slam your lips into Dean’s, yanking him down by his shirt, and everything drains into Dean. Warm and firm against you, taking only a second to get on board with what’s happening and kiss you back. A rough, hot kiss that might have scarred you—teeth and spit, Dean cradling your face between his hands with a starkly different care, but still groaning down your throat and walking you backwards until you’re pinned to the wall—if you didn’t know the burn would be soothed by morning.

It’s why, when he pulls back with ragged breaths and a hooded gaze, stroking his thumb over your cheekbone and the priceless look all over his pretty features, you know what’s coming.

And you don’t care.

“I love you.” He whispers, and the light goes off.

But you’re still rolling. 

“I know.” You start to fumble with his pants, his erection already pressed right to your hips, and you have all the time in the world, but you still don’t want to lose this. “God, Dean, I love you too, but if you don’t- shit-“

You try to fall to your knees before him, to ward off the cut of the cameras just a little longer, but Dean catches your wrist, pulling you back to your feet.

“You feeling okay, baby? I mean, I don’t wanna cut you off from, you know.” He nods down between your bodies. “But you’re getting a little, uh, touchy and frantic, and you don’t want to-“

“I want to.” Your words are quick. Desperate. You want to more than anything, because if you don’t, he’ll disappear. “It’s just been a long few weeks, Dean, and I- I really want to touch you.”

Dean nods, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist and murmuring against your skin. “How about if I touch you?”

His eyes are dark, filled with a promise you’d really like to see him keep, and hungry.

There’s really no point to denying him.

You nod, and Dean’s on you before you can even steady yourself against the wall.

Kissing a sloppy, open-mouthed line down your neck and over your shoulder, leaving small bite marks and bruises as he tugs your shirt up and your shorts down, and his hands are big and rough and everywhere, setting fire over your skin as he rolls your nipple between his fingers and goes down further-

If the fate you’re cursed to is Dean, eating you out like it’s all he’s ever been meant to do, over and over until your legs are shaking and you’re only sobbing his name as you cum on his face, you might be able to make your peace with that. 

You’ll certainly never find it in yourself not to smile as him when he’s done, looking up at you with a wide grin and pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. You let your hand run through his hair, and it won’t matter, but you say it anyway.

“I really do love you, Dean.” 

“I know.” He winks at you, running two fingers between the folds of your pussy with a smug grin, and pushes to his feet with that same hand still lingering on your hip. “C’mon, baby, let’s get you to a bed.”

You won’t be getting to a bed. 

Because you nod, let Dean guide you down the hallway and fold his body over yours to shield your body from possible eyes, and lean into his shoulder with a sigh as you feel it coming.

Everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

You’re going to fucking entertain yourself.

This time, you go through the motions until you get to the library. Until you’re curled in your chair across from Dean, and he’s getting ready to grumble about the suit from the city. 

“You still seeing that guy from the city?”

You look up at him with a hum and raised brows, and he sighs.

“The suit and tie asshole, from the bar last month.” Dean mutters, and your heart is supposed to tighten and feel like stone here, but it won’t. You won’t let it. “Sam said you were out with him last week.”

“I was.” You shrug, and look over to see Dean scowling at his book. “What are you going to do about it?”

That gets him to look up, wide-eyed and shocked. “I- uh-“

“If you’re so interested in who I’m fucking.” You set down your own book, and move to your feet, walking across the room until you’re standing between Dean’s legs. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, and just fucking say it.”

Dean’s eyes narrow on yours, and you don’t think he’s realized that he’s holding you near him by your hips. 

“I don’t care who you fuck.” He grunts, and you give him a flat look.

“Then why’d you ask?”

“To make sure you’re being safe-“

“Why do you care if I’m safe?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I care-“

“That’s not answering my question, Dean-“

“It’s a goddamn stupid question, of course I care that you’re safe-“

“Why?”

“Because I care about you-“

“Why do you care about me?”

“Because I- Goddamnit, sweetheart, just drop it, I won’t ask about the douchebag again-“

“Why is he a douchebag-“

“Because he’s fucking you-“

“Why do you care who’s fucking me-“

“Because it should be me!” Dean’s shout echoes through the library, and he drops his brow to your stomach as he squeezes your thigh. “Shit, I- I know it’s not my right or whatever, you’re your own woman and all that, but I should be fucking you. He doesn’t love you. I love you.”

The light goes off.

And everything keeps rolling as you fall to your knees, give Dean a small smile, and pull his half-hard dick from his jeans.

You take your time, because the slower you are the longer this lasts, and the more you get to watch Dean fall apart for you. Throwing his head back as you pump his cock with one hand, groaning your name as you swirl your tongue around the head of him, hissing and grunting and fisting a hand in your hair as you take him into your mouth and suck him off like it’s all you’ve ever wanted to do.

In a few ways, it is. 

And you can do this forever, too. Even if you get sick of the fullness of Dean in your mouth, and the salty and purely Dean taste of him on your tongue, you’ll never get sick of him watching you like you’re priceless as you pull away from him. Of his thumb swiping the cum drooling down your chin and feeding it too you with slow grin, and then leaning down with a chuckle to pull you into his lap.

The kiss is long and soft and slow. All affection. All love. 

Everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

This time, you just call for him before he can drop the frying pan, pulling off your shorts and spreading your legs in a silent invitation.

“Hey,” Dean calls your name from outside, and he sounds a little worried. 

You’ll make it up to him

“What’s- Son of a bitch.”

Dean looks between you and your pussy, already clenching around nothing from his attention, and swallows.

“You, uh- I’m not-“

“Dean.” You whisper, giving him your best doe-eyes. “Please.”

He swallows. “Are you-“

“Please.” You let your hand fall to your clit, rubbing slow circles until your words turn to a moan. “Dean.”

“Jesus- You’re- You’re so fucking pretty, but-“

You whine, and that seems to do it.

“You want me, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice is barely a rasp, and you nod desperately. “That bad, huh-“

“Dean-“

“Keep touching yourself, babygirl. I’m here.”

Dean moves right to the edge of the bed, and resting one hand on your knee to push your legs further apart, and starts to stroke himself to the sight of you.

You hope it’s a good one. Tangled in the sheets, your eyes glossy and not red with exhaustion, your skin flushed and all of it appealing to him.

Based on how Dean’s groaning your name and squeezing your thigh, how his pace had hit a blur of his hand as he doubles over your body and watches you with a starved expression, you think it might be.

He cums over your stomach, painting your skin hot and white, right as you hit your own peak with a breath of his name, and falls over you for a long, deep kiss that presses you into the mattress.

“I love you.” He mutters in your ear, sweeping your hair off your brow, the priceless look bright in his eyes. “Gotta clean you up, baby, I’ll be right back.”

You sigh as the light goes off, Dean pushes himself off the bed, and everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

Dean loves movies. It’s not hard to coax him into the Dean cave and watch a million of them with your head on his shoulder, letting your original plan slide right by in the feeling of Dean, around you and warm and strong and safe.

He’s slung his arm around you at some point, his thumb tracing small, slow circles on your upper arm, and you can hear his heartbeat.

It’s always the same rhythm, every time, without fail. The same pound, and then he’ll breathe in a slow rise of his chest, and you’ll allow yourself to curl a little further into his side. Your head rolling until it’s buried in his chest, and your arms somehow finding their way around his torso, and this was supposed to be about something else, but Dean smells like whiskey and evergreen, and-

“I love you.” 

Dean’s voice is just a grunt in your ear, and you’re not sure he thought you’d hear it. His eyes even widen when you roll over to look at him, his mouth parting as you scan over his handsome, almost nervous face, and he thinks you don’t love him back. So many times you’ve never said it back, but he’s so pretty in the low light of the TV, and this might not be real, but Dean still feels more certain than anything you’ve ever known.

You don’t think there’s a world where you don’t love him.

Where this loop plays over and over, but starts much, much longer ago, and you don’t fall for Dean over and over. Where you’re trapped on that hunt where you met him, and he doesn’t walk into the house, and you’re not gone. Something in your will always body rearrange to fit Dean perfectly—just as he’s holding you so well now, as if wrapped around him is where you’re meant to be—and you’ll always love him. 

In real life, you’d tried to shoot him. He’d burst through the door and narrowly avoided a bullet to the brain, then he’d roared a curse, and you’d fallen in love.

For a brief second, as you watch in him the dark, it passes through your head that the real Dean—the one not stuck in this loop, putting on this show, tormenting you like a puppet for an unknowable reason—really might not love you at all. And if he does, did, could’ve if you’d stayed out there instead of getting lost to whatever this is, you don’t think it was the same blow of lighting up his spine.

You’re lucky that this Dean loves you. It’s going to keep making you wilt, every time he says it, and that light goes off, and you know this will be gone in the morning. 

But you still have him, now, before it all fades.

So you wrap your arm around his neck, pull him down into deep kiss, and let it carry you away. Dean twists you in his arms and pulls you onto his lap until you’re straddling his thigh, and you have this.

Pure, high pleasure as you grind onto Dean’s leg, his hands wandering over your chest and playing with your breasts—thigh squeeze, sunlight and sparks and open wound—the priceless look all over his face as you moan his name. He starts to suck and mark at your neck, and it’ll be gone by morning, but fuck, you don’t care because he’s shoved one hand down your short to rub circles around your clit, and-

You cum with a gasp, fall over Dean’s chest, and his chuckle rolls through your whole body.

“Son of a bitch, that was hot.” 


Yeah.” You nod in a tired daze, and press a kiss to his jaw. “I love you too, Dean. Just so you know.”

“That’s good.” He mutters, combing his fingers through your hair, and it’s starting to creep in.

You’d really like to stay here—warm and molded into Dean, cared for and still riding your high—but it’s not really up to you anymore. Most things aren’t.

“Do we, uh.” Dean swallows, and your hands fist in his shirt. Just to hold on a little longer. “It’s a dumb question, and you know I don’t really do this, but I like doin’ it for you, so do you wanna- Shit-“

“Are you asking me to go steady, Dean Winchester?” You smile into his shirt, and just a little longer. Whatever is doing this to you, you just want a little longer. “You got a crush on me?”

He scoffs, tugging on your hair until you meet his eyes. They’re darkened and hungry, but mostly full of love. You can really see it, now that you’re looking, and you’d like to think that the real Dean has looked at you like this before too, but you don’t really know anything anymore. 

“If you’re gonna make fun of me-“

“You like it when I make fun of you.” You whisper, letting your lips brush over his as you speak. “I’d say you love it.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Say it, Dean.”

“I already have-“

“No,” you shake your head, and it’s so close but you need just a little more. “Ask me out. Say you want me-“

“You know I want you-“

“Dean,” you roll your hips down, right over his bulge, and he grunts, his hands on your hips tightening.

“You’re a piece of work, babygirl.” He mutters, shaking his head. “No one else I’d want to be my- Shit, it sounds so stupid-“

“I-“

"Girlfriend.” He blurts the word like it’s been caught in his throat, and you relax in his arms as the darkness starts to wash up.

You don’t get to say it back, and the anxious, tight look on Dean’s face might haunt you forever. 

Even if he’s going with this loop, you hope he knows that you would’ve said yes. You always would say yes, if it was Dean asking.

And everything fades black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

Dean’s never been to the grocery store before. Not in the loop. So when Dean says Sammy, you goin’ out to get food later, and Sam responds I need to clean up, dude, I just ran ten miles, you cut the beast off at the head and tell Dean that he’s going shopping, with you.

You make it into the car. 

“Sam put pumpkin pie on the list,” you hum, letting yourself giggle at the frown on Dean’s face. “Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll get you cherry.”

He pulls over. Suddenly, with his whole body tensed, and his eyes sharp on yours.

“I am not your buddy.” Dean’s voice is barely a growl as something seems to snap in him, and you let him haul you over his body and kiss you stupid, raking your nails over his chest and shoulders.

“Dean-“

“Tell me you want this.” He grunts, resting his fingers on the band of your jeans. “I love you, but you gotta-“

“I want this.” You gasp, pulling him back into another violent kiss. “I love you too, Dean, god, I need this-“

You cum over his fingers this time. Drenching his pants and taking ragged breaths as your brows press together, and Dean watches you come down with the priceless expression all over his face.

“Son of a bitch, that was hot.” He mutters, and you sigh. “If you really love me back-“

“I do-“

“I know baby, but-“ Dean shrugs, watching you carefully. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

You’re going to cry. It’s moving in, but it’s not fast enough to stop the first tears for falling as you shake your head, and cling to Dean like somehow, this time, you can keep him.

“I don’t know.” You whisper. “I really don’t know.”

Everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

Dean makes it out of the car this time. It’s different, doing this without Cas, but you still end up in the bathroom. Sitting up on the sink as Dean fingers your cunt, gasping his name into his shoulder when he squeezes your thigh, managing to gain enough control after you finish to fall to your knees before him and take his cock in your mouth. 

“Shit- Baby- Need to know where-“

You swallow this time. And there’s the priceless look, and maybe one day you’ll die here. With Dean watching you so reverently, his hand brushing over your face like you’re delicate and worth keeping together. 

“Son of a bitch, babygirl, that’s-“

“Yeah.” You smile up at him, your voice a soft breath as Dean helps you to your feet. “I love you.”

He kisses you, long and deep, and you know he can taste himself on your tongue, and when he groans your knees almost give out.

Dean catches you.

He’d always catch you, in here or out there. And you love him always and anywhere, but you still miss the him out there-

“I love you too,” he mutters against your lips, and you smile. 

This really hurts, but you smile. For Dean.

And everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

In the bar, between Dean’s legs, his hands cupping your face as he grins drunkenly up at you.

“Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty-“

You smile, running your hands through his hair as you pay his tab. Touching him makes this easier. Letting his hand squeeze your thigh, letting the wound open once more, not bothering to brace yourself for what’s inevitable. “Let’s go home, Dean-“

“Already home,” he mutters. “Got you. Need you. That was- son of a bitch, is the room spinning for you too?“

“No, I’m not drunk.”

“Huh. ‘M not either, baby.”

“Sure, buddy-“

He slams you into the wall, and you’re not his buddy. He loves you.

You end up sprawled over the backseat of the impala, your legs hooked around Dean’s neck and his face buried deep between your thighs.

There’s really no better sight to have imprinted on your brain that this one.

Everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

You linger in bed this loop, because it doesn’t matter. None of this matters. You can touch Dean and hear him say he loves you a million times, but it’s never real and never permanent and it doesn’t fucking matter.

No sheets on your bed, every morning. Stare at the ceiling like an angel might burst down from the sky to save you, but they won’t. Angels don’t even like you, and they certainly can’t be fucked to drag you from whatever odd, strange hell you’ve caught yourself in. 

It takes a second to hear it. The silence.

No clatter of Dean’s bacon and eggs on the floor. No son of a bitch echoing down the hall in a herald that you have to go make sure the amazing dumbass ices his hand.

Nothing at all.

Something is wrong.

You’re out of the bed in a second. Sprinting down the hall until the wind is whistling and everything is almost a blur, bracing yourself to slam into the doorway or counter, because you don’t care what bruises mark your body—they’ll be gone by morning anyway—you just need to make sure Dean’s okay-

You run headfirst into something thick and warm, and you recognize it as Dean before you even fully know what’s happening. 

His arms around you, holding your steady and firm to his chest, and you’re in the hallway. You shouldn’t be in the hallway. Dean never leaves the kitchen on his own, you have to run through some lines or call him out first-

He grunts your name, and when you meet his gaze, he looks… Different.

For the past hundreds of loops, his hair has been still mussed from sleep, and there’s been a slight pout to his lips from just waking up, but he’s never looked tired. Dean’s eyes have always had a slight spark to them in the morning, because he loves his kitchen, and he loves his bacon, and he loves you.

Dean—at least in here—has always lit up when you see him because he loves you.

