#supernatural fantiction

[theconstantsidekick]

Lit Cigarettes (Part 1)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x BestFriend!Reader, Damon Salvatore x Stefan Salvatore x Sister!Reader (mentioned) Genre: Angsty Fluff

Summary: Y/n decides that Dean Winchester really needs to know how she feels about him.

(Set after the events of Supernatural season 4 and yes, Y/n is technically a Salvatore. I love the adopted sibling trope, can you tell?)

a/n: I have another part in mind if this does well.

Warnings: Smoking, mentions of smoking, romanticisation of smoking, a lot of that yes, sorry. Don't smoke kids.

Part 2 is here

He used to light her cigarettes when she was too busy talking. That’s what love is. According to her, that is the truest, most genuine form of love. The idea might sound quite contradictory, somehow. But it would make sense to smokers all around the world. 

The thought that somebody would just pluck the cigarette out of your hand, light it, take a little puff to keep the light aflame and just place it back between your index and middle finger. That’s somehow so painfully selfless that it can’t be classified as anything other than the most romantic act known to mankind. 

Now, the tragedy of it all was that that was the only showing of love she ever got from him. All she ever got was a lit cigarette handed off to her while she was too invested in spewing absolutely random bullshit about the sensors on automatic doors at some blackwater motel in an unnamed town. He’d do it quietly. He wasn’t quiet but there was always a quietness about him. Not quiet in the truest definition of the word. He was quiet in a different way, he talked. He was always charming, never not charming. He smiled and charmed everyone further still, but it felt like a very well rehearsed performance. His words, his charm, his smile seemed rehearsed, practiced relentlessly. A stark contrast to how they talked, when he talked to her and just her. Or well, so she thought until she found out that he could talk with a genuine smile to just about anyone unless there was a room full of people. Until the day she found that out, she felt quite special about it.

She felt important to him, enough for him to talk around her more, smoke around her more and light her cigarettes when she was too busy talking.

He never smoked around anyone else, hid the bad habit from his brother, but never her. It made her feel like there was a precarious unspoken bond between the two of them that could break at the mere mention of it. Could it?

She’s going to find out.

“Dean,” she calls out in no urgency, with a quiet calm. They are packing up their things, leaving the small motel room behind for another one in another town. Sam’s out at the reception, settling the bill. He’ll be back soon, she needs to wrap this up before he comes back. 

“Yeah?” Dean answers, never looking up from the duffle bag he’s aggressively shoving his clothes into.

“I love you.”

Dean’s motion halted at once. He doesn’t move, she thinks maybe he can’t move.

“Dean?”

The man in front of her gulps, audibly. “Yeah?”

“I love you.” It feels important to reiterate in this case. 

“I—” Words seem to be straining him. “I heard you the first time.”

“Good,” she tells him and then resumes packing her shit. But there’s a few more things to add, “I know we don’t talk about it, I know we aren’t supposed to. I know you’ve always known that I loved you and we still never talk about it, which means you don’t feel the same way, which again, I know. I am not trying to change your mind, I’m not trying to get into your pants. I’m certainly not asking you to love me back. I am not asking for anything actually, so you can quit looking so fucking terrified. I just needed to tell you because you up and died and it felt like my life stopped, like I couldn’t fucking breathe anymore. I felt hollow and broken and it felt wrong to be alive…” He looks at her then. Her voice is so thick with emotions, even though she is trying to keep them at bay, he must have felt compelled to look at her, she muses.

Shaking her head, she exhales audibly. “But you’re back now and I just needed to say it. I’ve loved you since I first saw you when I was 13. I don’t know how to not be in love with you, trust me, I’ve tried. So, I've learnt to make peace with it. I definitely don’t need you to say something, I just needed you to know that I love you, always have, most probably I always will. I need you to know that you are loved.”

There is silence then, no words, just the sound of her footsteps as she goes around the room picking up things she wants to shove into her bag.

“I…” Dean tries. But the words fade away just as quickly as the thoughts strike him. She looks at him for a second but the silence that proceeded makes her look away. She has just dropped a huge bomb, not that it was some revelatory information but it was something they had avoided talking about for literally ever, so it was fair that he needed some time to come up with a response. She is more than happy to give it to him.

But then Sam walks back into the room. “I’m pretty sure the dude at the reception thinks we’re a freaking thruple.” He walks to the washroom to collect his toiletry pouch and begins packing as well. “I mean, I’m not sure I can blame him? But I want to?” He shrugs. “Dean and I really don’t look all that alike, maybe that’s it? But this is like, the seventh motel in a row that’s given me really weird looks, you know? I don’t know whether to be flattered or plain disgusted—” His words drop off, as he finally notices the atmosphere in the room.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asks looking from his brother to his best friend.

“Yes,” Dean replies at the same time as she says, “No.”

“NO?!” Dean balks at her.

“Can you guys drop me off at the bus stop? I gotta head to Mystic Falls,” she says, zipping up her bag and exiting the room.

Dean follows her instantly. “Mystic Falls? I thought you weren’t talking to your brothers?” Running up to catch up with her, he races even further ahead to open the trunk of his car for her. 

“Yeah, but that was last week,” she tells him as if that was enough explanation. She places her bag in the trunk.

“They kicked you out!” Dean seems on edge. She can’t completely understand why. 

She looks at him. “It’s Stef’s birthday.”

“He’s had a couple hundred of those,” Dean argues.

She smiles, “I hope he has a couple hundred more, and I’ll try to attend them all.”

“Damon forgot yours!” 

She shrugs. “I’ll pretend to forget his. But this is Stefan. And besides, Caroline invited me. You want me to bail and piss her off?”

He slams the trunk shut. “Fine!” He acquiesces, albeit very aggressively. “But I’m dropping you to the Boarding House, not a fucking bus stop.”

Meanwhile, Sam comes out, carrying his own luggage as well as Dean's—who had apparently completely forgotten about it. He opens the trunk again, eyeing Dean and her very suspiciously.

She moves to open the back door of the Impala. “You’re going to Ohio, it’s like a three hour detour.”

“It’s two hours with me behind the wheel. Get in,” he commands, leaving no room for any argument. 

“I was doing that anyway,” she says almost to herself, getting in the back. 

Dean stops her. “Get in the front. Sam’ll sit in the back.”