And this Dean’s spark is different. Brighter, and longer, and made of less morning, sunshine, and more… relief.

There are bags under this Dean’s eyes, and his hair is more dirtied than messy, and he’s not wearing his hot dog pants. He’s wearing muddied jeans and flannel, his hunting flannel, the green one that he thinks is lucky, and fuck-

That’s relief in his eyes. Exhausted, punishing relief all over his face, and you could swear the priceless look was there too, but it’s buried so deep under the relief that you can’t really tell.

Dean hands have cupped your face as he seems to examine you, and you slowly pry one off. The one he’s burned, every morning, where a long, thin mark should be seared into his palm.

It’s there, but it’s white. Faded and slightly raised.

As if it’s already, mostly, healed.

“Dean,” you whisper, looking back to him with wide eyes. “What’s- What happened?”

He swallows, still not stepping back from you. “It’s- shit. I’ve never done this side of it, shoulda sent Sammy in-“

“Dean-“

“This isn’t real.” He gestures around your bodies, the weight on his face seeming to slump into his shoulders. “I mean, I don’t know why this is what you’re seeing, and I know it’s probably all your dreams or whatever, but it’s not real, sweetheart.”

You think you feel your heart turn to stone. Of course it’s not real. You’ve been so sure it wasn’t real. You’ve known, from the very start, that you might love Dean in every possible world, but he doesn’t love you. That’s just how this goes. 

It still fucking hurts.

And you think, maybe with time, your heart will thaw from only a stone weight in your chest. 

But it will be time that passes, and doesn’t loop. Time where Dean never loves you again, and you just have to keep going in a world where Dean never loved you at all.

Oh.

There it is. 

“Djinn?” You whisper, and Dean nods.

“Yeah. It’s, uh, what do you last remember?”

You let out a long breath, and drop your head to his chest. It’s been a long time since that first loop, but you know he never said it. When you went through this the first time, the first real time, Dean came home drunk, you put him to bed, and he passed out.

That was it. 

Everything else is covered in a thick veil of fog that hurts to push aside, so your just shake your head. Still against Dean’s chest.

He hasn’t pushed you away.

He probably just feels bad.

“I- You went out.” You mumble, keeping your eyes squeezed shut. “Called me drunk, and I sent Cas to get you. Then I helped you get into bed, and-“

You cut yourself with a shaking breath, and Dean squeezes his arms around you.

It’s just sympathy. 

None of this was real.

“What day is it?” Your question is barely audible against Dean’s chest, but he still manages to make it out.

“Monday.” His voice is low. Careful. Like he might scare you off. “I, uh, that all happened on Friday, sweetheart. Saturday we went out to hunt some new type of djinn Sammy had tracked down, Sunday we- I-“ He clears his throat, his grip tightening slightly. “You got lost. Sunday night. Sons of bitches took you, and I wasn’t fast enough to stop them, and you’ve been in here since. ’S Monday afternoon. Or morning. Brunch time.”

It’s Monday.

You got taken Sunday night, and it’s only Monday. It feels like you’ve been here a million years, but really it’s barely been twelve hours, maybe a little more.

And you did live this once, but time kept moving, and Dean didn’t love you.

You push off Dean’s chest with a shaking breath, and his hands stay on your shoulders. Keeping you steady as you stare at the floor.

“I- uh-“ You shake your head, taking a long, slow breath. “My gun is in my room-“

“No!” Dean grabs your wrist, his words echoing down the bunker halls, and you stare at each other for a long second before he coughs, and his voice drops back down. “I mean, uh, that’s not gonna work. Whole new Djinn thing, right? You don’t kill you, you gotta kill some poor sucker in the dream.”

You swallow, your voice growing small. “What?”

“Sam says that this douchebag’s evolved. I don’t know if you remember, but we’ve been calling them groundhogs, cause they set you in a loop. And, uh,” he glances back around the hallway, a slight frown on his face. “You have to kill the reset point in the loop. It’ll be a person, but not you, cause apparently people try to kill themselves in these loops all the time, and the Djinn needs to keep you down until he’s done feeding.”

All of a sudden, you’re really fucking sick of finding out the truth. The truth isn’t freeing, it’s just turning your already stone heart to fucking lead, because it’s really that simple. That torturously, horribly fucking simple.

You have to kill your reset point. Dean loves you in here, and you hate this, but you’ve never even thought to hurt him, because you love him. All the time.

The Djinn could see that, no matter how deep you’d buried it.

And this is going to fucking suck.

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hands, and you’re not sure this will work, but you can’t kill the real Dean. You don’t think it will kill him in real life, but now that you’re really looking at it, this Dean is a little sharper around the edges, and this Dean will remember. He’ll feel it. You’ve felt the Djinn Dean’s hands on your skin, and slam of your body into the wall, and the cold of the ice when you’ve pressed it to his palm.

This is already complicated.

You can’t make it worse.

“I need you to say you love me.”

Dean blinks at you, his whole face going red. “I- uh- I don’t-“

“I know you don’t.” You cut him off quick—you really don’t want to hear that right now—and your voice grows desperate. “But I-“

“No, I don’t- That’s not what I-“

“Dean. Please just say it, say you love me-“

“I can’t-“

“Please- I know you don’t love me, I promise, but-“

“I love you!” Dean grabs your face between his hands, his voice rough and moving through your whole body as the light goes off. “I love you, but you need to calm the hell down and listen, alright?”

You let out a long breath, and nod. It doesn’t matter. None of this matters.

“Thank you,” you whisper, Dean’s eyes widen as it starts to sweep in, and everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

One last time, something clatters down the hall, and you stare at the ceiling as you pull yourself together. 

It’ll be okay. You’re going to be okay.

“Son of a bitch!”

You have to make it fast. This won’t work if you look at him, or draw it out, or think about it too hard. Your gun is on your bedside table. Dean’s down the hall. 

You need to be free. 

You can do this.

When you make it to the kitchen, Dean’s kneeling on the floor.

He grins when he sees you.

Your heart isn’t stone. It’s a million, tiny, fractured pieces.

“Hey,” Dean says your name with a bright, wide smile, and you have to do this. “I’ve been, uh, can we talk? I gotta tell you something.”

He’s going to say it now. The Djinn must know what you’re about to do, and it’s trying to stop you, but you can’t move because Dean looks so happy, and he loves you in here, and he-

“I, uh, I know it’s kinda out of nowhere, but I-“

The shot echoes through the bunker, and you keep your eyes closed and cover your ears as you wait. You can’t look, can’t breathe, can’t hear Dean slowly die from the bullet wound you put in his body, and fuck, there’s no light turning off so what if this didn’t work, what if you just killed the love of your life and now you’re trapped in here forever, because nothing’s fading to black and you can feel him grabbing at your ankles, and fuck-

——————

Dean’s shouting your name. His voice is rough with strain and not sleep, and you’ve never been here before.

Blinking your eyes open to a gray, concrete basement or warehouse or somewhere new, Dean hold you around your stomach as you slump down over him, and you’re free.

Dean doesn’t love you anymore—in a lot of ways, he never did—but you’re free.

“Son of bitch, sweetheart, I’ve got you, you’re okay, just hold on for me- Sam!” Dean shouts over his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his neck, and you’re so tired. Your limbs feel like putty, and your head is fogged, and you remember everything, so your heart is still stone. 

Sleep sounds nice.

Sleep sounds really fucking nice, because if you think about it, you haven’t actually slept since you entered the loop.

Yeah. 

Sleep.

Your eyes have barely started to droop when Dean grabs your face, shaking your body carefully against his.

“No, fucking- Shit, you gotta stay awake-“ He snaps your name, and it sounds like an order, but you can’t even really move. “Need you to keep your eyes open, just- Sam! Get in here, I’ve got her-“

“I’m fighting the Djinn, Dean!” You can hear Sam’s voice somewhere in the distance, but it’s fuzzy. Everything is fuzzy. “Just get her to the car-“

Dean nods to himself, hooking your knees under his arm and hauling you up with a grunt. 

The sound you make is almost a whine, but you’re so tired. “Dean-“

“I know,” he mutters your name, and you might be getting delirious, because you could swear he’s pressing a kiss to your brow. “Hold on, baby, I’ve got you. Just, stay awake for me, please-“

He sounds like he’s begging, and it’s stinging around your whole body. The stone around your heart is dissolving too fast, but it’s leaving you raw and painful, and you’d really like to make this easier for Dean, to stay awake because he asked you to, but you’re so tired.

He called you baby. Outside of the loop, Dean called your baby. 

That feels like a good way to go.

And this time, when everything drifts away, it’s not because a light went off. 

It’s just flickering. Waning and holding on, letting you rest but clinging to Dean’s voice, saying words you don’t recognize, but still understand. 

You’ll be alright. 

Everything fades to black, and you’re free.

——————

“Is she gonna be alright?”

Something leaves your brow. “Physically, she will be fine.”

“Physically?” That’s a third voice. The first was Dean—you’d know his voice anywhere, including half-conscious—the second voice was deep and careful, and this one is wired and nervous. “What’d you mean physically, Cas?”

The second voice—Cas, which feels obvious now—sighs. “Djinn can be, as I’m sure you are aware, quite mentally draining. She made need space or support from us, depending on what she endured. Dean, I do not know what you saw of her dream-”

“She was in the bunker.” Dean grunts, and you can picture him glowering at the road. “She’ll be okay.”

“I would not make assumptions. If the groundhog put her through more than, say, ten loops-“

“She’d probably lose her mind.” Sam finishes, letting out a slow breath. “Dean, she might need us, and you can’t have just seen the bunker-“

“Sam. Drop it.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve done the time loop thing and it’s hard-“

“And I’m saying fuckin’ drop it. She’ll be okay. She- Shit, Sam, she has to be okay, so just goddamn drop it.”

There’s a long silence, the only sound the rumble of the engine, and Sam clears his throat.

“You never had that talk with her, did you.”

“Sam-“

“I’m not saying you should do it, I’m just saying if she needs us-“

“She will.” Cas jumps in, still somewhere near you in what can only be the back of the Impala. “And if this talk contains what I am guessing, I think there can only be benefit to it-“

“Really, Cas? You’re getting in on Sam’s feeling bullshit too-“

“It is not bullshit. And I- She will be receptive-“

“I don’t care.” Dean snaps, and you think you can hear the thud of his fist on the wheel. “And I swear to fucking Christ, if you two don’t drop it now, I’m pulling over and leaving you on the side of the goddamn road. Got it?”

There are mumbled agreements, the hand—Cas’ hand—presses to your brow as he lets out a long sigh, and sleep overtakes you once more.

——————

You’ve been-

 No.

This is your mattress, and there are no sheets on your bed, and no-

You shoot up with open, frantic eyes and a strangled gasp, and someone shouts your name.

Dean. 

Dean shouts your name.

“Shit, it’s alright, you’re safe, you’re home-“

You shake your head, even as you see him at the foot of your bed. You don’t trust it. You don’t trust that it’s real.

“No- Dean, I- My sheets, where are my sheets-“

“In the wash.” He answers in half a second, his voice firm and low, and his hand moves to your thigh.

The other thigh. His touch is carving over a new wound for the sunlight to pour into, but you’ve been here before-

“I told you on Saturday,” he mutters your name, holding your gaze. “You got drunk on Cas’ absinthe, Thursday night. Threw up on Sammy, and I put you to bed. Got you changed, too, but I didn’t look at, uh- The goods. At all. Swear.“ 

His eyes dart down to your breasts, and you realize that you’ve been changed out of your hunting clothes, and into one of Dean’s shirts. 

“Dean-“

“Had Cas change you this time.” He adds, his voice quick. “He thought you should go in my room, but I- That woulda been a weird place to do this, and I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything-“

“Dean-“

“Just, shit- Please just let me talk, sweetheart, I gotta-“ He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Look, you know I’m not good at this, but I’m tryin’, and Sam’s been on my ass about it for months, and seeing you with that fucking douchebag while he fed off you, I’ve never been more scared in my damn life-“

“Dean, please-“

“And I, fuck, I just need to say it now, before I lose the nerve-“

“Don’t!” You almost scream the words, and Dean blinks at you. “I know what you’re going to say, Dean. Please don’t.”

“But, uh-“ He frowns. “You made me say it, in there-“

You sigh, your eyes dropping to your hands. “I know. I still- Just don’t say it. Please.”

There’s a second of heavy silence, and when Dean clears his throat, his voice is low. “What, uh- What was your reset point? When the groundhog had you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You mumble, and Dean’s hands cover yours. Holding them firm, as if he’s afraid you’ll drift away. 

“Is it-“ He swallows, squeezing your hands softly. “You know. What I’m thinkin’?”

You nod, the motion weak. “Probably.”

“Oh.” Another pause. You can hear your heart in your ears. “You had to uh- Kill me, then. Right.”

This time you don’t even bother to speak. You don’t think your voice would work anyway.

“And Cas said you were in there a while- Shit.” You can hear the moment he gets it. His voice drops, and he lets out a long, slow breath. “Can you look at me, sweetheart? Please?”

You force your eyes to drag up, back to his, and there’s the fucking priceless look. 

It’s heavier, but it’s there.

And this has to just be another trick. Another way for the Djinn to keep you in its hold, because the first way failed. Dean doesn’t love you, in reality. He doesn’t think you’re priceless, so this is a trick-

“I’m gonna say it.” He grunts, and your gaze is almost trapped on him. 

The priceless look—now, when you really examine it—looks heavier. More gray, like you’re priceless, but Dean’s worried he’s going to shatter you. It’s lined with rust and fear and desperation, but it’s still there. And it’s still Dean.

“I’ve gotta say it, baby.” He leans forward, and he still smells like evergreen, but now it’s also gunpowder and something earthier. Something really, purely Dean. “And I’m gonna stay here, with you, ‘till you believe it, alright?”

You shake your head, and he sighs.

“I- I need you believe it. You don’t have to say it back, but I need to say it now, before I pussy out, and you gotta know I mean it-“

“Dean-“

“I love you.” He murmurs your name, tracing a hand over your cheekbone, and you can feel all of it. Lightning and sunshine and fireworks over your skin, and no light is going off.

The cameras aren’t still rolling, but that’s because there are none. No script. No darkness. Nothing fading away.

And Dean’s not moving for more. It’s all still light, and nothings fading away.

“I mean it.” He mutters. “I love you. Have for a damn long time, but it’s never, I dunno, never known how to say it, but I love you. I really fucking love you.”

He’s never said it this much.

And it’s all still going.

“I love you too.” You whisper, the words alone a careful, desperate gamble. “So much, Dean.”

Something in his eyes sparks, and his voice becomes hoarse. “Really.”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” There’s a pause, then his face splits into a wide, happy, boyish grin. “That’s awesome.”

And you don’t have an idea of what to do. You’ve never been here, not really, and it could go wrong in a million ways with no do-overs. But Dean’s alive, and he says he loves you, and you really fucking believe him. He’s touching you in new ways, and looking at you like he’s as uncertain as you are, but wherever this goes, he’ll follow it. With you.

There’s no way to know where it will go. 

You’d really like to find out. What it’s like loving Dean and saying aloud, without fear that anything will go away.

And it won’t.

Because could be permanent, as long as you make it so. 

Dean loves you. 

“Yeah.” You grin at him, and you hope he sees it on your face. That, at the end of it, Dean is more priceless than anything else in the world. “It is.”

End Note: It doesn't happen on the screen, but Cas did get more Oreos. Just so y'all know.

Thank you so much for reading!! I hoped you enjoyed the miniseries, and if you want more Dean/reader stuff I do have another, bigger series called Babylon the Great that's currently in progress, and updates every Thursday! Big thanks to the anon who requested this, I had a lot of fun with it!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[brunettemarionette]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⤷ Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Bobby, Gabriel, Lucifer, Crowley.

☾‧₊˚ ⋅ ― gender neutral reader. no description of features. no mentions of size, race or age.

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧

Affection Type: Protective & Physical Dean shows love through acts of service and physical affection, even if he pretends he's not a softie.

He doesn’t say “I love you” out loud—not often, anyway—but you hear it in the way he wraps an arm around your shoulders when you're walking to the car. He always positions himself between you and danger, even if it’s just a rowdy bar. His hand finds yours under motel covers, rough thumb stroking the back of your palm like it’s the only thing grounding him. He calls you “sweetheart” or “baby,” but only when it’s just the two of you, like the words are sacred.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

Affection Type: Gentle & Verbal Sam shows affection through listening and words of affirmation.

With Sam, it’s in the way he remembers everything you’ve ever told him—from your favorite tea to that obscure book series you liked as a kid. He checks in constantly, not out of paranoia but genuine care. “How are you really doing?” he asks, eyes soft with concern. He holds your face like you’re made of glass, kisses your forehead more than your lips. He tells you he loves you—quietly, sincerely—like it’s a prayer.

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐥

Affection Type: Awkward & Deeply Devoted Cas shows love through devotion and trying to understand humanity—through you.

He watches you when you sleep, not in a creepy way, but like he’s studying a piece of art he’ll never fully comprehend. “Your presence is… comforting,” he says one night, voice almost embarrassed. He doesn’t always get the social cues, but he tries—bringing you coffee with the exact amount of sugar you like, because “Dean said humans find that romantic.” When he kisses you, it’s slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing you.

𝐁𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲

Affection Type: Grumpy but Golden-Hearted Bobby shows affection through tough love and acts of provision.

“Idjit,” he mutters when you get hurt, but his hands tremble as he wraps your wound. He’ll never say the L-word, but you wake up to breakfast on the table and your car fixed, and you know that’s his version of a love letter. When you’re upset, he sits next to you in silence until you speak, then listens like it’s the most important intel he’s ever gotten. “You’re family,” he says once, low and gruff. You know what he means.

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

Affection Type: Playful & Surprising Gabriel shows love through humor, gifts, and chaotic affection.

One minute you're arguing about what to watch, the next you’re in Paris eating macarons—because apparently, Netflix arguments call for surprise teleportation. He teases you mercilessly, but never crosses a line. “Can’t take you anywhere without making me fall harder, huh?” he grins. But then there are the quiet nights too, when he dials it all down just to hold your hand in the dark, whispering jokes until you fall asleep smiling.

𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫

Affection Type: Intense & Possessive Lucifer shows affection with obsessive protection and raw honesty.

Loving you is the one thing that makes him feel even remotely sane. He touches you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, like your existence proves he’s not completely lost. “They think I can’t love,” he says, gaze burning. “But I’d burn down Heaven and Hell for you.” His version of affection is laced with danger, but also unwavering loyalty. You’re his. Not in a controlling way—at least, not when he’s calm. But he’s working on it. For you.

𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐲

Affection Type: Snarky & Strategic Crowley shows love through clever manipulation and unexpected sincerity.

He buys you absurdly expensive gifts and pretends he doesn’t care if you like them—but side-eyes you until you compliment his taste. “Darling, if you ever tell anyone I care, I’ll deny it until Judgment Day.” But then he appears out of nowhere when you're in danger, burning through enemies like they're made of paper. “You matter to me more than you should,” he murmurs one night, hand warm on your back. It’s not romantic fluff. It’s real.

[take-it-on-the-run]

And I Love Her

Sam Winchester x Reader

The reader and Dean are being tortured by Gordon Walker because of her relationship with Sam, and all they can do is hope he'll get there in time.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Torture, graphic depictions of being cut into, descriptions of gore and severe bodily harm, Sam Winchester is out of character depending on who you ask

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Dean Winchester, Gordon Walker

@ghostlyaccurate requested: "Hii! Can I request a Dean and/or Sam Winchester (sepperate) x fem! Reader set in season two, with an established relationship, where it's like when Gordon kidnaps Dean, but instead of just Dean he also kidnaps reader. (I can imagine if it's a Dean x reader Gordon uses reader to get Dean to not try anything, and if it's a Sam x reader Sam just going even more ballistic than he originally does in the show). Thank you!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Beatles title. My first Sam fic! Honestly, it was really hard writing this one for some reason, and after five revisions I'm still not completely in love with it. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, and heed the warnings! Do not read if this will make you uncomfortable!

Sam Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Gordon stared blankly at the wall in front of him while you tugged at the ropes on your wrists. A bandana was tied tightly around your mouth that tasted like dirt and your own blood. Dean was tied up to the left of you in a similar state, and both of you were staring down Gordon like it would kill him.

Traps lined every entrance from the doors to every small crack in the wall. Sam was powerful, but you doubted he could break through solid brick. Grenades, tripwire, even a shotgun trap that looked like something straight out of a movie; Gordon wanted Sam dead at all costs.

You knew your boyfriend would come to you and Dean’s rescue, but damn was this cutting it close. Gordon had already tried his best with Dean, but when it was your turn, he took his sweet-ass time.

He punched you, kicked you, even spit on you. Now, you tried your best to not scream as he dragged a knife against the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder.

You failed.

Biting down on the bandana, a muffled scream ripped through your lungs. You tried focusing on Dean, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes which were spilling over with more tears than you thought were in your body.

You could feel your blood dripping down your back and your chest, slithering its way to the floor as Gordon wiped his blade with the rag in his back pocket. He wrenched your head to the side, forcing the fresh wound close and for more tears to streak down your face.

He repeated his process on you a few times.

Your arms.

Your hands.

Your legs.

Every time somehow hurt more than the last, the hunter pulling open your skin and snapping it back together like a rubber band. Your vision was spotty, but you held steadfast to the thought that your boyfriend would be here any minute to save the day like he always did.

Gordon took a step back, wiping sweat and blood from his face and arms. He looked down at you with a glare that you’ve held plenty of times for the less-than-human creatures in the world. You guessed that, in his eyes, you, Sam, and Dean, were held in a similar regard.

Snaps.

Taunts.

Cracks.

Screams.

All because you fell in love with someone born under a bad sign.

You didn’t regret meeting Sam. Kissing him, falling for him, even the idea of just having him in your life was enough for your mind to justify the situation you were in. It wasn’t his fault you were having your life drained out of you minute by minute, and you hoped he would be smart enough to know that.

“Sam’s going to be here any minute, you know. Gotta convince himself he’s the hero of this story, and I’m the big,” Gordon turned to you, knife in hand, “bad, evil dragon. But I’m not the one with demon blood, am I, Y/N?” He placed the edge of the blade against the bottom of your chin. You could feel the cold steel heavy against your skin, and any sudden move would surely spill even more of your blood.

Dean glared at Gordon, his face shades of purple and blue, which mirrored the pain you felt along your entire body. Gordon dug the knife into the bottom of your chin, piercing your skin ever so slightly, but not enough to fatally wound you. Your mind was trying hard to hold onto the cracks of reality that remained in your vision; the smell of the dingy house you were in, the feeling of the carpet making contact with your boots, anything that wouldn’t send your consciousness reeling over was enough of an anchor for you to hang onto.

Gordon walked away from the two of you, returning to his position of peering out one of the boarded-up windows in wait for Sam. You glanced at Dean, which granted you a glance back from him. His eyes were dry, but they held enough behind them to let you know what he was thinking. Sam was going to burst into this booby-trapped hellhole, and Dean could do nothing but blame himself.

It’s all your fault, really, a thought that smashed through what you knew was the truth said.

This isn’t any of our faults, you told it back, wanting to tell Dean the same. Sam wasn’t to blame for the two of you being taken, and neither of you was at fault for being used as bait; it all landed in the hands of the rogue hunter who deemed himself holier-than-thou.

Though you couldn’t see yourself, you knew you were starting to resemble a bloody pulp more than a human being. Dean could barely look your way for longer than a second, and deep cuts that surged whether you moved or not continued to scrape away at your consciousness.

Gordon disappeared, and as you tried to turn your head to follow him, you felt a burning pain across your chest. Highlighted by a spurt of blood splattering over your thighs, you wanted to vomit. The top of your head started to feel like it was being lifted off from the rest of your skull, and the black spots in your vision connected at the edges of your eyes.

You grunted, head going slack and opening wounds on the back of your neck. Either spit, blood, or bile dripped out of your mouth, but at that moment you didn’t care- the black at the corners of your eyes bled together, and all you could do was limply hope Sam would find you.

You blinked, slowly, noticing light creeping in from the boarded-up windows. The second thing you noticed was the searing pain in your body, coupled with grunting and what you could guess was a well-landed punch.

“Y/N!” Someone called out to you, but you could barely lift your head to meet their voice. The bandana in your mouth was pulled away and hands cupped your face, warming your skin that was ice cold after losing so much blood.

The hands left your face and moved to the ropes at your wrists, cutting them off quickly and placing your arms in your lap. You forced your eyes up high enough to see it was your hero, Sam, standing before you with tears starting to fill his eyes. If your face would’ve let your smile, you would’ve, but every movement flashed the memory of Gordon cutting into you.

Gordon.

“Where’s-” You managed to sputter out through a sore jaw and a severely dry mouth.

“Dead,” Sam answered coldly. For the first time, you noticed his knuckles were a hue of bright purple, complimented with blood splattering up his arm. Sam moved your arms around his neck and picked you up as gently as he could.

“Dean’s already in the car patching himself up. I’m going to try and lay you down in the back seat so we can get to the closest hospital. I left Gordon in the room by the first door, so keep your head to my chest if you don’t want to see him, okay?” He asked softly. The tears that were in his eyes had faded slightly, but you could see the emotions he’d no doubt try to hide later on. Regret, blame, guilt - the more he looked at you, the more you could sense that your battered state was tearing away at his consciousness. You wanted to reach out, hold his face, and tell him you’d be okay, you’d survived worse, that it wasn’t his fault, but your thoughts were halted by Sam stepping past Gordon’s body.

If you could call it a body, that is.

His nose was sunken into his face enough that his eyes were slightly popping out of their sockets. His mouth had more gums than teeth, which were scattered around the room. He was lying against a dresser, and his limbs were spread out in the wrong directions. You thought you saw a bone, but before you could look closer, Sam turned and shut the door behind you.

Sam laid you across the back seats of the Impala, trying his best to be gentle with the abhorrent number of cuts across your body. You couldn’t guess how the hospital wasn’t going to ask questions, but you hoped the brothers would figure that out. Your head laid in Sam’s lap, and he looked out the window as Dean buried Gordon.

“Sam,” you slowly moved one of your arms to his face, bringing his attention to you, “thank you. You saved us both. You had to do what you had to do.”

Sam smiled but still didn’t say a word as he dipped down and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You wanted to be able to tell him everything your racing mind was coming up with but were beaten by the overwhelming need to not move. Dean climbed into the front seat, beating the gas pedal to the floor and hitting the highway as Sam ran his fingers comfortingly through your hair.

[gilverrwrites]

Takeout Tuesday

Pairing: Human!Castiel/Fem!Reader (Season 9)

Reader has AFAB body parts, hair long enough for pulling, & feminine pronouns’ are used.

A follow-up/sequel too If you will have me, I am yours. But can 100% be read as a stand alone.

Plot: The reader fulfills Castiel's fantasy of reenacting a porno he once watched. (AKA Clarence the pizza-man & the babysitter)

Rating: M/18+

Words: 3138 (all smut)

Content: Porn without plot, roleplaying, Dominate Cas, cheesy porno dialogue, kitchen sex, dirty talk, degradation, name-calling, rough sex, hair pulling, spanking, clothed man/naked woman, teasing, doggy-style, denial/edging, oral (female receiving), bodily fluids, size difference (slightly), begging, choking, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, swearing.

Excerpt: You force yourself not to cringe at the cheesy dialogue as you make your offer; “Maybe I could pay you with my body?” “That would be acceptable.” He responds curtly, taking a decisive step forward, into the doorframe of your shared apartment. 

You checked the time on your phone; 19:45. It was Takeout Tuesday, and Cas should be home any minute. Normally he’d be home by 2, and it was your job to pick up dinner after your own shift finished at 6. But someone had no call, no showed, and ever the Samaritan; Cas had stayed late to help out. He’d called you on his break to let you know he would be home late, and that he would grab food on the way back.  

The sound of knocking on your front door made you jump. Careful to remain quiet, you made your way over, stopping to grab your gun on the way. Carefully you pressed the firearm to the door and leaned up to look through your peephole. Hunter instincts never really die.

Relieved and confused, you lower the gun and unlock the door, finding Cas on the other side. Your confusion only increased as you realised he was not dressed in his normal button-up and blue vest. Instead, he was dressed in a red and black polo and cap, and holding two large pizza boxes, all bearing the logo of your local pizza shop. 

“Cas, I… I don’t know what to ask first.” You wondered aloud. “Where are your keys? Why are you dressed like that?”

“I do not understand.” Cas stated, tilting his head, and narrowing his eyes. You would almost believe him, were it not for the quiver in the corner of his lip. He was holding back a smile. “My name is Clarence. I am here to deliver your pizzas.” 

“Ooooh, right!” You nod hesitantly, a smile sneaking onto your face. You recall a conversation about sexual fantasies, in which Cas had expressed wanting to reenact a porno he’d once seen in which a babysitter had paid for pizza with sexual favours. You stepped back into your hall, simultaneously returning your gun to its designated spot, and pretending to search for your purse. Purposefully arching your back and sticking your out your ass as you acted out searching through drawers and countertops. 

“I’m really sorry, Clarence.” You say, trying to make your voice sound airy and sexy; rejecting the urge to laugh at yourself. You return to the door where you begin to trail your hand up your body slowly, directing Cas’s eyes over your curves as you move upward until you loop a finger in your hair and begin twirling it. “I don’t have any money to pay you.” 

“That is unfortunate.” Cas responds. His tone is serious and deliberate, but the pink in his cheeks, the way he sucked in his lips, and the growing bulge in his pants told you he was enjoying himself.

“Maybe I could pay you another way?” You ask, batting your lashes at him as you continue to play with your hair. You internally pray no neighbours are passing through to overhear you. 

“What would that be?” He asks, unable to prevent himself from nodding, urging you to continue in your little roleplay. 

You grin at him, leaning forward and fiddling with the top of your shirt, pulling it down to try and expose some of your cleavage. You force yourself not to cringe at the cheesy dialogue as you make your offer; “Maybe I could pay you with my body?”

“That would be acceptable.” He responds curtly, taking a decisive step forward, into the doorframe of your shared apartment. 

You briefly contemplate teasing him, telling him to leave the pizza and come back later, once you’d put the imaginary children you were supposed to be babysitting to bed. But the thought passed quickly, he might actually play along, and you were horny, and hungry, but mostly horny. You did not want to wait.  

“Please, come in.” You tell him, stepping back to allow him full access. He quickly passes you. The apartment is small, the front door leads directly into a joined kitchen and living room. The only other rooms are your bedroom and the bathroom. In a few strides, Cas is already standing in the kitchen area where he deposits the pizza boxes on the counter and turns to watch you. You stare right back, taking him in. His shirt is just slightly too tight, drawing attention to the shape of his chest. His arms look thick and strong protruding out of the too-small sleeves. Heat tingles through your body as you watch him cup himself over his jeans, readjusting his growing erection. 

“Do you like what you see?” He asks you, his lips stretching into a mischievous smirk. 

You nod, locking the door and following him into the kitchen. As you approach, he reaches for you, his hands firmly wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. A hand snakes under your shirt, and you enjoy his warm, gentle touch as he slides it up your spine, guiding your upper body in close so he can plant his lips on yours. 

It starts slow and tentative. The brim of his cap rubs against your head as he delicately ghosts his mouth against yours. The kiss quickly grows heated, his lips pressing ever harder against yours. Knees growing weak, you grab onto his shoulders as you open your mouth up for him to explore, and in return his other hand cups the back of your head, locking you in place as he delves his tongue into you. 