“I will?” Sam questions, lost.

Dean doesn’t care. He just gets in the driver seat, not waiting on either of the two. A look passes between Sam and her. He raises a brow in question, she just smiles and shrugs again in response and gets in.

Later, when Sam’s already asleep in the backseat, Dean clears his throat.

“So.”

She doesn’t turn around to look at him, she isn’t sure she was supposed to, and it’s drizzling, she doesn’t want to turn away from the window, not yet. “So.”

She can feel him shift uncomfortably next to her. “You gonna say anything?” He asks.

She thinks for a second. “I don’t think I have anything left to say, really. I said everything I had to say.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Dean yells out.

She has to look at him then, with ire in her eyes. “SHhhh!! He’s sleeping!” She whisper-yells at him, pointing to Sam in the back seat. 

Trying to compose himself once again, Dean whisper-yells back at her, “What do you mean you’ve said everything you had to?”

“I said it, in the motel,” She explains.

“And that was it? The end of the conversation?” Dean questions, seeming very agitated.

“I mean, yeah! What else am I supposed to do?” She throws back, his agitation is quite contagious. It always has been. 

“You really think that was a reasonable end to that conversation?!” Dean bites.

She’s getting annoyed now. “What do you want? You want me to elaborate? Write a thesis paper on it? Or—or would you like to read my diary where I scribbled ‘Y/n Winchester’ a million times? What exactly is the resolution you’re looking for here?”

“You wrote ‘Y/n Winchester’ in your diary a million times…?” He asks, almost as if he cannot comprehend the idea of it. 

From anyone else she would’ve taken that as an insult. Had it been anyone else they might have actually been making fun of her. But it’s not anyone else. It’s Dean. So she’s compelled to look at him.

“Yeah, Dean. And it was just as embarrassing then as it is right now. But I was the nerdy teenager and you were the hot jock who the cheerleaders at Mystic Falls High were dying to date.” Just the thought of those days makes her morose. “I don’t like to think about those days.”

Then there is silence again.

Until Dean clears his throat, slowly he says, “But I never drove any of them home.” And damn it all to hell, it makes her smile. And damn it all to hell, her smile apparently makes him more confident in his approach. “I didn’t wait for them outside their place, blaring AC/DC at the crack of dawn, all to get milkshakes before school… It was you. I wanted to hang out with you.”

But that’s somehow the wrong thing to say, “Never at school.���

“What?” Dean asks, thrown off.

“You didn’t talk to me at school.” Admitting it, it breaks something in her all over again. It’s like she’s in highschool again. She hates it.

“That’s not true! We had lunch together everyday!” He defends.

“Nope,” she tells him. “You had lunch with the cheer squad while I sat on the table next to you silently eating really bad beans.”

“But I was there,” He tries.

“You were,” she concedes. “You were there but you weren’t there.”

Silence falls once again.

“I don’t blame you,” she is the one that breaks it. “For high school.”

“Why not?” Dean asks, sounding genuinely more hurt at the fact that she doesn’t blame him than the fact that she accused him of ignoring her.

“It’s a weird time for everyone, and I think Mystic Falls High was the first time you got to actually enjoy it. You stayed there long enough to stop being the new kid and I think it was also the first time you felt like you fit in. I didn’t, and that was never your fault… or your problem for that matter,” she explains, fidgeting with her hands in her lap.

“That’s not fair,” Dean opposes.

“What?”

“Your problems are my problems.”

And the finality of his statement gives her a weird sort of confidence to say, “Sheesh. Wonder why I ended up falling in love with you.” 

The car skids a little.

She can’t help it, she laughs.

“YOU CAN’T JUST SAY SHIT LIKE THAT!” Dean argues.

She’s still laughing, “I’m sorry. But… Come on! It was kinda funny.” 

“I did not find that funny! Not even a little bit! What’s so funny about being—” He cuts himself off.

She laughs a little harder. “That’s what’s funny! You can’t even say it! You wanna know what’s so funny about being in love with you? I can’t stop it. It’s…” She sits up to position her back towards the window and moves herself to face Dean better. “It’s like breathing. I have tried, time and time again, to stop, and for a while I can. I can try to hold my breath when I’m being mindful of it. I can remember not to breathe when I’m focused on not breathing but the moment my brain gets engaged anywhere else, I’m screwed. The moment I look away, the moment I burn my toast, or start reading a book or watch a film, the moment I’m in a rush to meet Bonnie, the moment my mind becomes occupied with anything other than the conscious thought reminding me not to breathe—BAM! I’m falling in love with you again. It’s so fucking easy, it’s so fucking comfortable. Loving you is the my most cherished accomplishment because I’ve done it so fucking well for so freaking long.” She smiles. “I feel like I deserve a prize.”

Dean stays silent.

Her smile fades.

She shakes her head, she knew what he felt. She’s always known how he feels. A long silence shouldn’t be the thing that aches her heart. Not after having been in love with this man for this long.

“Did you—” He cuts himself short. She turns to him again, eager for him to continue. And her silent pleas are heard loudly. Continue he does, “Did you decide to tell me… about this today cause we met 15 years ago today?”

“No,” she brushes him off. “I just needed to get this off my—” Suddenly his words strike her like a thunderbolt. “What do you mean 15 years ago today?”

He shrugs, eyes on the road. “A day before Stefan’s birthday, that’s when we met for the first time.”

“You… You remember the day we met?” She asks, dumbfounded.

Dean doesn’t answer, instead the car comes to a stop. He’s pulled into the parking lot of a 7Eleven. “I’ll be right back.”

Only when she watches Dean get out of the car and walk into the store does she realise that it’s the 7Eleven in Mystic Falls. They are only a few minutes away from the Salvatore Boarding house, barely 12 minutes away from her brothers’ place. 

She can’t believe she feels this way but a part of her feels like she’s running out of time. But running out of time for what? It’s Dean! He’ll be there to pick her up two days later. He’ll be there to light her cigarettes in a crowd—and not mean absolutely anything by it—in two days time. It’s not that long. They’ve dropped her off to live with her brothers’ for weeks even. Two days is nothing. It’s barely a visit. Then why in God’s name does she feel like there’s a clock right above her head counting down. And counting down to what??

“Here you go,” Dean says, as he gets in and throws something in her lap. 