You trail one hand down his chest until you reach his belt and begin to unbuckle him. He groans into your mouth, savouring the moments before clamping a hand around yours and pulling you away. Pouting, you break away from the kiss to look up at him. He returns your questioning gaze with a stern one. He places one last kiss on your lips before locking his fist in your hair and pulling you away from him. 

“If you behave, I might give you what you want, but right now you have a job to do.” He taunts, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips. You’re about to ask him what he wants, but he beats you to the punch, releasing your hair as he instructs you. “Take off your clothes.” 

“Yes sir!” You respond before correcting yourself. “Yes Clarence.” 

Castiel hums appreciatively as he watches you undress. Unable to keep his hands off you, he begins assisting. Making quick work of your bra and kicking your jeans across the floor once you get them off. Your face grows hot as he holds you in place, his eyes unabashedly raking across your body, taking in every inch of you. 

“How would you like to use my body?” You question. 

“I want to kiss every inch of it.” He answers matter-of-factly before doing just that. Pushing your back against the kitchen counter he starts pressing passionate, open-mouthed kisses against your jawline, his tongue traces over your skin as he works his way down your neckline, over your collar, your chest. He holts momentarily over your breasts, giving them extra attention. He catches a nipple between his lips and rolls his tongue against it. Your body jerks at the sensation, and his muffled laugh serves to fuel the sensation. Strong fingers replace his lips, both hands roaming your body before attaching to your breasts as he lowers his head further. 

“Hmmm, you like that?" He asks as he drops to his knees and you let out a breathy pant in response. You’re rapidly losing composure as he peppers more kisses over your stomach, and hips. The rough texture of his hat brushes your thighs as he situates himself between your legs. His breath is warm against your core, and you thrust yourself closer to him. He places one last chase kiss on your folds before leaning back to look up at your flushed face. 

His hands release your chest and gesture to the small dining table in the centre of the kitchen area. “Bend over.” 

You’re barely able to open your mouth to complain before he interrupts. “Don’t whine. Do as you’re told.” 

You remain silent as you follow his order. Unable to refrain from frowning at him while you cross the small space and angle your body against the table. Cas is on you before you’re able to finish adjusting yourself. He slips his feet between yours to nudge your legs apart. Firm hands settle in on the curve of your back, directing you to arch your rear out. 

“You have been a very naughty babysitter.” He growls. 

You wiggle your ass at him as you respond. “Are you going to punish me?”

You hear the slap of his hand coming down on your ass cheek before you feel the sting.

“Yes.” His voice is solemn, and you barely have time to think of a response before his hand comes down on you again. You moan out in pain and unconsciously clench your hands around the edge of the table as you brace yourself for the next hit. Cas hesitates slightly, taking a moment to caress your reddening skin before reeling back to deliver another smack. You moan out again and again with each blow. Your head growing fuzzy, unable to think of anything but the heat pooling between your legs, and the stinging of your butt.

When Cas pokes two fingers between your folds you flinch, not expecting the sensation. He runs his fingers up and down, collecting the wetness before retreating. Lazily you stretch your neck back to watch as he brings them close to his face for inspection. You expect him to taste it, he’s never been shy about his affinity for your wetness or cum before, so you’re surprised when he looks over at you with a devious glint. 

“I think you’re enjoying this too much.” He says as he leans over your slumped frame and presses his fingers to your lips. Following his lead, you open up, allowing him to push his fingers into your mouth, to rub your wetness against your tongue. It's sharp and bitter, but you close your mouth around him and suck until his fingers leave your mouth without wet pop. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

That felt like a trick question. Any semblance of an answer is immediately lost when you feel him grind his crotch against your backside. When you don’t respond, he continues. “Do you like this? Being bent over, and spanked like a filthy whore?”

The words sound so outlandish, coming out of Cas’s mouth. Castiel, (former) angel of the lord, calling you a whore. Outlandish, but so fucking hot. 

Unsure if he’s warning, or chastising you, he pulls his body back and lands another strike on your cheek. 

“Fuck. Yes!” You cry, jolting back, pushing your ass against his crotch again. 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I like it!” You stare forward, unsure if you could look at him without breaking again. “I like being spanked like a filthy whore.” 

Castiel rewards you by placing a gentle kiss between your shoulder blades. His voice is hoarse as he leans up and whispers. “Then we shall have to find another way to discipline you.” 

You might regret asking, but that doesn’t stop you. “What did you have in mind?”  

Strong arms lift you; Cas turns you to face him and paces you back onto the table in a seated position before dropping to his knees and maneuvering your legs over his shoulders. 

“Keep your hands behind your back.” He instructs, and the moment your arms are locked behind you he delves in, dislodging his cap along the way. He presses his tongue flat against your clit and licks at it mercilessly. A finger inches up your thigh, and circles your entrance before plunging in. 

You want nothing more than to grip his hair, to use it for purchase as you rub your cunt against him, but you can’t. The added challenge of remaining positioned only adds to your growing frustration. The synchronised feel of his finger fucking into you, and his tongue lapping at your sweet-spot has you panting. 

“Holy fuck. Don’t stop, please.” You muster, trying and failing to buck in rhythm with him. “That feels so good Cas, Cas, Ca- Clarence.”

He murmurs something incomprehensible between your lips and the vibration has you coming undone. Your muscles seize, your legs shoot out, and your head rolls back as you approach your climax. No sooner has it started when Cas pulls back, releasing you completely. 

Your mouth falls open, ready to ask him why he stopped, ready to beg him to come back, to finish you off but all that escapes your lips is a frustrated groan. 

“Don’t worry.” Cas assures you, re-adjusting his hat as he stands up. His arousal is evident from his blown-out pupils and the playful smile on his lips. He cups your face between his hands and pulls you in to rest a kiss on your hairline. You don’t miss the chuckle he tries to suppress. “I’m nowhere near done with you.” 

“Are you going to fuck me, Mr Pizza-man?” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Please?”

“You would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” It’s not really a question. “You’d like me to bend you over again and stretch you out like a needy slut. You’d liked like me to fuck you right here, wouldn’t you?”

You shiver at his words and reach up for him, wrapping your arms around his neck to draw him closer.

“Yes.” You speak between languid kisses to his jaw, and neck. “Please, please Clarence. I would do anything to feel your cock inside me.” 

“I thought you might. You naughty girl.” He states, grasping your wrists and pulling you away from him. “Turn around.”

It’s an order, but you needn’t act. Using your arms and hips for purchase Cas flips you back over. Fresh waves of excitement shoot through your body as you hear his belt and zipper opening. Your breath hitches when you feel the head of his cock at your entrance. He doesn’t make you wait for it, pushing through your lips and bottoming out in seconds. A low moan escapes him as he does so. 

“You don’t cum until I say so.” He commands as you both adjust. The feel of his dick stretching your walls out makes you feel lightheaded. You whimper your response and begin rocking your hips, urging him to start fucking you. Your motion is halted when you feel his hand in your hair. With little warning, your head is whipped back. “Your body is mine. I will decide when and how to use it. You’ll be fortunate if I let you cum at all. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You answer hastily, you suspect you look like a deer in the headlights. 

“Since you seem to want this so badly, beg for it.” You’re not sure which is more telling to your enjoyment of his dominance. The way your pussy twitches around him, or the involuntary cry you let out. 

“Please… Please Mr Pizza-man, use my pussy.” You begin, through shaky breaths. The excruciatingly slow pump of his body pushing against yours encourages you to keep going. “Use me however you please, I want you, I want to make you cum.” 

“Since you asked so nicely.” Cas pulls back and slams back into you harshly, hand still firmly latched in your hair, keeping you in place as he begins pounding into you, riding you from behind. 

Still on edge from his previous assault, it isn’t long before you felt an orgasm approaching again.

Knowing you won’t be able to fend it off for long you speak up. The jolt of Castiel’s thrusts causes your words to be punctuated by involuntary moans. “Cas, I’m. so. close. Please, I’m. gonna- “ 

“Not yet.” He barks. A moment later he tightens his grip on your hair, forcing you further back until you're close enough for him to lock a hand around your neck. 

Fingers squeeze either side of your throat and you fear you’ll lose your resolve any second. 

For stability, and to try to distract yourself from the growing tension in your cunt, you hold onto his arm. As if determined to make you suffer, Cas slows his speed, focusing on deliberate, torturous thrusts that fill you up and hit all the right places. 

Gurgled cries fall from your lips, attempts to beg for your release, but nothing is intelligible. Unable to move, to breathe, or to think straight, all you can think of is the orgasm you’re barely holding at bay. The pressure of your fingers around the arm holding you by your neck is sure to leave bruises. And then it happens. 

“Now.” He releases his grip on your hair and slides his hand to your folds, erratically pawing until he finds your clit. 

You didn’t really need the extra assistance. You fall apart in an instant, your walls convulsing around his cock, as your body rides the high. Your already tingling, pulsing cunt tightens when you feel the warmth of Castiel’s cum spilling inside you. Low, lethargic hums leave his chest as his thrusts grow sluggish and strained. 

Spent and panting, Cas lets his hands relax, electing to rest them on your waist as he pulls you in, back to his chest for an embrace. His softening cock dislodges as you move together, and you feel his cum trickle out. You elect to ignore it for now, enjoying the hug, and the delicate kisses he places to the back of your head. 

“Do you understand why the pizza-man spanked the babysitter now?” You asked.

The rumble in Cas’s chest as he laughs tickles your skin. “Yes. That was exceedingly enjoyable. How was it for you?”

“That was, amazing.” You concede, turning in his arms until you’re able to rest your face against his chest. He’s smiling down at you, blue eyes filled with admiration. “I should order pizza from Clarence more often.” 

“If that is what you want.” Now that he has a clear view of it, you can see him examining your neck. You’ve no doubt it’s still red, but you doubt it’ll be bruised, at least, not half as much as your ass. “We should get you cleaned up.” 

“Good idea.” You reach up onto your toes and kiss him on the lips. On impulse, you also decide to steal the godforsaken cap from his head and place it on your own before backing towards the bathroom. “Put those pizzas in the oven to reheat, then meet me in the bedroom?”

Cas nods, seemingly unbothered by your thievery as he watches you go. You’ll have to ask him where he got the costume from later. You ask him one last question as you reach the bathroom door. “So, was there ever a sequel to this porno?” 

[deepdisireslonging]

Bound and Blinded Together

The Winchesters are out on a case, leaving Cas and the Reader to pack up the Bunker’s holiday decorations. Castiel gets a little overwhelmed by the task, but the Reader takes her time in helping him out.

Pairing: Castiel x Winchester!Reader

Warnings/Promises: Dean being uncharacteristically a grinch, holiday angst, plot without point, bad decorations packing, fluff, Smut, bondage with unsafe materials

Word Count: 3300

Note: This turned out surprisingly angsty. Apparently, I needed to get some things off my chest. I also played around with Cas’s Grace abilities in this one. Let me know what you thought with comments and reblogs <3 Happy reading! And Happy New Year!

Your eyes widened, trying to process what Dean just ordered. “What! You can’t be serious?”

He groaned and looked at the floor. “It all needs to come down.” Though it pained him to say it, the Christmas decorations covering the bunker floor to ceiling couldn’t stay up. “Sam and I probably won’t be back till January. And Rowena will be with us by then. We can’t have the Queen of Hell seeing all this.”

With a pout, you crossed your arms. “Why not? She might find it cute.”

Sam glanced at Dean before nodding in agreement. “It’ll kinda undermine what we need to ask her to do. You and Dean did a great job putting everything up, but –” He sighed. “If the place looks childish she might not cooperate.”

It was a load of crap. You knew Rowena had seen the boys at their most childish, and yet she still did everything Sam asked. He didn’t reply when you pointed out as much. But Dean’s jaw was set. So you might as well have been arguing with a brick wall. Not that it stopped you.

“We could probably leave this up year-round! It’s not like anyone can see this from the outside. We’re not the tacky neighbors using our Christmas lights to decorate for Fourth of July.” With a huff, you shot Cas a look, begging him to help you.

He turned to the brothers. “She is correct. The warding on the bunker prevents any beings from knowing what the inside looks like unless we let them in. And Rowena has been here before.”

You resisted the very Dean-move of tightly closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. You tried one more thing. “Come on, Dee. We worked so hard on it.”

For a split second you thought it worked. Dean looked around, soaking in the brightly colored lights. He grinned at the tinsel that had gotten everywhere while the two of you  decorated. All while playing Muppet Christmas music and every rock cover of classic holiday songs that you could find. It took the whole weekend to put up the three trees for the library, war room, and game room. That weekend was your new favorite memory. Especially when Sam and Cas came back from their case and helped trim the trees with the ornaments you had curated for them. Everyone had at least three apiece, each one referencing a funny moment on a case or other big moment. Dean had been particularly tickled with the angel tree topper you found for the library tree that kind of looked like Castiel. He glanced at that tree one more time before running a hand down his face.

“We did do good work. But we can do it again next year.” He turned and walked out of the library.

The pain in his shoulders finally revealed why he didn’t want to help the take-down: he didn’t want to see the bunker sad and drab until he knew he was coming back for sure. If things went sideways… the last memory you’d have of him was the putting it all up. The weight of realization hit you hard. You looked up at Sam with a lump in your throat.

“Is it really going to be that bad? I thought you and Rowena were still… friends.”

He swallowed. “We’re hoping so. But… we’re not sure all this is her doing. If it’s someone else, they may try to stop us from stopping them. And they might try and take out Rowena in the process.” He opened his arms for you to run into. “We’re trying to be careful. There’s too much we don’t know.” Shuddering a breath, he made eye contact with Cas over your head.

“But if it is Rowena,” Castiel gruffed, “then your brothers will explain to her what’s happening up here and convince her to stop.” He gave you a cheery smile as you turned your head out of Sam’s chest. “They will be fine.”

Sam kept smoothing his hand up and down your back. But you didn’t miss the hesitation and slight clench of Sam’s palm.

Castiel continued, “and I’m staying here with you. I’ll help pack everything away.”

As your body tensed, Sam kissed the top of your head. “You don’t have to do anything immediately. Wait till after New Year’s if you like. And we’ll try to call you with a heads up when we’re on our way.” He wrapped his long arms around you as you muttered “some Christmas present” into his chest. He chuckled. “If anything’s still up when we get back, we’ll tell Rowena its for Epiphany.”

----

For the first few days after they left, you refused to move a single bauble. Castiel put up with a lot on those days. You baked more cookies than the two of you could ever eat. And you watched every Christmas movie you could think of. And you found a few more on reels in the archives that you’d never seen before.

He didn’t push. But Castiel quietly brought out the storage boxes and readied the packing paper.

New Years Eve rolled around and over into the New Year. You talked with Sam and Dean over the phone. They refused to update you on the case. Part of you knew Dean was inwardly thrilled at the possibility that someone was listening in on their calls like in a spy movie. But it also meant they had to keep it short. The New Year dawned. And the bunker was quiet as a tomb.

“We don’t have to do it all tonight,” Cas started. “We could just do the ornaments.”

He was right. You knew it, even if you didn’t want to hear it. So, with a huff, you left the couch and slid over the ornaments box.

Cas joined you. He noticed your pause as you wondered where to start. He snapped his fingers.

“No!” Chest tight, you looked between the tree and the box. The green was only wrapped in lights while the ornaments were nestled safely in the box. “Put them back.”

“But I thought,” Cas’s head tilted. “If taking the decorations down is too painful, I can do it all like this.”

You shook your head. “No. You – you can’t do it like that. It��s… too sudden.” You knew he could read your mind. Opening the mental doors to him, you let him see the memories. Memories like coming back from breakfast on a case and finding your dad had dumped the cheap gas-station decorations in the trash so he could pile you all into the Impala the second you got there. And the time Dean decorated for Christmas with just the three of you the first winter in the bunker. Sam dragged you out on a case and Dean had taken everything down himself without telling you his intentions. You had come back from a rough vampire’s nest to the colorless bunker and broke down. The bunker was a home you hadn’t had since childhood. And it still felt like every small joy was being stolen from you. It felt like the earth was spinning faster every year and your small moments with family were becoming fewer and farther in between. And now your brothers were out there and might not come back and-

Castiel walked over and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. His shirt and tie were quickly soaked with your tears.

So what if the bunker looked childish when Rowena got here? You wanted to be childish. Hadn’t you grown up enough?

“Yes. You’ve grown up enough.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. The way he did when Dean was in the room but he still wanted to comfort you without raising your brothers’ protective ire. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” With the soft flutter of his wings, the ornaments were back on their branches, and he was in your arms again. Cas hummed as you kissed the underside of his jaw. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

The ornaments came off the tree the slow way. The delicate ones were wrapped in paper. The cheap plastic ones were squeezed together in the plastic cubbies of the box. And the angel topper went back into his box. Taking the strands of tinsel off was a struggle. Somewhere out there, you knew there was a good way to store the silver strands again for next year. But they somehow ended up scrunched down into a box you were sure needed to hold a decoration you’d forgotten about.

Castiel handled the lights. Or he tried to anyways.

One minute you were folding up the tree skirt. The next you were laughing till your sides hurt.

The poor angle had completely tangled himself. You weren’t sure how. If this had been another cartoon your group had gotten caught in, you almost would have thought the lights were like a tightly-wound coil. And they had somehow sprung. Castiel stood there like Tom from Tom and Jerry with the lights wrapped around his limbs like a spring.

“How did you – never mind. Let me help.”

He grumbled under his breath as you tried to untangle him. Once or twice he offered to snap the lights into conformity, but you were having too much fun. Soon, he was smiling too.

“Here, lift your leg. I’ve almost got it.”

But your tugging on the strand made him wobble. Cas made a surprise sound. Then he fell like a tree. You tried to catch him, but with the lights in the way, his arms were stuck to his sides. You winced as he hit the ground.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.” You clasped your hands over your mouth to cover your smile. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. His head tilted as you began to shake. “Are you alright?”

A giggle bubbled over your hands. “Mhmm. Just… you fell like a log. Like in the movies.” The giggles turned into full-body laughter. “Alright, let’s try this again.”

Reaching down, you tried to bring Castiel to his feet by tugging on the lights. But without his hands, he couldn’t help. And he wasn’t about to angel himself out of the situation. Not when you were smiling like that. Your wrist got caught in a circle you’d managed to tug loose earlier.

Cas’s eyes went wide. “Y/N.” Then he went down again. This time, you went down with him. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” Wriggling, you realized a few strands you’d freed the ends of decided to join the tangle. They tied you to Castiel across the back of your legs and diagonally across your back. You weren’t sure how they managed that, but then you squinted at your angel. He was terrible at hiding his guilt from you. “You know, I think you’ve been holding back on your understanding human humor.”

He looked sideways at the floor. “Not necessarily. But we’ve been watching those Hello Mark movies for days. And this problem showed up a few times. It made you laugh.” He dipped his chin before meeting your gaze. “I like hearing you laugh.”

With a grin, you leaned up to kiss the end of his nose. “Hallmark. The movies were from Hallmark.” You sighed. “I like laughing with you. I would say thank you for the reason to, but… how are we going to fix this? You gonna angel mojo us outta here or-“ With a start, you realized how pink the tops of his cheeks were. “Castiel. Are you trying to seduce me? With Hallmark moves, no less.”

“Not necessarily. Just wanted to cheer you up.” He settled back onto the floor. “Unless it’s working.”

You answered by nuzzling your nose under his jaw. It brought you no small joy that his whole body shivered when you finally kissed over his pulse point. “Perhaps it is. But it’s a little uncomfortable laying here on the floor, don’t you think? And if this is going to work, we’re never going to get our clothes out of the way with the lights tangled like this –”

A ruffle of wings later, you were no longer laying on the floor, but on the sheets of your bed. The air was cool on your bare skin. But the lights still twined around your bodies. They had moved too.

“Cas?”

His eyes were wide. Lust-blown. It wasn’t odd for you to have to remind him to breathe when out on a case so he looked human. But his chest heaved up and down now. It strained against the strand of lights crisscrossed against his chest. The strand hugged tight at his hips before spiraling around his thighs. There was a bit of give in the line before it began its twine around your body.

Yours were wrapped tight around your hips too. The lights crossed your torso and pressed in a tight figure eight around your breasts, pushing them forward. Another loop was around your throat. It wasn’t too tight. But if Castiel were to hook a few fingers under the line, like you hoped he would, it wouldn’t be hard for him to restrict your breathing. The end-caps of the lights pressed against your skin. Intersections of the lines collected at your egregious zones. You rolled your hips. Already you were trembling. “Like what you see?”

Cas nodded gently, mouth agape.

Suddenly he leaned forward and caught you in a searing kiss. You would have wrapped your arms around him. But the light strand caught your wrists and pulled them back over your head. You had nowhere to go as Cas kissed his way across your collarbone and down between your breasts. He mouthed at the hollow of your throat to make you whine. Trapped together, he could feel every roll of your hips, and you jolted every time his cockhead caught your clit. As he caught your mouth, drinking in your sighs, you closed your eyes. Your skin warmed under his attention.

When you opened your eyes, you realized that the heat wasn’t just from the two of you. The more frantic Cas was to taste every inch of your skin, the brighter the lights flared.

“Are – are you doing that?”

“No.” He pressed his lips against your forehead as his hands kneaded your breasts. “My Grace might be affecting them.”

“Are we going to catch fire?”

“No. We might burn out a few of the bulbs.”

You arched as his kisses made their way down your throat and then up to the peaks of your breasts. “If this goes the way I think it will, I hope we pop them all.”

Cas growled against your skin. His hand spread wide over your lower tummy. A warmth spread within you as he made sure you were ready for his length. Before you could keen for his fingers, he gently nudged the tip of his cock at your entrance. The lights flickered. Cas’s gaze tunneled to where you were conjoined. Unable to wait another second, he pressed deep within you.

Your moan, high and needy, made Castiel ravenous. He muttered under his breath in Enochian. He must have been using some strong phrases because a few items rattled around the room. Or were you the one shaking? With the barest touch to your clit, Cas sent you soaring into release. You squeezed your thighs around him with a cry. When you managed to open your eyes a few breaths later, he was still moving, but he was entranced with the view of you.

He quickly worked you up again. Every breath that caught in your throat and every clamp of your walls added to his desperation. You could never be sure if he wasn’t using his Grace to help you along. But when an orgasm was ready, you didn’t care how he did it. You wanted him. Craved him. He freed your wrists so he could hug you close as he thundered into your sex. You clawed at his back as you came, muffling your sounds in his flushed skin.

And he never stopped thrusting. The last release didn’t fade away. Instead, it kindled and burned your nerves, quickly preparing you for another.

Cas’s hips were frantic. Under his drooping eyelids, you could see the wisps of blue light peaking out. He squeezed his eyes shut. But the bulbs wrapped around your limbs brightened. Your eyes fluttered closed under the onslaught of pleasure and light. With a shout, Cas spilled into you, sending you spiraling into a final release. If your eyes hadn’t been shut, you would have been blinded. He kept moving for a few more thrusts. Each one pushed his cum back into your sex. You were whimpering before he stopped.

“I think we burned the lights.”

You giggled. “Good.” A chill breeze washed over you. It the time it took to inhale, you were cleaned up and comfy in your pj’s. You snagged Castiel’s wrist before he could move away. “Oh, no you don’t.” You curled to one side, wiggling your body back into his torso. “You’re always too quick. Stay with me.”

He settled in with a hum.

Sleep had almost overcome you when he spoke up.

“I’m sorry about the lights.”

You grinned. “We can get new ones. Don’t worry about it.” Sleep called, but now your brain was thinking. “Does your Grace always react like that?”

Behind you, Cas’s nose pressed between your shoulder blades. “Yes. I have to focus to repress it. But the lights… picked up on my Grace somehow.” He kissed at your spine. “That was a… gentler display of what my Grace does when I orgasm in you. With you. Because of you.”

His words made your body warm all over again. But then he pulled you tighter against his body. So tight, you didn’t have room to shift or turn like you usually did when trying to fight off sleep.

Cas watched your eyes close. He listened to your breathing even out. And he held you close until you woke up the next morning, ready to welcome in a new year.

---

A few days later, the bunker door screeched open. Dean walked through first. Then Sam. And then their guest.

“Rowena!”

She smiled brightly as she descended the stairs. “Hello, Dearie.” With a giggle that you happily matched, she accepted your embrace. “The boys told me you didn’t want to give up your decorations for me.”

“They said it would make the place look childish.”

Rowena scoffed. “I already know they’re childish. It’s nothing new. Just like them, your meanie brothers, trying to keep up appearances they didn’t have to begin with.”  She glanced at Castiel. “What else have you two been up to?”

The angel froze.

“Oh, nothing. Lounging, researching,” you shrugged. “The usual.”

“Mhmm.” Her gaze traveled head to toe and back again over Cas. “Still, the place could be at least a little festive.” With a twirl of her finger she made a bundle of mistletoe hang from the door mantle between the war room and library. “There. Much better.” She laced her arm with yours and began to walk that way. “Can’t leave your angel in the cold just because your brothers are home.”

Sam grimaced. “Rowena –”

“What?” She tried to summon him over as she passed under the greenery. “Doesn’t just have to be for them.”

Now Dean growled.

“Oh, alright.” She inhaled deeply before taking your arm again. “I think it’s time you and I had a little chat, Dearie, to get you caught up on a lot of things. Shall we?”

***

Master List

***

Other Castiel Fics:

Satisfied (S)

Spell-Bound (S)

Other SPN Fics:

Need a Lift? ( SPN Fluff Appreciation Day 2017) - Sam x Reader

Short and Short Tempered (F, Implied S, Drabble) - Sam x Reader

Last of the Season (Food Mention, Fluff, S) - Dean x Reader

What’s Your Favorite Position? (S) - Dean x Reader

[arjwrites]

— Good to know bc im here to request another Castiel x Winchester!reader (oldest sister) hehehehe...

Remember when Castiel became a human and that reaper April used him? I was thinking about the reader in her place, where she ACTUALLY likes Cas and takes care of him. The reader really loves him and doesn't care that he's a human now with no angel powers, he's still the man/angel she loves and care (I'm still mad that Dean kicked Cass out of the bunker)

It's his first time being human, he deserves some love 😞 (And I rlly need some comfort aughhh)

I think I wrote too much, sorry! It's just that I really love human Castiel, he deserved more ❤️‍🩹 — 👼 angel anon

Lessons on Humanity- Human!Castiel x Reader

Summary: Human!Cas arrives on your doorstep in need of a helping hand. Taking him under your wing, you offer him more than he bargained for.

Warnings: None (I don't think???) GN!Reader, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Well, this took forever. Idk why this gave me the WORST case of writer's block ever, but.... I think I just wanted it to be perfect for you, angel anon!!! I hope you enjoy hehehehehe <3333

Leaving hunting behind had been a tough decision, but leaving your brothers and Castiel behind had been even harder. But after all the years, your body screamed for rest, and your heart mourned the years of loss and trauma. It wasn’t like you had completely up and abandoned them- you still took their calls, visited the bunker from time to time, and took on many a research request (which had always been your specialty anyways). But you had grown so tired of the life. And as much as moving into the bunker had been a massive improvement from the endless series of motel rooms you’d grown up with, living in a concrete man-cave with your brothers had proven difficult. And you had always craved a home- somewhere that could be uniquely yours. This had led you to settle down into a sweet cottage, a bit off the beaten path in a quaint little town- not too far from the bunker, but far enough. It was cozy, nothing fancy by any means- two small bedrooms, a slightly outdated kitchen, and a snug little living room you had furnished with thrifted couches and a secondhand TV. What it lacked in elegance, it made up for in character. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

It was a Friday night. You had just gotten off work, ordered a pizza, popped your favorite playlist in your speakers, and were currently dancing around and vacuuming your living room. Ah, domesticities. It was always a nice feeling to be done for the weekend, to have a job you could hang up for a few days and not worry about until Monday morning rolled around. Not like hunting, with its worries that clung tight to you all hours of every day. After finishing your cleaning task, you flopped to the couch, clicking through the TV to find a suitable show to binge alongside your food. 

Two crisp knocks at the door pulled you from your search. That was quick, you thought to yourself. You practically skipped to the kitchen to grab your purse, wanting to hand the delivery driver a few extra dollars for the particularly speedy service. But when you swung the door open, more than just the chilly evening air sent a wave of shock your way. 

“Oh my God,” was about all you could whisper. In front of you stood Castiel, though he didn’t look much like his usual self. He wore a sweatshirt you didn’t recognize and had a slightly unkempt, unshaven look to him. But beyond his appearance, it didn’t feel like Cas. His shoulders were slumped over as if he was carrying the weight of them for the first time. He wore an expression so tired, so hurt, that your heart broke at the sight of it. 

“Cas, honey. What happened?” 

“I don’t have my grace. I… lost it. They told me I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to bother you, but… I didn’t know where else to go.” 

“Oh, Cas. Come in, God, come in.” Your brow furrowed as you gestured for him to enter, concern filling your body. What had you missed? Why didn’t he have his grace? Why wasn’t he with Sam and Dean?

Cas gingerly stepped through your door, barely making it inside the threshold before turning to you, as if he was waiting to follow your lead.

“Come, come sit,” you beckoned him after you, leading him into the living room and patting a seat for him on the couch. He sat, glancing around your room before landing his gaze back to you. You could tell there was something different about him- it was like he was seeing everything around him for the first time. 

“So tell me what happened, Cas,” you hummed, gathering every ounce of soothing calm you could muster in hopes you could offer him some comfort.

Cas jumped into his story, telling you all about Metatron, the angels, and him losing his grace- all the things you had missed out on since stepping back from hunting. You nodded along, listening intently, compassionately, quietly- that is, until he told you about the events that lead him to your doorstep.

“He kicked you OUT?” You rose to your feet as he said this, unable to contain your anger in your seated posture. You felt the rage bubble from the deepest part of your stomach, rising quickly to your chest. Poor, sweet Castiel, who tries so hard and deserves so much. Cast out like he was nothing. It was enough to drive you into a blind rampage. Cas, on the other hand, remained seated, eyes fixed to the carpet, dejected. 

“I just don’t know what to do. I have all these… feelings I’m not used to.” 

“Of course you don’t, honey. It’s all so new. I’ll help you figure things out, alright?” You thought for a moment about what may be most urgent. “Cas, how long have you been human for?”

“Well, a few days now.”

“And have you eaten? Drank water? Slept?” 

“I had a candy bar.” 

“Oh, you poor thing, Cas. Look… Sit tight, I’m going to get you a glass of water, and I have food on the way. Do you like pizza? No, you don’t know if you like pizza, do you…” You let your voice trail off as you hustled to the kitchen, fixing him a glass of water and returning it to him hastily. 

Cas lifted the glass, inspecting it, before tipping it back and downing it in one go. You watched the water slide out of the cup, disappearing down his throat in record time. There was one basic need supported. 

“Alright, Cas, why don’t you sit there and relax for a little? I’m going to go make up the guest bedroom for you. Is that alright?” You tilted your head to the side to better gauge his thoughts on the matter. Cas returned you a soft smile and nodded. You let out a subtle puff of breath in relief before retreating up the stairs. 