She catches out of reflex. “Cigarettes?” It’s two packs of menthols, her current favorite.

“What about ‘em? You like these right?” He pulls out of the parking lot. “You quit Marlboro Reds a month ago, and switched to these so I thought they’d be a safer bet. Was I wrong?” 

It’s natural though. The most natural thing in the world. Dean buys her cigarettes. He always buys her cigarettes.

The thing about smoking that most people don’t understand is that it opens a whole new world. It’s bad obviously and no one should do it. But when you do it, when you smoke, there are a few things, a few rules that might not mean anything to a non-smoker but mean everything to a smoker. 

Take for instance, ‘Puff-Puff-Pass’. 

For any random person, the intricacies of ‘Puff-Puff-Pass’ exists to the extent of its name. But only a smoker knows that in an intimate setting, between two friends, the rule doesn’t apply. It’s rude not to follow the rule in a social gathering amongst semi-strangers, but among the two of them, it never applied.

Similarly, buying someone cigarettes is the purest gesture of care. 

Having a pack ready for consumption whenever she came back from a visit to the Salvatore Boarding House? To her that always felt like the loudest way that Dean could tell her that he cared for her. 

And he did these things often. Even when he quit smoking, he’d light her cigarettes for her. For as long as Dean has known she smokes, she has never lit a cigarette for herself. These gestures of… call it love, call it self-destruction, they have never not been there. So him buying her cigarettes is the most natural thing in the world but it throws her off still.

“Y/n?”

“What?” She suddenly remembers there was a question there, in his words before. “Oh yeah. Menthols… I smoke menthols now, yes. Good guess.”

He noticed me change my cigarettes? She asks herself, feeling something very close to giddy. Before she has to scream at herself inside, cause Dean has always done this and it has never meant anything. It’s just his small way of adhering to his duty of care.

“Thanks,” she tells him belatedly. She doesn’t fail to notice how the words make his nose scrunch up—the way it usually does when he dislikes something.

“You said you’ve tried not loving me,” Dean states and that’s all it is—a statement, an observation.

But she feels compelled to explain herself, “It’s not easy,” she tells him. “You’re… You’re you. You’re charming and hot and…” she’s spilled most of her guts, what harm can a little bit of spilling her heart do now? “You’re beautiful. You’ve got a different girl to take home every other night. It kills me inside, I won’t lie. It’s torture seeing you laughing with someone else. It really is. But it’s not your fault. And, I know you don’t feel the same way, and for a long time I didn’t mind this one sided affair cause, it was mine, you know? This love I had for you, it was all mine. I didn’t care if you loved me back… But then you…”

“Died,” he finishes the sentence for her.

She nods lamely. “It felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest. I don’t remember what I did when you weren’t around. I don’t remember how I survived because to me breathing was being in love with you. It’ll always be that. I just knew if I ever saw you again, I needed you to know how I felt. I’d been too selfish with my love for you. I… I don’t know. It sounds stupid now. I just needed you to know and I felt like I should tell you today so I did.”

And then the car stops again. 

She looks up and she’s standing in front of the boarding house. 

Clock’s run out.

Dean tries to say something but she doesn’t know if she has the courage to hear a placated, softly-worded rejection so she just gets out of the car. 

He follows suit.

He rushes to open the trunk and pulls out her luggage.

She takes it for him, and then begins walking to the door.

“Y/n!”

It feels like a gust of wind. 

The way he calls for her feels like the gust of wind that blows right before the lighting strikes.

She turns without hesitance. 

Their eyes lock.

He’s standing next to the driver side, the door to the impala is still open. The only thing lighting his face is a street light a couple paces behind him. Bathed in yellow, he looks like a wild field of sunflowers, with his messy blond hair and painfully green eyes. He’s absolutely breathtaking.

For all her talk of her love for Dean Winchester being like breathing, in this moment, at the sight of this man looking absolutely divine, she doesn’t think she remembers how to breathe at all.

So with bated breath, she waits for him to speak.

“Y/n…” He says again, before something changes and his eyes stop shining, his posture hardens, his hand grips the Impala’s door a little harder and his face loses color. Then he says, “We’ll pick you up Tuesday.” With that he gets back in the car and drives off. 

It’s only when they’ve crossed the Mystic Falls border does the silence in the Impala break.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam tells him. 

Find Part 2 here.

[longlivechips]

Ya ever hear about a piece of media exclusively through fandom and then you finally watch it it's absolutely not what you were promised like

.......what the hell are y'all smoking this man is NOT a Twink

[castielafflicted]

man this fuckin sucks but I am very urgently short like $45 so uh. This is my Venmo or I can share my PayPal through DM (to protect my deadname) if anyone has money to spare and is willing.

I can also probably call this a crash course introduction into commissions because I'll write supernatural fanfiction for this. Or if you want poetry. Or the worst drawings imaginable. I have no idea what I'm doing here other than being desperate but DM me to talk prices I guess.

edit: jesus christ that was quick but someone sent me $45 so like I'm good now thank you. I will tentatively explore the fantiction and poetry commissions still if anyone is truly interested though.

[theinkgirl]

This is fun! let’s goo

3 ships i like: only 3?? T-T i mean. imma try to cover a spectrum of fandoms and say: wangxian, jonmartin, loustat (but in honor of my tagger, have a top 3 SVSSS ships: zhushen, bingqiu, cumplane ;)

first ship ever: GIRL I don’t remember which one was first TT-TT hhhhh but I do remember writing for Shules (Psych) as a baby teen (which just reminded me that i used to be part of a web 1.0 Psych fantiction website. wonder if that still exists…)

last song you heard: “Butchered Tongue”—Hozier

favorite childhood book: bro i had like 57, but I think, gun to my head, I would’ve said “Lord of the Rings”

currently reading: “Husky and His White Cat Shizun”—Meatbun, “It”—Stephen King, “Raven of the Inner Palace”—Koko Shirakawa, “Mo Dao Zu Shi”—MXTX (reread), “Aunts Aren’t Gentlemen”—PG Wodehouse (reread)

currently watching: Castlevania, Game Changer, Supernatural (greatest hits version??)

currently consuming: russian caravan tea babey

currently craving: irish coffee (i’m FREEZING in this apartment)