As you grabbed bedding from the linen closet and began to stretch the fitted sheet over the mattress, you couldn’t help but allow your body to take over the menial routine, while your mind fluttered off elsewhere. The angry pit in your stomach persisted, a deepening disgust for the way the angel had been treated, including by your brothers, of all people. But nestled in your chest above your swirling stomach sat your heart, which swelled at the thought of Cas, here with you. In all honesty, he had always meant a lot to you. You had so much admiration, so much reverence for the angel- of course, now that he wasn’t exactly an angel, that didn’t change anything. That was never what it was about. You saw deeper than just Cas’s angelic power- you saw him. Grace or not, there was no changing that. This was still the same angel, the same man, the same being you had always known. Only now, he really needed someone to be there for him. And you intended to do that- slowly, surely, gently. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your name being called from down the stairs. Instantly, your mind snapped to the worst-case scenario- call it a lingering hunter’s instinct. You raced down the stairs, only to find Cas perched on the couch, exactly where you had left him.

“Someone knocked on the door,” he whispered wide-eyed, as if it was some sort of intruder behind the door, waiting politely to be let in so he could go about his business.

You breathed a sigh of relief, willing yourself not to get frustrated at the poor man- he had no idea. Scared, lost, confused Castiel. 

“It’s just the pizza, sweetheart. Don’t worry,” you replied, giving him a soft smile of encouragement. 

With the pizza paid for, food on your plates, and your favorite mindless comfort show on TV, you and Cas began to settle in for the night. You and Cas. It was insane to see the angel in such a domestic setting. The two of you were sat at opposite ends of the couch, nibbling pizza in silent unison. You weren’t sure what to do or say, overwhelmed by Cas’s newfound presence, heartbroken by the things he had experienced, and overall just worried for his wellbeing. But, out of fear of pushing his limits- he had already been through so much the last few days- you fell into a comfortable silence that padded the space between you. 

That silence was broken by a yawn coming from the other end of the couch. Cas’s face contorted in a decidedly un-angelic expression, before drawing inwards in confusion. A giggle inched its way towards your lips, but you suppressed it.

“You must be tired, Cas. Let’s go up to bed,” you hummed. Quickly and efficiently, you snapped off the TV, balanced your drinking glasses and plates on top of the pizza box, and slid everything into its rightful place in the kitchen. Re-emerging to the living room, you extended a hand to Cas, pulling him up to his feet before turning to lead him up the stairs. 

“This is your room, over here,” you pointed, ducking in the door to show him around. You snapped the bedside lamp on to illuminate the space. “The bathroom is just down the hall if you need to use it. And my room is just next door, if you need anything at all.” 

Cas’s eyes scanned the room before settling back on you. He threw a tight-lipped smile, murmuring his thanks. He was bashful, certainly overwhelmed by the avalanche of human emotion and sensation he was experiencing. You really didn’t want to push it, but there was one more thing you wanted to offer him. 

Crossing the room, you pulled Cas into a hug. You felt his hands hover for a moment before he rested them across the middle of your back.

“I’m sorry, Cas. You didn’t deserve any of this. But I’m here to help you, whatever you need, okay? You deserve to have someone be there for you.” It was a desperate plea for the man to recognize his self-worth, to provide him with a bit of comfort during this terrifying transition. Your words weighed heavy in the room, anticipating a response that never came. But, you could’ve sworn you felt Cas’s shoulders dip and the muscles of his back soften into the hug. 

After a minute, you pulled away, snapping back to your lighthearted self. You wished the man a good night, retreating from the room and closing the door behind you. Crossing the hall and tucking yourself into bed, it wasn’t long before you drifted to sleep.

-

You rose early the next morning. Usually, you would stroll downstairs in your bathrobe or whatever mismatched pajamas you slept in, but this morning you hopped in the shower straight away, dressing and fixing your hair. Once you made your way down to the kitchen, you got to work pulling together a breakfast you thought Cas would enjoy- pancakes, bacon, and some fruit, all while brewing a pot of coffee. You weren’t sure he’d have much of a taste for it yet, but you certainly were in need of a cup. 

As you neared the end of your preparation, you heard the guest bedroom door swing open. Cas descended the stairs into the kitchen, somehow looking slightly more disheveled than when he had arrived on your doorstep the night before.

“Good morning, sunshine!” You offered, hoping he would take it in jest.

“Hello,” he responded. His eyes were puffed with sleep, his hair stuck up in every possible direction, face dotted with yesterday’s stubble that was inching into scruffy beard territory. Looking at him was a clear reminder that you needed to help him figure out how to clean himself up today. 

“How’d you sleep, hun?” In any other conversation, this would be a simple pleasantry, but in this case, it was an earnest inquiry.

“Not well. I think I had a dream. It was terrible,” he replied. His gaze remained vacant.

“A dream?” You thought for a moment- was it the sensation of dreaming that he wasn’t used to? Or was it a nightmare? “Tell me about it, Cas.”

“Well, I don’t remember a lot of it. I just remember I was running. And when I woke up, my heart was pounding and I was sweating and I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t actually run- just in the dream.” 

“Oh, Cas, honey, you had a nightmare.” You approached him, reaching up a hand to run a thumb over his stubbled cheek. “If that ever happens again, you can always come into my room. I’m right next door.”

“How will that help?” He inquired.

“Well, sometimes it’s nice to talk about it, if you want. Or, sometimes it’s just nice to be around someone else, so you don’t feel like you’re facing it alone.”

His nod in response sent a surge of care through your body. Rather than sitting there, gushing over him, you figured you’d channel your worry into something productive- getting him fed. 

“Well, I made some breakfast. Have a seat, I’ll make you a plate.”

You pulled out a chair for him at the table, gesturing for him to sit down, before scrambling to pull together a plate piled high with a stack of pancakes, a few slices of bacon, and some strawberries and bananas you had carefully sliced. You rested the plate in front of him, giving him a minute to inspect it, before returning to grab food for yourself. 

“Well, what do you think? I figured chocolate chip pancakes would be a safe bet. Everyone likes chocolate chip pancakes.”

Castiel clumsily sliced another bite from the pancake, lifting it to his mouth. He chewed pensively, mulling over the question.

“How do I know if I like it?” 

You thought for a moment.

“Good question. Does it make you feel happy?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

“Well, Cas, I think you’ll find that one of the great joys of humanity is the opportunity to figure out what makes you happy. We don’t get a lot of say in what goes on down here, but we do get to pick our favorite foods, favorite colors, favorite people, and fill our lives with those. It’s the small pleasures that make the difference.”

He considered your words for a moment, before spearing another bite with his fork. You giggled to yourself. It was adorable to watch him navigate the things you took for granted with so much fascination and uncertainty- something as small as taking a bite of food required all of his concentration and contemplation.

As you sipped your coffee, you considered the task that lay before you. It was your job to teach Cas how to be human- something you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself an expert on. With hunting dominating your upbringing and occupation thus far, you certainly hadn’t had the normal human experience. But you took the challenge in stride, knowing that Cas had much to learn. 

-

Saturday had come and gone. You had spent the entire day teaching Cas a crash course in human life skills, covering important topics like brushing your teeth (which proved more difficult than you thought it would be), remembering to drink water (you struggled with this yourself most of the time), shopping (the two of you thrifted him a whole wardrobe), and anything else you could think of as you went about your usual routine. 

As the day wound down, you and Cas sat on your back porch. The emerging twilight buzzed, and a warm breeze filtered through the trees and wrapped itself around the two bodies curled up in the lawn chairs. You were tired, he was tired, so another comfortable silence had settled into its now familiar place between the two of you. You could faintly hear the sound of children laughing and a mother calling after them, voices muffled by the distance that separated you from these neighbors down the street. You smiled to yourself, and Cas took notice. 

“Thank you for helping me today,” he offered hesitantly, as if afraid to disturb your thoughts.

“Anytime, Cas.” You were still a bit lost in thought as you responded.

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Why does being human feel so… Heavy?”

There was something about his tone of voice that snapped you out of your daze. Turning to him, you instantly recognized the worry that was weighing on him. 

“I just… I used to be a soldier. I had divine purpose. I’ve always had something to work towards, and now… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Life is a complicated thing, Cas. Most people spend an entire lifetime figuring out their purpose. You may be thousands of years old, but you’ve only been doing the whole human thing for a few days. Be patient with yourself.” 

“You seem to handle it all pretty well. Leaving hunting, making a life for yourself. You have it all figured out,” he frowned.

“Want to know a secret?”

He nodded, silently, eagerly. 

“I’m not handling it well. And I don’t have it all figured out. Nobody does. That’s the whole game. That’s life. You take what you’re given and you do what you can with it. But the beauty is, you get to choose.” 

“How do I know what to choose?” 

You smiled in spite of yourself. 

“That’s the big question. No one knows what’s right for you except you.” 

Cas’s hand reached across to yours, giving it a squeeze that sent your heart aflutter. Fingers intertwined, you settled back into the evening, pensive.  

- 

Sleep that night hadn’t come easy by any means. What had started as worry had now spiraled into full-on anxiety, warding you away from slipping into sleep. Each time you closed your eyes, your mind drifted down the hall to Castiel, separated from you by nothing more than a dozen footsteps and couple pieces of drywall. It was as if you could feel his inner turmoil. And beyond that, your heart ached for the man. All you wanted to do was go to him, be with him, comfort him. But the fear that you were taking advantage of his newly human state still plagued you, so you lingered rigid and sleepless in your bed. Just as you rolled over to attempt comfort and hopefully find some sleep, there was the faintest knock at your door- so quiet, you barely registered it. 

At first, you weren’t sure if you had actually heard the sound, but when the noise was followed by slow footsteps shuffling away, you snapped up in bed.  

“Cas! Come in,” you called. After a second, the door swung open.

“I had another one. A nightmare.” Cas spoke matter of factly, and yet, very soft and reserved. He lingered in your doorway, timid, waiting for you to give your blessing on his entrance.

“Oh, come in, sweetheart. Come sit.” You patted the space beside you, the noise muffled by the thick, fluffy comforter. Cas made his way into a seated position on the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, hesitant to pry but insistent on providing support.

“No.” His response was tense and succinct without being rude- you knew he was processing a lot of feelings, and wanted to give him grace.

“That’s okay. Would you like some time to think through it? Or would you like to be distracted?” 

“I’m not sure.”

“Take your time. I’m here.” 

There was a beat of silence. Giving him space was your top priority, as much as you wanted to leap across the bed and into his arms. 

“Maybe, distracted?”

“Sure thing. I’ll put on a movie, we can watch for a bit.” You snatched the remote from the table beside you, flipping through a few movies you thought Cas may enjoy, before settling on a lighthearted Disney movie. Your finger pressed play and adjusted the volume to a dull hum. 

You watched for a while in silence. As the movie was picking up, breaking out into a cheerful musical number, your eyes darted to Cas. Expecting to see him enamored by the animated wonderland, you were taken aback when his eyes locked with yours instantly. It was like he had been looking at you the whole time. 

“Hey, Cas.” He wouldn’t look away, and the eye contact was entrancing.

“Hi.” His voice was gruff, a mix of sleep and something else you weren’t entirely sure of, though you were starting to get an idea. 

“How are you doing?” 

“Better, now. Because I’m with you.” His words sent a wave of warmth through your body as you felt yourself inching closer to him, subconsciously. Clearly, he felt the same pull, as you both shifted to face each other directly. 

“Can I ask you about another feeling?” He was usually bashful with his questions, but this time, his voice was steady. His eyes were fixed on you with an almost palpable intensity, a kind of focus that made you fidget, suddenly so aware of yourself. 

“Of course,” you responded. He was now just inches away from your face. 

“What is this feeling I get when I’m this close to you?” His words were slow and genuine, and yet in some ways, it seemed like he already knew.

“What do you mean?” 

“It feels a lot like the nightmare. My heart beats fast and I can’t breathe. But it’s… Different. It’s good. I like it.” His eyes flickered as the words melted you.

He was so close to your face you could feel each breath tickle your nose and lips, as if pressing gentle precursors to tease you into taking the next step.

“Can I try something else you might like?” You could barely speak above a whisper.

He began to nod, lifting his head, but before he could complete the motion, all your defenses came crashing down, and you melted together- lips and limbs intertwining as one. And for the first time since becoming human, Castiel truly felt peace.

-

There’s something special about humanity. Sure, it has its ups and downs. There’s pain, fear, grief, death. Cas knew all those things already. They were what scared him most when he lost his grace. But he could have never known this, without experiencing it for himself. 

The early hours of the morning crept into the bedroom. Everything about the room was warm and soft- a kind of heaven that rivaled even the real thing. Cas watched as the rays of sun slipped through the window to kiss your skin softer, sweeter, more intimately than he ever had. Yet. 

There were many things about being human he hadn’t been prepared for. He had lost purpose, drive, direction. When he was first stripped of his grace, it had felt like his newfound heartbeat was mocking him with every pulse. But now? That heart served to pump more than just blood through his veins. His heart beat for you. His whole angelic life, he had been guided by divine word, but nothing had ever felt as holy as you, here, sleeping in his arms. You had taught him humanity, alright. And now, he finally had the chance to do something, to feel something, to experience something more beautiful than he could’ve ever imagined. He could love you.

Cas let the sounds of your breathing lull him back to sleep.

[theshamelesssimp]

Having a bad day, read x reader! Having a good one, read x reader! Bored, read x reader!

All in all, live, laugh, love x reader!

[spnfanficpond]

SPNFanFicPond Reblog Challenge!

We want to encourage reader interaction on SPN fan fiction stories, and we're ready to put an entire CultureFly box where our mouth is! Each fic you kudos/comment on (on AO3) or reblog with a comment (on Tumblr) will earn you one entry into the drawing for the prize. 

How to enter:

1. Read an SPN fic on AO3 or Tumblr.

If the fic is on AO3, click that kudos button and leave a comment! 

If the fic is on Tumblr, REBLOG the post with your comment!

The comment can be anything from (fic-relevant) key smashing to a bunch of emojis to a full book report on why you loved the fic. As long as you give the writer some love, that's what matters!

2. Go here, fill out this form, and give us a link to either your reblog on Tumblr, or the work on AO3 where we can see your comment. One fic per form submission, please!

The nitty gritty:

- Comments must be new. You can't submit comments you made in the past. 

- Comments must be individual and relevant to the fic. If we feel you have just key smashed on random fics in order to earn entries, or if all of your comments are identical, you will be disqualified.

The prize:

The Spring 2025 Culturefly Box!  Yes, the whole box! (Note, there is a tiny slice on the desk mat, and the Pestilence pen was damaged but could easily be repaired with a drop of super glue. Everything else in the box seems to be in perfect condition. When I saw the damage to the mat, I inspected the rest of the box thoroughly.) Contents include a 3XL Crowley shirt, a heat-reactive mug featuring Sam Winchester, a "demon tablet" tablet cover, Lucifer's Cage desk organizer, Azazel desk mat, and "Pen Set of the Apocalypse" with Notepad.

The deadline:

This form will be closed to submissions at midnight, EDT on June 30th. The winner will be announced on the SPNFanFicPond's socials: Tumblr, Twitter, BlueSky.

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Have questions about this or anything else? Send us an ASK or send a private message to one of the admins below!

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[castielscaplan]

Before She Cheats

Summary: You and Sam can't resist messing around whenever you get the chance.... even if the guilt absolutely haunts you

Warnings: heartbreak, cheating, drinking, betrayal, angst, not a happy ending, maybe its bittersweet, i guess?, nonexplicit smut

WC: 6K

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader

Read on ao3!

AN: i've been listening to Before He Cheats By Carrie Underwood on repeat today for absolutely no reason other than the song slaps. It inspired this! Enjoy!

The closet was suffocating.

Dust and old leather filled your nose, thick and cloying, but it wasn’t the reason you were struggling to breathe.

It was Sam. Pressed against you. Hands roaming with a slowness that made your skin burn. You shouldn’t be here. You couldn’t be here. Not with him. Especially not with Dean calling your name down the hall, voice getting closer.

Sam’s mouth brushed your ear, his breath sending a violent shiver down your spine.

"He's right outside," he whispered, voice low and dangerous. "If you make a sound... he’ll know what we’re doing. Do you really want him to find out like this?"

You whimpered without meaning to, the sound tiny, broken, desperate. Sam’s hands tightened on your waist, steadying you, silencing you.

Through the thin wood of the door, you heard Dean’s boots dragging slightly against the floor. Closer. Pausing just outside. You clamped a hand over your mouth, heart hammering so violently you thought Dean would hear it.

Sam smirked, eyes dark in the slatted light, his body heat burning into you. One large hand slid up under your shirt, fingertips tracing the bare curve of your side, pushing higher, mapping every shudder and breathless tremor.

You should stop him. You should shove him away, throw the door open, and confess before this spiraled even worse.

But you didn’t. God help you, you leaned into him instead.

Sam’s mouth ghosted over your jaw, not kissing yet, just hovering, waiting for you to break first. You bit down on your knuckles, desperate not to make a sound.

Outside, Dean’s voice. "Babe? You in there?" A soft laugh. "Come on, you’re not mad about earlier, are you?"

Guilt slammed into you so hard your knees almost buckled. You were mad earlier. At Dean’s teasing. At the way he sometimes forgot to see you, to listen, to understand. That fight had driven you straight into Sam’s arms.

Straight into this... betrayal.

Sam’s fingers brushed the underside of your bra, his knuckles grazing your nipple so lightly it was torture. You sucked in a shaky breath, barely muffled by your hand. Sam smiled against your throat.

"You like this too much to stop," he mouthed against your skin. You hated him. You hated yourself more.

Dean’s footsteps shifted. He was standing right outside the door now.  One tug of the handle. That’s all it would take.

"Y/N?" Dean’s voice was quieter now. Softer. Worried.

You squeezed your eyes shut, body trembling with the effort not to break. Sam’s hand slid down your stomach, slow, purposeful, until it dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans. Your gasp was too loud, and Dean shifted outside. And Sam’s free hand clamped over your mouth, pinning you tight against the wall.

You were trapped. Physically, emotionally, completely. Dean stood there for one endless, breathless heartbeat and then, mercifully, moved on. The floorboards creaked as he walked down the hall, muttering to himself.

Only when the sound of his boots faded did Sam ease his hand from your mouth. You stared at him, wide-eyed, humiliated, terrified—and burning. Sam searched your face in the dim light, something flickering behind the wicked smile.

Guilt. Fear. Longing.

You didn’t know which was worse.

"Say it," he breathed. "Tell me you want this."

Your throat locked up. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to kiss him until the guilt drowned.

Instead, you choked out a broken whisper, "I hate you."

Sam’s lips twisted in a sad, dangerous smile. "Good," he said. "Means you’ll remember." Then he kissed you— rough, desperate, wrong. You let him. You kissed him back like it was the last good thing you’d ever taste.

You clutched his jacket, dragging him closer, feeling the sharp edge of his belt buckle press into your stomach, the hard heat of him behind it. Sam groaned low in his throat, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. The closet felt like it was caving in, walls closing tighter and tighter, trapping you in the heat of him, the smell of leather and guilt and want.

Sam broke the kiss first, panting, forehead pressed to yours. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, voice raw. "Tell me, Y/N."

You couldn’t. You couldn’t even form the words.

Instead, you fumbled with the button of your jeans, desperation overtaking shame. Sam cursed under his breath and yanked your pants down just enough— just enough for him to push between your thighs, rutting against you through his jeans like he couldn’t help himself.

You whimpered, hands clenching the fabric of his jacket, burying your face against his shoulder to muffle the sounds. Sam’s hand slid between you, fingers slipping into you with an ease that made your cheeks burn. You bit down hard on his jacket to keep from screaming."Fuck... you’re soaked," Sam rasped into your ear, voice shaking. "You’re so goddamn bad, sweetheart. Worse than me."

He thrust his fingers deeper, curling them expertly, and you were gone. Tears pricked your eyes as pleasure ripped through you, sharp and humiliating and divine. You came hard against his hand, body spasming silently, legs trembling so badly you almost slid down the wall.

Sam caught you, cradling your shaking body against his chest. For one terrifying, fragile second, you thought he might say something soft. Something real. But he just smirked, pulling his fingers free and licking them obscenely slow, eyes locked on yours. Your stomach twisted in horror and heat. Sam zipped your pants back up roughly, hands lingering on your hips like he didn’t want to let you go. You pushed him back with trembling hands, glaring through the tears blurring your vision.

"This..." you gasped, "this never happened."

Sam tilted his head, studying you like you were some fascinating, broken thing. "Keep telling yourself that," he said softly.

You shoved open the closet door, stumbling into the hallway.

Dean’s voice drifted faintly from the library, calling for you again.

You wiped your mouth, your eyes, fixing your clothes with shaking hands. You were going to hell. You were going to hell, and Sam Winchester was going to be there smiling when you got there.

You took one step toward the library and Sam’s hand caught your wrist. You turned, heart in your throat. Sam’s face was unreadable in the dim light. Hard. Haunted. "Y/N..." he said roughly. "This wasn’t just you."

You ripped your arm free and ran. You didn’t look back. You stumbled into the library on legs that barely worked, heart still thundering against your ribs.

Dean looked up from the lore book he was flipping through, flashing that cocky, familiar grin that used to make your knees weak. Now it just made your stomach lurch.

"There you are," he said easily. "Thought you got lost or something."

You forced a shaky laugh, praying he wouldn’t notice the way your hands trembled. "Nah," you said hoarsely. "Just needed a minute."

Dean frowned, concern flickering over his face. "You okay?" he asked, pushing the book aside and standing up.

You nodded too fast. "Yeah. Just tired. Maybe... maybe I’ll turn in early."

Dean crossed the room toward you, and for one horrifying second, you thought he would smell Sam on you — the guilt, the sin, the heat — but he just kissed your forehead and ruffled your hair like he always did.

"Get some rest, sweetheart," he murmured. "Big hunt tomorrow."

You nodded mutely, pulling away before he could see the tears swimming in your eyes. You practically fled down the hall, boots thudding too loudly on the stone floor. You needed a shower. You needed to scrub the shame off your skin. You needed to—

A hand shot out from the shadows, yanking you into a side room. You gasped, shoving at the chest, pinning you to the wall—until you looked up and saw Sam’s eyes burning into yours.

"Sam—" you hissed.

"I can’t—" he rasped, voice wrecked. "I can’t leave it like that."

You shook your head wildly. "We can’t—"

But Sam wasn’t listening. His mouth crashed against yours, savage, desperate, tasting like guilt and fire and longing.

You whimpered into the kiss, fists pounding weakly against his chest — but it only spurred him on, made him grip you harder, like he could carve himself into your bones if he held you tight enough.

"You think I’m proud of this?" he growled against your lips. "You think I don’t hate myself for wanting you?"

You shook your head, tears slipping free.

"Please, Sam," you begged, voice breaking. "Please don’t."

Sam let out a broken, gut-wrenching sound and buried his face in your neck.

"Tell me you don’t feel it too," he whispered. "Tell me, and I’ll stop."

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because you did feel it. God help you, you felt it so much it made you want to claw your own heart out. You stayed silent. And that silence broke whatever was left of Sam’s restraint.

He lifted you bodily, setting you on the edge of a dusty old table, kicking your legs apart with his knee. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as you sobbed against his mouth. Sam kissed the tears from your cheeks, his hands shaking as they slid under your shirt again, rougher this time, less careful.

You felt everything — the anger, the desperation, the self-loathing.

You felt him.

"Sam," you gasped, "we can’t—Dean—"

"Dean doesn’t love you like this," Sam hissed against your skin. "Not the way I do."

The words hit you like a slap.

You froze.

Sam seemed to realise what he said a second too late. He pulled back, chest heaving, staring at you like he just ripped out his own heart and handed it to you. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "I didn’t mean—" He stopped himself.

He did mean it. You could see it written all over his face. Before you could speak, a heavy knock shook the door behind you.

Both of you froze.

Dean’s voice. "Y/N? You in there?"

Your blood turned to ice. Sam’s hand clamped over your mouth, his own eyes wide and panicked.

"Yeah!" you called through the muffling grip, heart galloping. "Just—cleaning up! Give me a minute!"

Dean paused. You could almost feel him frowning.

Then footsteps, retreating slowly down the hall.

You slumped against Sam, breathing hard. "This is a goddamn disaster," you whispered.

Sam pulled his hand away slowly, the lines of guilt carved deep into his face. "I know," he said hoarsely. "But it’s ours."

You stared at him, throat raw. You hated him. You hated yourself more. You pushed past him, bolting into the hallway, heart breaking apart with every step.

You didn’t see Sam slide down the wall behind you, head in his hands.

You didn’t see the way he broke.

You avoided Sam for three days.

Three whole days of slipping down side corridors, ducking into unused rooms, slamming your bedroom door shut before he could even knock.

Three days of pretending you didn't feel him everywhere.

Of pretending you didn’t see the way his hands trembled when he passed you a coffee mug at breakfast. The way his jaw clenched when Dean brushed a kiss over your hair. The way he looked at you when he thought no one else was watching — like you were the rope pulling him into hell, and he’d go willingly.

You barely slept.

Every time you closed your eyes, you felt him again — his hands, his mouth, the wrecked sound of his voice when he said Dean doesn’t love you like I do.

It made you sick.

It made you crave him worse.

The fourth night, it rained.

Hard, relentless drumming on the bunker roof. You were curled under your blankets, staring at the ceiling, when the knock came.

Soft. Desperate. You knew it was him. You knew you should pretend you weren’t here. You knew you should scream at him to leave.

But your feet moved anyway. You opened the door, and Sam stood there, soaked to the bone from standing outside, hair plastered to his forehead, breathing like he’d run a mile.

"Please," he said, voice raw. "Just — just talk to me."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Sam, we can’t keep doing this," you whispered.

"I know."

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets like he didn’t trust himself not to touch you.

"I just..." he dragged a hand down his face, looking wrecked. "I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch him touch you. I can’t sit there and pretend it doesn’t gut me every time you smile at him."

Your heart cracked wide open.

"It’s not fair," you said brokenly. "It’s not fair to any of us."

Sam nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

For a second — a terrible, beautiful second — you both just looked at each other.

And you knew. It was never going to stop.  Not until you burned everything to the ground. Not until someone got hurt. Maybe all of you. Sam moved first. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, the click echoing in the tiny room like a gunshot.

You backed away instinctively — but there was nowhere to go.

"Tell me to leave," he said, voice shaking. "Tell me to leave and I’ll go."

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

Sam let out a broken sound and crossed the room in two strides, grabbing your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. "I love you," he whispered, like a sin, like a prayer. "God help me, I love you."

You broke. You crashed into him, kissing him like you could erase every mistake you were making with your mouth, your hands, your whole stupid, selfish heart. Sam kissed you back with a hunger that tasted like agony, lifting you into his arms, stumbling blindly toward the bed.

Clothes hit the floor in frantic, clumsy bursts.

He stretched you out under him like something precious, his hands shaking as they roamed your skin. "You’re mine," he whispered against your collarbone. "You’ve always been mine."

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. "I’m yours," you gasped, tears slipping free. "I’m yours, Sam."

The words were a gunshot to your own chest. But you meant them. You meant them so much that it terrified you.

-

Afterwards, you lay tangled together in the dark, heartbeats slowly finding a broken rhythm. You traced lazy circles on Sam’s bare chest, feeling the way his heart kicked every time you touched him.

"We have to stop," you said finally, voice raw.

Sam went still.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "We do."

But neither of you moved. Neither of you even tried.

--

The next morning, it almost exploded. You sat at the bunker kitchen table, forcing yourself to eat dry toast you couldn’t taste.

Dean wandered in, yawning, scratching his stomach, dropping a kiss on the top of your head like he always did.

You flinched. Sam stiffened across the room, coffee mug frozen halfway to his mouth.

Dean frowned. "You good?"

"Fine," you croaked.

"You sure?" he asked, leaning down to look into your face, worry creasing his forehead.

You nodded too fast.

Sam set his mug down with a sharp clink.

Dean’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing slightly.

"You two weird or something?" he asked, suspicious.

"No," you and Sam blurted at the same time.

Dean squinted at both of you. You wanted to scream. You wanted to confess. You wanted to crawl out of your own skin.

Instead, you smiled as best as you could muster in front of the two brothers and shoved another bite of toast into your mouth.

Dean stared at you a second longer. Then shrugged, yawning again. "You two are freakin’ exhausting," he muttered, heading toward the garage.

The second he was gone, you dropped your head into your hands. Sam was at your side in an instant, kneeling beside your chair. "We can’t keep doing this," you whispered, broken.

"I know," he said, voice gutted. "But I can’t stop loving you."

You looked at him and knew he was right. You couldn’t either.

--

Later that night, it rained again. The power flickered once, twice. You sat curled up on the bed, staring at the wall, heart hammering.

A soft knock.

You knew who it was before you even moved. You opened the door and found Dean standing there, wet and frowning.

"Can we talk?" he said.

You blinked, nodding slowly.

Dean stepped inside, dripping water onto the floor. He looked...nervous. "Listen," he said, raking a hand through his soaked hair. "I know I’m not the easiest guy to be with. I know I screw up. But I—I love you, Y/N."

Your heart cracked clean down the middle.

"I love you," Dean said again, voice rough. "And if something’s wrong — if you’re not happy — you gotta tell me."

You opened your mouth.

The words clawed at your throat. And behind Dean — just down the hall — you saw Sam. Standing in the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

Your heart screamed. Dean’s eyes searched your face."Tell me," he said softly. "Tell me if I’m losing you."

Tears spilt down your cheeks. You looked at Dean — sweet, broken, good Dean — and you looked at Sam — furious, desperate, yours — and you knew.

No matter what you chose, you were going to shatter something beautiful.

Maybe everything.

--

The closet was too dark, too small, too dangerous. You could still feel Sam’s hands shaking against your waist, the heat of his breath against your ear. "He's right outside," Sam whispered, voice hoarse and breaking under the weight of guilt. "If you make a sound, he'll know what we’re doing."

You didn't dare move. The weight of what you were doing — what you had already done — was crushing you. Every heartbeat slammed against your ribs like a warning. Dean. Dean. Dean.

Footsteps echoed outside. Heavy. Familiar. Dean’s voice floated down the hallway — low, casual, humming some stupid classic rock song under his breath.

You squeezed your eyes shut. God, what were you doing?

Sam's fingers, still tangled in the fabric of your shirt, curled tighter. His forehead rested against yours, and for a moment, everything disappeared — the bunker walls, the guilt, the sound of Dean’s boots.

Just him. Just you. Just this.

The doorknob rattled. You both froze.

"Closet’s stuck again," Dean muttered to himself, jiggling it.

Sam held you so tightly you could barely breathe. You felt his chest rising and falling like a trapped animal.

Another rattle. Another shove.

"Whatever," Dean said, giving up, his footsteps fading down the hall.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Sam’s hands slid from your waist to your face, and you saw it — all of it — in his eyes. The fear. The need. The shame.

"I’m sorry," he whispered. His voice cracked. "I'm so fucking sorry."

You swallowed, your heart bleeding. "Sam… we have to stop."

"I know," he rasped. "I know. But I—"

The door suddenly burst open.

You stumbled back against the wall, blinking into the sudden light, and everything shattered.

Dean stood there. Eyes wide. Mouth open. A beer bottle dangling from his fingers. The bottle slipped from his hand. Shattered.

You didn’t even hear it hit the ground. You didn’t hear anything except the broken sound Dean made — somewhere between a gasp and a groan, a sound you’d never heard him make before.

It was worse than a punch. Worse than a scream. It was the sound of someone breaking.

Sam moved first. "Dean—"

Dean hit him.

It wasn’t a warning punch. It was a full-force, bone-snapping right hook that sent Sam crashing into the opposite wall.