(as always, you don’t need to do this if you don’t want to/do what you want forever) tagging: @ziracona @chellonihaoma @i-have-a-beating-heart @baddielabelle @zukkacore @dangerouslytransparentgarden @vivifriend @tealduck @vectorofsins @the-little-red-queen @aethersea @natural-nyx @dying-suffering-french-stalkers @toastghost522 @dangerouslytransparentgarden

9 Fandom Peeps to Get to Know Better:

Tagged by @goth-automaton yo! thanks for the tag :)

3 Ships I like: mannn jus' three? okay my favored children are Nemestine, Creva, and Weskertine

First Ship Ever: Freddy Kruger/Nancy Thompson. I am nothing if not consistant in my villian/final girl (heroine) pair supremacy

Last Song You Heard: "Renegade (We Never Run)" off the Arcane Season 2 soundtrack

Favorite Child Lichhood Book: "Where the Wild Things Are" by Maurice Sendak

Currently Reading: Still reading those Resi Novels by S.D. Perry whenever I get a chance to

Currently Watching: Arcane, Season 2

Currently Consuming: nothing, I ate [sou- redacted] before doing this, woops

Currently Craving: a good strong drink but that requires me to get up and pour a glass and I don't feel like pushing through the multiple layers of relity to grab a [redacted] to swig down my [also redacted]

Tags for 9 people pffh I tag whoever I want:

@naerwenia​

@coiled-dragon​

@s-dei​

@lmshady​

@depraveddove​

@the-bar-sinister​

@unchartedperils​

@sweet7simple​

@meltic-daze​

@meiguiuk​

and whoever else wants to I'm not your parental aid

[softboyscully]

Whatever it Takes

this is a coda. a cheesy cheesy coda. it’s not my best writing but just,,,,, humor  me here okay. im sad

---

Dean bit into another slice of pie, moaning. “See, Sam, this is what--”

“Dean?” 

Dean swirled around, eyes landing on Jack, who was just... standing there.

“Jack? We thought you said you were gone, for good,” Sam said.

“I said I was hands off. But... It’s come to my attention that I didn’t bring Cas back with everybody Chuck made disappear. And I can’t--Not directly. But,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I could give one of you the ability to do it.”

“I will,” Dean said, no hesitation.

“It will take a lot out of you,” Jack warned. “I’m not sure it’s ever been done. You your self would be the first test of it.” 

“I’m fine with that.”

“Dean--” 

“Sam, really,” Dean said. “Whatever it takes to get Cas back.”

Sam swallowed nervously, glancing between his brother and the new God.

“Now. How do we do it?”

~

“Et claritas tenebris est, et in tenebris anima haud desinunt cum principiis est opus mortalis. Audi nos admonens dicebat: Numquid non cadunt, sed non semper impetro tergum in lucem,” Sam recited, finishing the spell, gazing at his brother with increasing concern. “Dean? Dean, are you alright? Is it working?”

Dean stood as still and solid as a rock.

Until he didn’t.

Until he wasn’t.

“Dean? Dean!” Sam shouted, scrambling to the place where his brother was last.

There was nothing.

~

“Ow--fuck, shit,” Dean swore, getting up off of his knees. He’d fallen into an inky black abyss, so much nothing his eyes were beginning to hurt. 

“Who are you?” A disembodied voice shouted. It almost sounded like...

“Cas?” Dean said breathily. It was too good to be true, but... they deserved something that was.

“Cas!” The voice mocked him, and Dean went on the defensive when he recognized the tone to be much higher than Cas’ ever had been.

A thing in Cas’s body materialized in front of Dean, pure fury depicted on it’s face. 

“How dare you invade my space?! You’re only a mortal, how could you get here?”

“Love,” Dean replied defiantly.

“For what?” It spat out.

“Castiel, Angel of Thursday. You took him. I want him back.”

A slow, evil smile spread across what Dean had now figured was the Empty’s face.

“Oh, you poor soul. Nobody told you the rules, did they?”

An icy chill folded over Dean, his chest constricting in on his heart. “What rules?”

“It’s a soul for a soul, boy.”

“For you to bring Cas back... You need someone else in return.”

“Exactly! But, see, here’s the thing; I promised Cas that I would take what truly made him happy. That seems to be you. Now, I can’t double back on a deal, can I?”

It took him a second, but he got there. 

“You want me.”

“Precisely. Is your Castiel worth enough for you? Is he?”

He didn’t even have to think.

“Yes.”

~

“Cas? Cas!”

Castiel’s eyes opened slowly to the sound of Sam calling his name.

“Where’s Dean?” Cas questioned, sitting up too quickly and making his head spin. He winced, holding a hand to his temple. 

“What do you mean?”

Castiel opened his eyes again, him and Sam staring at each other with mounting horror.

“He... He went to get you,” Sam said quietly. “From the Empty. He... Jack... there was a spell...”

Cas began to sob, his body racked with the terror of being alone.

Without Dean, what was he? A feelingless celestial being with no purpose.

Sam cried with him, both of them having lost one of--or the--most important things in their lives.

Dean Winchester was dead.

----

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT

THAT WAS NOT A CODA

IM SO SORRY I DIDNT MEAN TO WRITE THAT

I WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING HAPPY

FUCK

[everythingissoboring]

Jealous co-worker(?)

And people saying they don't f? Come on guys he can't even control himself on stage lmao.

Look at Misha going back to him submissively lol.

[proteus-no]

You've heard of flowershop and tattoo artist au, now get ready for! *checks hand* flowershop and karate dojo au!

[juicifeur]

The Guy at the Bar (Lucifer x reader)

Summary: Lucifer decides to go to a bar and get drunk to deal with his problems

AN: I haven’t written in months, so be kind :)

Word count: 1.1k

One drink after the other, he sat at the bar hoping he would feel numb. His head had begun to feel heavy with drink and when he turned it the room lagged. With his energy in the toilet since becoming more or less human, all he felt like doing was drinking, and plotting his sweet revenge against those good-for-nothing Winchesters.

One of the bartenders brought around another bottle of...something. Her name tag read Stacy, and her shirt clung tightly around her chest. Her hands worked quickly and gracefully with the bottles as she poured him another and took the empty’s away. Not bad. He thought as he sipped. The burn that trickled down his throat was less-so than it had been when he started, but the feeling in his head kept getting lighter and lighter. He hadn’t felt this good since before he lost his grace.

He had never really spent time with humans, considering that he thought they were a bunch of primitive mud-monkeys, who didn’t deserve a lot of what they got. But all things aside, he did appreciate the chaos they caused when using substances like this. Made them fun to watch at least.

   “And then they locked me in a big cage for the ‘greater good’ and it ‘saved humanity’,” He rolled his eyes and drank again. The second bartender, you, nodded along with the story, as you had probably a million times to hundreds of different customers. This guy just clearly needed to talk.

The bar was empty except for your current customer and the other bartender.

   “Sounds like quite the story.” You muttered, cleaning the counter with a damp cloth. It was nearly closing time. The 8pm-2am shift was starting to take its toll and you could feel your limbs slowly starting to lose the ability to work efficiently. All you wanted was to go home and sleep for the next two days.     The only thing that seemed to keep you awake was the man sitting across the bar. He wore dark colours, and they made his eyes look darker than they probably were which made him all the more enticing. Slowly taking him in, your tired eyes wandered over his broad shoulders and stubbled chin. Then you realized his lips were moving, and you had to start paying attention again. It wouldn’t be long before your brain would begin to shut down for the night, taking your inhibitions with it.    “Now my son is stuck with those mutton-heads and I can’t get anywhere near him,” He drank.    “So, I killed a lot of people and tried to destroy the world one time and I’m the bad guy.” Lucifer finished off his drink and looked up at you. Having no idea where this conversation had come from, you just smiled and nodded.

He sighed.

   “Here,” You said, pouring two shots and sliding one to the man across the counter. He looked up into your eyes and smiled softly.

   “I feel like you understand everything.” He lay his chin on the top of his arms on the bar and smiled up at you. At this point, he was very far gone, his eyes sparkling with drunkenness and something evil, but you smiled back down at him anyway. He wasn’t too bad looking, quite attractive in physique; and if you liked the rugged, slightly crazy type, then he was practically a score and a half. He looked like the kind of guy that teaches kindergarten, but apparently had a sex dungeon at home considering how much he was talking about being in a cage. Hopefully never confused the two.

   “I’m telling you, bartending is like therapy with alcohol.” You smiled and proceeded to clean another glass and set it back on its hook.

   “What’s your name?”    “Lu- uh Nick.” Lucifer responded quickly. Remembering that most folks didn’t exactly like to chat casually with the devil, or the criminally insane.    “Alright then, Nick. Anything else you got on your mind?” You took back the shot you made for yourself and breathed out, setting the glass in the sink. The shift was almost over anyway. The man in front of you did the same and handed you the empty shot glass. He shook his head.

   “No, not really.”

   “Well then I guess it’s time for the bill then.” You turned around and started to ring up everything he’d ordered. Hopefully he would still leave a tip.

   “Wait. I gotta pay for these?” He  looked at all the empty glasses that had started to pile up in front of him and you laughed.

Nice smile, Lucifer thought. Would look better on my floor.. No wait that’s not how it goes...     “How many have you had tonight?” You asked, pulling him out of his mind long enough to maintain eye contact.    “Enough.” He puffed out his cheeks and breathed back out, a puff of warm air, scented with enough alcohol to knock out a bear. It would have made you dizzy if you weren’t already so tired. You didn’t exactly know how he was still sitting upright.

Lucifer reached into the back pocket of his jeans for the money he had and put it on the counter, all three dollars and twenty five cents. You stared at him for a moment.

   “Well, I agree. Maybe you should have a glass of water.” You started filling a glass from the tap and he scoffed, his shoulders slumping forwards.

It wouldn’t be the first time that you had to let a customer go without paying. Your boss didn’t like it very much. But from experience, you knew that the hangover only got worse when you woke up and realized how much you’d spent on alcohol.

   “Never understand why you humans drink this stuff. The molecules are so boring, there’s nothing good about it.” He groaned softly.

   “Keeps us hydrated, and it’ll make the headache you’ll have tomorrow a little less nerve-damaging.” You chuckled softly and leaned on the bar as the alcohol started to visibly catch up with the man in front of you.

   “Maybe w’ should get together sometime.” He smiled wickedly and his head lolled to one side for a moment. With that goofy grin on his lips he looked like a cat that ate the canary. You smirked softly, wondering why you found him so attractive.    “Yeah, maybe we can take over the world together, handsome.” You started to flirt back, finding your inhibitions lowered by the attractive man at the bar and his mysterious eyes. “I thought you'd never ask.” The man smirked.

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[theconstantsidekick]

Lit Cigarettes (Part 2)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x BestFriend!Reader, Damon Salvatore x Stefan Salvatore x Sister!Reader (these are the main ones, there are too many others to tag) Genre: Fluffy angst

Summary: While Sam berates Dean for his choice of very pathetic reply, Y/n tells her brothers about said pathetic reply.

(Set after the events of Supernatural season 4 and yes, Y/n's dated a bunch of TVD characters.)

a/n: The two conversations are happening parallel-y, hope that makes sense?

Warnings: Smoking, mentions of smoking, more romanticisation of smoking, a lot of that yes, sorry. Don't smoke kids. Semi-explicit content? IDK, there's kissing.

Part 1 is here.

It’s only when they’ve crossed the Mystic Falls border does the silence in the Impala break.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam tells him. 

The car stops abruptly. “How long have you been awake?” Dean asks, taken completely off guard.

“Long enough to call you an idiot,” Sam answers before he opens the door to the back seat, exiting the vehicle. Dean takes a second to realize that Sam’s making the walk towards the passenger seat. 

Dean pokes his head out of the window just to be petulant and screams, “THAT WAS A PRIVATE CONVERSATION, you sneaky son of a bitch!”

Rolling his eyes, Sam opens the passenger seat door and gets inside., “You really think I didn’t know about it?.”

“Know about what?” Dean asks as the dumbest dumb person to ever exist as he starts the car back up again.

Sam looks towards him, and his eyes are louder than any words can ever be. His eyes are screaming at him, calling him the dumbest guy to have ever walked the earth. But then he says, “She’s been in love with you for 15 years, and I’ve been her best friend for 14 of them. You really think I’d need to eavesdrop on your conversation to figure it out?”