"Dean, stop—!" you cried, reaching out.

Dean turned on you. Not with fists — but with something worse.

His eyes. God, his eyes.

"You," he breathed. His voice was shaking. "You."

You stumbled back, hand over your mouth.

"How long?" Dean demanded. His voice rose — a wild, desperate roar. "How long, Sam?!"

Sam wiped the blood from his mouth, chest heaving. "It wasn't—it wasn't supposed to happen—"

"Answer me!" Dean grabbed Sam by the collar and slammed him against the wall again. The whole bunker seemed to shake.

You stepped forward. "Dean, please, it wasn’t like that, it—"

"You think I give a shit what you have to say?" Dean snarled at you, voice so raw it barely sounded human. "After what you did?"

Sam shoved him back, breathing hard. "Dean, don't you dare talk to her like that."

Dean’s face twisted. Betrayal. Fury. Grief. All of it flooding to the surface. "You don't get to protect her," Dean growled. "You don't get to touch her. You don't get to breathe near her. Do you understand me, Sam? You’re my little brother!"

Sam’s fists clenched. "I love her."

The words hit like a grenade. Dean physically reeled back, like the air had been ripped from his lungs.

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed.

"You love her," Dean repeated, voice hollow. "You love her."

You sobbed. "Dean—Dean, I’m sorry—"

He laughed. It was the ugliest sound you’d ever heard.

"You're sorry?" he said, his smile cracking into something twisted. "You're sorry?"

Sam moved toward you instinctively, a protective gesture,  but Dean was faster. He shoved Sam back so hard he staggered.

"You loved me, too, huh?" Dean asked you, voice slicing you open. "Was any of it real? Or was it just a warm-up for my little brother?"

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "It wasn’t like that. Dean, please—"

Dean's fists curled at his sides. You could see it, the war inside him. He wanted to hit something. Break something. Maybe himself.

Instead, he turned away.

"Get out," Dean said, voice dead and low.

Neither of you moved.

He turned back around, and the look on his face made your blood run cold.

"I said get the fuck out," Dean shouted.

You flinched. Sam grabbed your hand and pulled you back, dragging you down the hall like a ghost.

Dean didn’t follow.

The last thing you saw before the bunker door slammed behind you was Dean, standing alone in the hallway, staring at the broken beer bottle on the floor like it had been his heart.

--

The door slammed behind you so hard the walls shook. The sound echoed in your skull, over and over and over, like a gunshot. Sam didn’t let go of your hand until you reached the garage — and even then, it took him a second to realise he was still holding on. His hand dropped from yours like it burned.

You leaned against the cold wall, dragging in a shattered breath. Sam was pacing like a caged animal, running both hands through his hair, muttering under his breath.

"This is bad," he rasped. "God, this is so bad."

You slid to the floor, your knees giving out. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t bother wiping them away. What was the point? You had destroyed it. All of it.

Sam stopped pacing when he saw you crumple.  His face softened — just a little — and he dropped down next to you. "Hey," he said, touching your arm. His voice cracked. "Hey, look at me."

You did — and the look on his face almost killed you. Regret. Guilt. Love. All at once.

"I’m so sorry," Sam said, shaking his head. His voice broke completely. "I should’ve stopped this before it ever started."

You buried your face in your hands. "I hurt him. Sam, I hurt him."

Sam swallowed hard, blinking fast, fighting the tears rising in his own throat. "He hates me," he said, voice hollow. "He’s never gonna forgive me."

You sobbed raw, broken sound that ripped from your chest.

"And he’ll never forgive me either," you whispered.

For a moment, there was nothing but your shared, unbearable silence.

You thought, for a second, about going back. About falling on your knees in front of Dean and begging him to let you explain. But what was there to explain? You betrayed him. With the person he trusted most.

Sam pressed his forehead against yours, his hands shaking where they framed your face. "I love you," he said, so broken it barely made a sound. "God, I love you. But I wish I didn’t."

You choked on a sob. "I know," you whispered. "Me too."

--

Dean stood frozen in the hallway, staring at the shards of broken glass. He didn’t even feel the blood running down his palm where he’d gripped the broken bottle. Didn’t even feel the pain. He only felt the nothingness. He stumbled to the kitchen, found the half-empty bottle of whiskey, and didn’t bother with a glass.. He drank straight from the bottle, letting the burn claw down his throat. But it didn’t burn enough. Nothing could burn enough.

He punched the wall — hard — and felt something crack in his hand. Good.  Maybe if he broke every bone in his body, it would hurt less than the hole they’d carved in him. He slid down the kitchen wall, bottle clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

The images kept replaying — Sam's hands on you. Your lips swollen. Your eyes wide with guilt. And the way you looked at Sam — Not like it was a mistake. Not like you regretted it.

Like you loved him.

Dean laughed — a broken, ugly sound — and tipped the bottle back again. He stayed there for hours. Maybe days. He didn’t know anymore.

--

You and Sam sat there, slumped against each other, both broken.

Sam wiped his face, but the tears kept coming. "I’m gonna fix this," he said hoarsely. "I swear to God, I’m gonna fix this."

You turned your head to look at him, hopelessness hollowing you out. "How?"

Sam’s face crumpled. "I don't know," he admitted. His voice shattered. "I don't know."

You reached for his hand, but it felt wrong now. Everything felt wrong.

--

You crept back into the bunker.

It was silent. Dark.

You found Dean passed out on the kitchen floor, the bottle clutched in his fist, blood smeared on the wall where he’d punched it. Your heart cracked wide open. You knelt beside him, trembling.

"Dean," you whispered, brushing the hair from his forehead.

He flinched away even in his sleep.

You swallowed the sob that rose in your throat. You touched his hand — the one clutching the bottle — and carefully pried it from his fingers.

He stirred — and for a terrible second, his green eyes opened, bloodshot and glassy. "Don't," Dean slurred.

Your throat closed. "Dean—"

"Don't touch me," he rasped.

You pulled your hand back like you’d been burned.

Dean stared at you, seeing you, but not seeing you. He shook his head, a tear sliding down his cheek. "I loved you," he whispered. His voice cracked on the last word.  "I loved you."

You crumpled to the floor beside him, shaking so hard you couldn’t breathe.

"I still do," he said, his voice breaking completely. "But I can’t anymore."

You sobbed, pressing your forehead to the cold tile.

Dean turned away from you, like you didn’t even exist anymore.

Like you were already dead to him.

--

The bunker had always been a home. Not just a place to sleep, but a refuge. A sanctuary. The walls held memories of hunts fought, laughs shared, and secrets whispered in the quiet hours of the night.

Now, the air felt too thick. Too heavy. The silence between you and Dean stretched for miles.

Dean didn’t want to look at you. Didn’t want to hear from you.

But you couldn’t stay away.

The first step was the hardest. The second, even harder. You walked into the kitchen, but Dean wasn’t there anymore. He was gone.

You found Sam instead. He hadn’t slept. His face was drawn, hollow, eyes were bloodshot. He was leaning against the counter, hands pressed flat on the granite, as if holding himself up from falling apart. His eyes flickered to you as you entered, but he didn’t say a word.

Neither of you knew what to say. You didn’t know how to apologise — didn’t know if it would even matter anymore. It would never be enough.

"I told you it was a mistake," Sam said finally, voice hoarse.

You shook your head. "You don’t get it. I never meant for this to happen. I—"

"You don’t have to explain," Sam interrupted, wiping his face with a tired hand. "I know. I get it."

"Do you?" you whispered, voice breaking. "Because I don’t even get it."

You both stood there, worlds apart, struggling to breathe the same air.

--

Dean’s absence was like a ghost that haunted the bunker. You knew he was in his room. You could feel it. But you couldn’t bring yourself to go to him. You wanted to, but the weight of the guilt was suffocating. Every step felt like a betrayal. Every breath felt nauseating.

Sam stood with you, trying to keep the peace, but you both knew it was a temporary truce. Nothing would fix this. Nothing.

--

Dean came down the stairs at sunset, his eyes cold and distant, like he wasn’t even seeing you, like you had already died. He walked past you without a word.

You swallowed hard. "Dean—"

He turned to you then, but his face was a mask of indifference. "Don’t," he snapped, voice flat. "I don’t want to hear it."

You flinched at the venom in his tone.

"I don’t want to hear it," he repeated, his eyes flashing with barely contained rage.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, but the words felt hollow. Empty.

Dean’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking in his face. "You’re sorry?" He let out a bitter laugh. "I don’t need your apology. I need you to get the hell out of my face."

He turned away, heading for the door.

Your legs felt like lead, but you moved toward him. "Dean, please. You have to listen. Just hear me out—"

"You betrayed me," Dean said, voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "You and Sam. You’re both dead to me. I will never forgive either of you for this."

"Dean, don’t say that," you begged, your voice cracking. "Please, you don’t mean it."

But he did. You could see it in his eyes. He didn’t just mean it — he believed it. Dean was already at the door. He turned the handle with one last look over his shoulder.

"Goodbye," he said, and the door slammed behind him before you could say another word.

--

Sam couldn’t take it anymore.

He was pacing the hall, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His face was pale, eyes wide with panic.

"I’m going after him," Sam muttered to himself, more to calm his own nerves than anything else.

You grabbed his arm before he could go.

"Sam, no," you said, shaking your head. "Don’t."

"You don’t understand," Sam said, his voice strained. "He’s not okay. He’s breaking, and if I don’t stop him—"

"You can’t fix this, Sam. None of us can." Your voice was quieter now, brittle with exhaustion. "Dean’s gone."

Sam’s face crumpled, the fight draining from him. "I know," he whispered, the words like a weight on his chest.

But he still couldn’t stop. He wasn’t ready to let go. He couldn’t let Dean walk away, not like this.

Sam stormed to the door.

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t stop him, couldn’t fix this, but there was one thing you knew for sure:  You were the one who had caused it. You had burned everything to the ground, and nothing—not Sam, not Dean—could rebuild it.

--

Dean wasn’t at the bar, but Sam found him on a random street, soaked in misery and alcohol.

He had been drinking for hours. Dean’s face was flushed with alcohol, his eyes unfocused, lost. The brokenness in him was now a permanent part of his soul.

Sam found him on the docks, sitting at the edge with a bottle in his hand.

"You think drinking’s gonna fix this?" Sam asked, his voice quieter now.

Dean didn’t even flinch. "You’re too late."

"I know," Sam said, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. "I know. But I can’t let you go down like this."

Dean finally looked at him. His expression was unreadable, but the pain in his eyes was enough to make Sam’s heart break.

"I don’t want to feel anymore," Dean whispered, his voice hoarse. "I don’t want to hurt anymore."

Sam stepped forward, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. "I’m sorry, Dean," he said, voice breaking. "I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to be the one who did this."

Dean didn’t speak for a long time.

Finally, his voice was so quiet, Sam almost couldn’t hear him.

"Then why did you?" Dean asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Why, Sam?"

Sam choked on a sob, unable to answer.

Dean’s hand dropped to the bottle again. "I can’t forgive you," he said. "I can’t forgive either of you."

Sam nodded, defeated. "I know."

And then Dean stood up. He didn’t look at Sam. Didn’t look at anyone. He walked away from the pavement he’d been slouched against, and Sam’s heart shattered a little more.

--

The air was thick with tension. Every second felt like an eternity, as though time itself had slowed to a crawl, forcing each painful moment to linger longer than it should.

The bunker was quiet now. Too quiet.

You didn’t expect him to come back. Not after what happened.

But you were wrong.

Dean returned.

The door creaked open, and your heart skipped a beat when you heard the familiar sound of boots hitting the concrete. The weight of the silence between you was deafening.

You were sitting on the couch, pretending to read something, trying not to give away how much you were struggling inside. It wasn’t working.

Dean stood in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. He didn’t say anything. No harsh words, no insults — just the cold, empty stare of a man who had been completely drained of everything.

The whiskey on his breath hit you like a wave. He was drunk. You could see it in his unsteady posture, the way his shoulders slumped, the way his hand clutched the edge of the doorframe like he needed something to hold him upright.

"Dean…" you whispered, your voice shaking despite yourself.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped further into the room, his gaze not leaving you, but his face was devoid of any emotion. It was a mask, one that had been carefully constructed to protect him from the flood of feelings he couldn’t — wouldn’t — deal with.

The distance between you both felt miles long.

Sam had gone to bed hours ago, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the echoes of your shattered heart. You were too afraid to face Dean, to try to fix the brokenness between you. You knew it would only make things worse.

Dean's lips parted, but his voice was low, almost like he had to force the words out. "Do you hate me?" His voice cracked slightly, and it hit you harder than any slap could.

You felt your chest tighten. The ache you had been trying to ignore flooded you all at once, choking you with its intensity. "No, Dean," you managed, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. "I could never hate you."

He let out a harsh laugh, bitter and dry. "Then why… why the hell would you do it?" His words were sharper now, cutting through the stillness of the room like a blade. "Why would you do that to me? What did I do wrong?"

"I didn't mean for it to happen," you tried to explain, but your voice wavered, betraying the guilt that weighed you down. "It wasn’t supposed to go like this."

Dean stepped forward, the slow, deliberate movement making your heart pound even faster. He stopped just in front of you, his eyes boring into yours, his breath mingling with yours as he stared you down.

"You think that makes it better?" he asked quietly. "That you didn’t mean for it to happen? That you didn’t plan it? You don’t get to do that to me, Y/N. You don’t get to break me like that and just walk away."

"I’m not walking away," you whispered, the tears finally spilling over. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Dean’s eyes softened for a brief second, and you thought, just for a moment, that maybe there was hope. That maybe, just maybe, he could find a way back to you. But then the coldness returned.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, like he was trying to calm the storm that raged within him. "You’ve already hurt me," he said, the words quiet but full of so much pain. "I don’t know if I can come back from this."

The weight of those words settled in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You hadn’t meant to cause this much pain. But you had.

Dean turned away then, taking a few steps toward the door, as though every step he took carried more weight than the last. You couldn’t bear the distance, couldn’t stand the thought of losing him completely. So, you did what you never thought you would.

You reached out.

"Dean, please," you whispered, your hand trembling as it hovered in the air between you, unsure if you should touch him or pull away. "Please don’t walk away."

Dean paused, his back to you. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the steady, agonising rhythm of your heart.

Then, slowly, he turned back around. His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw the full force of the anguish in them. "You don’t get it, do you?" Dean’s voice was raw, thick with emotion. "You can’t just come back from this. I can’t just forgive you. You broke me, Y/N. And nothing you say or do can fix it."

"You don’t have to forgive me," you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I don’t expect that. But I’m here. I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere. Please, just… just don’t shut me out. Please."

Dean stared at you for a long time, his face an unreadable mask of pain. The silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity.

Then, almost imperceptibly, his posture relaxed. He took a step toward you, his hands reaching out, but he didn’t touch you. Not yet. He was so close that you could feel the heat of his body, but it was still as though he was a world away.

"You really think I can’t forgive you?" Dean asked, his voice quiet, almost lost.

You nodded slowly, not trusting yourself to speak, your heart racing as you waited for him to say what you were afraid to hear.

Dean’s eyes softened, just a fraction. And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, pulling you into his arms as if he needed you to breathe. "I can’t… I can’t forget," he murmured into your hair, his voice trembling. "But I’ll try. For you."

Tears flooded your eyes as you clung to him, desperate for something to hold onto. "I’m so sorry, Dean. So sorry."

"I know," he whispered, his hand smoothing over your hair, holding you as though he never wanted to let you go. "I know."

It was broken. But for the first time, you dared to believe it could be mended — maybe not completely, maybe never the same, but mended nonetheless. The wounds would never fully heal. But you weren’t giving up. Not on him. Not on you.

Not yet.

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A/N: i know this is a long one, but PLEASE don't forget/ hesitate to reblog! share with your friends! make them emotional as well!