Dean opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it and instead asks, “14?” He’s facing the road now, too embarrassed to face his brother.

“The first year was rough, we got off on the wrong foot,” Sam explains. “I think I was mostly just pissed at her for fawning over you like you hung the moon. Not the point. The point is, I don’t need to overhear a conversation to know that she loves you. Everyone and their mother knows that she’s in love with you.”

Dean stays silent for a second, because he doesn’t know what to say. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? He… He doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“It was still rude, bitch,” Dean says lamely, because like he said, he doesn’t know what the fuck else to say.

Sam just laughs, without any humor but all the passive aggression in the world. “What was rude was saying—”

“He’ll pick you up on tuesday!?” Damon yells, mouth agape, hands covered in flour and sugar. 

“And what did you say to that?!” Stefan asks from where he sits on the kitchen counter, watching his brother and his adopted sister try (and fail) baking a cake for his birthday. 

“I said I’ll see him Tuesday,” Y/n answers with a magnificent amount of shame. She can see both her brothers are about to launch into an all out assault of questions, but she is categorically not in the mood. She cuts them off before they can even start. “He didn’t really give me a chance to say anything else, he just got in the car and drove off, okay?”

“Honestly, I don’t even think I can blame him,” Damon retorts, urging a cocked eyebrow from the other two Salvatores. “I blame you,” he says pointing his goop drenched whisk at her. “It’s your fault for falling in love with a NSYC reject.”

She just rolls her eyes and goes back to cleaning up the mess Damon’s creating at every step of his cake making process. “Do you really think you should be saying that? When you look like you could enter a Gerard Way Look-Alike Contest and win?”

While Damon makes the most absurd voices known to mankind (and vampire kind), Stefan just lets out a soft chuckle. “Okay, okay,” Stefan tries to calm them down. “Let’s just go over the events of the night again, shall we?”

“Can we please not?” She pleads.

Stefan carries on unfettered. “So you told Dean Winchester, the man of your dreams that you love him and he said he’ll see you Tuesday?”

She exhales audibly, “Yes… more or less. Yes. That’s how it went.”

“The fucker doesn’t deserve an announcement of love, if you ask me,” Damon counters, hands back at work, mixing the goopy and frankly probably unsalvagable cake mixture.

“That’s probably why no one asked you!” She throws back, throwing away the paper towel in the dustbin. “AAH! I just needed to say it, okay? Fifteen years is a very fucking long time to keep something like this to yourself. I needed him to know.”

“But you’d told him already, didn’t you?” Stefan counters. “Before he got dragged to hell?” She flinches at the mention of the incident—the memories are far from pleasant—but nods in agreement. “What did he say back then?”

“I know,” she tells them.

“You know what?” Damon asks, face souring at the sludge in his hands. Then he sneakily (not sneakily at all) grabs a bottle of Bourbon and empties almost half of it into the cake batter, mixing in the liquid.

“No, he said that,” she replies.

“Said what?” Stefan questions.

“He said, ‘I know’!” 

A look passes between Stefan and Damon and then Damon does the honors, “If nothing else, you gotta hand it to that Timberlake-wannabe, he’s got a great track record of having the shittiest responses to someone professing their love to him.”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to say?! I was about to be dragged to Hell!” Dean defends. “It’s not like I had the ability to focus on anything else.” He’s a fucking liar—his focus was definitely not on being dragged to hell when she said what she did. But Sam doesn’t have to know that.

“Anything, man! Literally anything else!” Sam countered, frustration evident in every single inch of his movement. And it’s always times like these, when Dean begins to think if Sam would side with him if he were to actually have a fight with her. Would Sam keep hunting with him if she decided to part way? “You are such a fucking dick!” Sam remarks. So no, probably not. He’d pick her over his brother for sure.

Dean can’t help but cower a bit at the strength of Sam’s annoyance. “I wasn’t trying to be,” he tries. “I just thought… when in doubt, Han Solo that shit, you know?”

And that apparently is the worst thing to say. “What is wrong with you, Dean? You know, you really are Dad’s son! ‘Cause my God. There’s only one other man who is so incapable of handling their emotions, and somehow, you’re even worse than him.”

Dean doesn’t appreciate the insult to their father but he lets it slide on account of Sam being really fucking angry. “Fine! If you’re so great at this chick-flick shit then tell me what should I say to her. You tell me and I’ll say it to her on Tuesday?”

“Tues—seriously?!” Sam’s veins are about to pop out, Dean thinks. The man is so fucking angry with Dean right now that he’s genuinely worried that he;s about to bust the vein on his temple. 

“What?” Dean throws back, cause actually he has no other fucking response.

“You know, I don’t even get what she sees in you. She’s crazy smart, and talented and funny. She’s so freakin’ funny!” Sam says, and Dean has to agree with all that. She really is. “There’s so many amazing people who’re just dying to get even one shot with her, and yet, she’s stuck on you!”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Then why doesn’t she go after one of those amazing people?” 

“I don’t have a single clue,” Sam answers.

“What do you mean? She did give it a shot with one of them, didn’t she? Derek What's His Face?” Hale. Derek Hale. Dean knows his name by heart.

“Derek Hale. Yeah, Derek was pretty great,” Sam agrees, leaning back on his seat.

“Then what happened?” Dean is trying not to sound too curious about it. And if his grip tightens on the wheel, enough for his knuckles to go white, no one has to know about it.

“I’m not sure. I thought it was going great with him but she broke it off with him when we were at Stanford,” Sam tells him, eyes out on the barren road, looking so puzzled, you’d think he was talking about the mysterious phenomenon of raining toads. 

“When she dragged you to Stanford,” Dean corrects him, because as much as he'd like to know, the topic is so not his favorite. Neither is this one but it’s… It’s older and the wounds have since healed, become scars.

At his words, Sam’s confusion is gone in an instant. He sits up straighter—as straight as a giant can in a ‘67 chevy Impala. He turns to Dean with something like defense burning in his eyes. “She didn’t drag me to Stanford, Dean!”

“Yeah, right,” Dean brushes it off. “You and I both know, that’s some horseshit. She went there and you wanted to follow her, like you always did.”

“No. Dean,” Sam calls his name in a way that urges him to turn. Once he does, Sam continues, “I didn’t follow her to Stanford. I—I didn’t go to Stanford for her, she went to Stanford for me!”

“What?”

“Dude, she was the valedictorian. She got into 20 different Pre-Med programs, and at least 12 of them were better than Stanford. She just went there cause she knew I wanted to go,” Sam word hit Dean like a tonne of bricks. “And well,” Sam turns back to look at the road again. “She also kinda went there for you.”

“For me?” The fuck is that supposed to mean?

Sam sighs before he says, “She thought that maybe if she were there it would be easier on you cause you’d know that she was there to look out for me.” He smiles then, a small sweet thing. “She went there for you.” What the actual fucking fuck?

Sam turns to him again, and somehow “Don’t get me wrong, she went there for me, but she went there for you too. Everything she does, she does for you.”

“That is—and I say this with all the love I have ‘cause you’re the only Salvatore left other than that dick over there—that is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard,” Damon comments. 

She pushes a buttered up cake tin towards him and says, “Must be a genetic trait then, passed down from generations. Seeing as the only other Salvatores I know are still, to this day, hopelessly chasing after a girl who looks exactly like one Katherine Pierce.”

“ELENA IS NOTHING LIKE KATHERINE!” Both her brothers shout out in unison.

She has to smile at that. “Not even the—” she points at her own face as a demonstration.

Both of them just pass her a look filled with ire. She smiles wider. 

“At least we have hope,” Damon defends, pouring the ungodly mixture into the cake tin. “What’s your fucking excuse?” 

“I don’t have one!” She really doesn’t. “I just—I just feel the way I do, I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Move on!” Damon tells her.

“For once I agree with him,” Stefan says from the counter behind them. His words are softer than Damon’s, they always are. Stefan’s always understood her dilemma just a little bit better than Damon. She thinks it might just be because Stefan understands the feeling of helplessness a little bit better than their brother ever can. “You really should move on.”

“I want to,” she tells him, with all honesty. “I really, really want to. Don’t you think I’ve tried? I tried! With Derek, with Alaric… and it was working. It really was, until he rejected me.”

“Rejected you?” Damon mocks. “I think it was barely 4 months ago that Alaric died in your arms confessing his undying love for you.”

“Damon,” Stefan reprimands. 

“What?” Damon counters, clearly annoyed as he turns to look at Stefan. Stefan, however, just shakes his head, telling him in his small gesture to stop it. The wound is still too fresh, don’t touch it yet. And that’s exactly why despite being fond of Damon a little bit more, Stefan will always be her favorite brother.

“I am not ready to touch that topic with a ten-foot pole so I’ll side step that and tell you that I have tried, extremely hard to move on, and if I could do it. I would. It’s not like any of this is fun for me,” she tries to make them understand.

“It’s not as hard as you make it out to be either,” Damon comments and his voice is somehow softer than before because this isn’t a jab. This is more wishful thinking, she thinks. Damon, for all his nonchalance, hates seeing her pining for Dean. Not just because he doesn’t like Dean but also because he’s seen the most of it. He has always been her drinking companion on endless  nights. Pouring her one drink after the other, knowing no other way to sooth the pain on her features. He loves her differently than Stefan does. He would’ve killed Dean by now if he thought that could be a legitimate solution. He’s way more violent in his protection of her than anyone else.

Taking the cake tin from Damon, she opens the oven and shoves it in. She sighs audibly before she says, “Look, I have made my distaste for the Elena situation quite clear already—”

“And it’s still fucking unreasonable,” Damon retorts.

“You’re making me agree with him twice on the night before my birthday, now you’re just being rude,” Stefan chides, smiling.

“She pulls you both in opposite directions, which leaves me in the middle where I’m stuck and neglected!” She can see that both the boys are ready to fight her off on the matter all night but she doesn’t want to. “BUT that’s not the point I’m trying to make here. What I am trying to say is that, with Elena, you both feel what you feel. It’s undeniable and inescapable. You could let go of it even if you tried. You both know what it feels like to be hopelessly in love with someone with your entire being.” When both men stay silent, she knows they agree. So she continues, “Can you at least both do me the courtesy to try to understand that that’s how I feel about Dean? That maybe—”

“—She doesn’t know how not to be in love with you, you know?” Sam says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like he isn’t breaking Dean’s world apart in half. “I mean, it’s definitely not easy for her.”

“Watching him flirt with a girl at the bar while I sit in a shady corner, drowning myself in Bourbon,” she says.

“Watching you come back to the motel, covered in hickeys, and sometimes watching you not come back at all,” Sam says with so much pain, Dean thinks maybe he sat with her on those nights. And then it clicks for Dean why he’d see his brother with bags under his eyes in the mornings after.

Her jaw clenches, she fidgets with the “It's always someone else. Either it’s a cheerleader or—”

“—A receptionist at a motel or anything with a pulse at a bar,” Sam says.

“It’s always someone else and it’s never me,” she notes solemnly.

“And it is so fucking painful to watch,” Sam notes.

“It feels like someone’s tearing my heart out and stabbing it in front of me with a fork just to play with it.” She can’t help but smile sadly at the accuracy of that description. “He smiles those smiles that charms the pants off of everyone. And I have to see it, because try as I might, I can never look away. I can never look away from the way he touches them because I can’t help but imagine how it would feel like to be touched like that… touched like that by him. I can never look away when he smiles like that. Which just ends up hurting a little bit more.”

“I’ve had to watch it over and over again for a decade and if it hurts me this much I can’t even imagine how much it hurts her,” Sam tsks so simply. As if he isn’t burning Dean from the inside out. 

“I just wish he—”

“Weren’t so loud about it. If you weren’t so loud about it I think it would be easier maybe?” Sam muses. “But then again, maybe it wouldn’t be. Not that she’d ask that of you, she knows it’s not fair to you so she would never ask you to be any other way than you…” And then he sits up again, facing Dean, and Dean has to try his best to keep his poker face intact, “But I can! So, I’ll do it for her—Dean, please can you be just a little less loud about it?” Dean turns to Sam at that and somehow the action is mistaken by Sam as an offended one. “I’m not asking you to change, just… I don’t know, just don’t do it in front of her. Don’t flirt with the cheerleaders while she’s sitting right next to you, you know?”

And man, Dean might be the one whose vein is about to pop now. “What is up with this cheerleader bullshit? She said it too? I wasn’t that fucking back in high-school!”

Sam just sighs in annoyance, “You ignored her Dean.” Dean’s about to protest, but Sam cuts him off. “And I don’t think it was intentional on your part. It was the first time you weren’t an outcast and it was so much fun to fit in, I felt that way too. But she… She was two years ahead of people her age. And that really doesn’t fly well in a small town like Mystic Falls, you know that. I mean, you were in her class, man! You know that the only person who ever talked to her was you but then you got so lost in the high-school of it all that you just ignored her.” Sam shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault, you were young but it really wasn’t fun to watch either.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Dean defends very very lamely. “I never meant to hurt her, ever.”

“That’s what sucks about all of this. I know he never does any of it to hurt me, but…”

“But it still hurts anyway?” Damon provides, comforting and gentle. 

She nods with a sad broken smile as she says, "To be in love—”

“—And to be hurt, is to be made perfect,” Sam quotes.

“Shakespear, As You Like It,” Dean notes, to Sam’s utter surprise. Which, wow! He reads! And besides, it’s… it’s Y/n’s favorite of the Shakespear plays. Of course, he knows what it’s from.

“Sucks that it has to be this way,” Sam notes calmly, now looking out the window at the passing trees. “I know it’s not your fault, I really do. I also know you really care about her. I know that too. But I just wish I didn’t have to watch my best friend be in love with someone who doesn’t love her back.”

Dean’s had enough. He sees red. “WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT?”

“What?” Sam almost balks at Dean’s sudden outburst.

“You and Y/n keep saying that, again and again, and for all that is un-fucking-holy, I can’t fucking figure out who the fuck said that? Who in the name of fuck told you that?”

“Dean—Dude! What are you talking about?” Sam’s eyes are wide and confused.

Goddamn it, Dean thinks. “Who the fuck told you, EITHER OF YOU, that I don’t feel the same way?”

There is silence then.

It stretches on for a minute but it feels like an hour to Dean.

“Are—are you serious?” Sam finally questions.

Dean clenches his jaw. “You don’t think I have better things to lie about than this?” He’s being snarky but he can’t help it. It’s been a long fucking drive.

“Then—” Suddenly Sam’s excitement level shoot the fuck up. “THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING DRIVING AWAY FROM MYSTIC FALLS?”

There are reasons. Dean knows that there are. There was a solid reason why Dean decided to drive away after dropping her off without saying a (meaningful) word. But try as he might, Dean Winchester, cannot for the life of him remember what the fuck it was. 

He clicks his tongue, “Good question,” Dean comments before his hand finds the gear shift, and he swerves the car around.

“I am just saying that you cannot ignore it. It’s not a fictional concept. There have been countless tests on the subject matter,” Y/n argues. They’re at the Salvatore Boarding House and the party is in full swing. She’s got a glass of Bourbon in one hand and an unlit cigarette on the other.

“On rats,” Bonnie throws back, smiling.

“Dogs too,” Matt adds from behind her. She smiles at him for the support.

“That doesn’t mean it works on humans,” Tyler cuts in from the couch.

“Of course it does. It’s not a baseless theory. It’s the core facet of every training, ever. You do something good, you’re rewarded, you do something bad, you’re punished,” she explains. “Some people even go as far as to call it parenting.”

Everyone lets out a soft laugh. 

“But it doesn’t stick, not always at least,” Caroline counters.

Y/n nods, “Fair enough, it doesn’t. But doesn’t negate the fact that the pavlovian response is quite a real phenomenon. I mean, it’s well known. It’s quite literally used in conversion camps—mind you I do not approve of the abhorrent abuse of it—but that’s what they do. They show you something very straight, that according to their disturbing homophobic beliefs should make you feel aroused and don’t shock you. Then they show you something very gay, that makes you feel aroused and then they shock you. It tells your brain that somehow feeling aroused at this particular thing is dangerous. Then they do it again and again and eventually the entire process just trains your brain to be scared shitless of even thinking of being aroused, because well if you do, you’ll get—”

“Electrocuted,” Elena finishes.

Y/n clicks her finger and points at her. “Doesn’t work though,” she states, as someone plucks the cigarette out of her hand but her point is almost at the end of being made. “Doesn’t stop you from being queer, nothing ever can stop you from being queer.” The cigarette is placed back into her hands. “Queer is who you are, and queer is who you fucking should be.”

She takes a drag.

“Amen.”

Y/n turns instantly at the sound of that voice. 

“Dean,” she breathes out.

Dean Winchester and her lit fucking cigarettes.

It’ll be the death of her. 

“I thought you had a quota of like 5 cuss words a day,” Dean says with a smirk. Somewhere behind him she can see Sam but her world doesn’t really know how to focus on anyone else when Dean is standing so close to her—barely a couple inches between the two. “I thought you would’ve used them all up… after the conversation in the car.”

“It’s past 12,” she tells him dumbly. She can’t be blamed. WHY IS DEAN BACK HERE? It’s not Tuesday, is it?

There’s a few seconds there, which are just silent. He’s looking at her and she’s looking at him and it’s just silent. Sure, there must be a party in the background but she doesn’t really remember it. His eyes are so beautifully green, she can’t think of anything but The Great Gatsby. She can’t think of anything but the green light at the end of Daisy Buchanan's dock across the bay from Gatsby's mansion. The green light which represented Gatsby's hopes and dreams, particularly his longing for a future with Daisy.

“What are you—” she begins at the same time as he says, “I wanted to—”

Their words get jumbled up.

“You go first,” Dean suggests.

She gulps, quite noticeably apparently because Dean follows the motion of her throat with his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles then, unabashed and wide. “I should have gone first. Would have saved us time. I was gonna say that I wanted to talk to you…” he answers her question. 

“Oh,” is all she can muster.

“Can we do that somewhere… not here?” He nods over to the audience they have gathered.

She wants to look at what he’s motioning towards but she can’t really pull her eyes off of him right now. Instead she just says, “Yes… The courtyard.”

Dean nods and looks at her waiting.

What’s he waiting for? 

Until Dean just raises his brows with a soft smile and then she remembers. 

“Oh yes, courtyard, let’s go,” she says. And she’s about to grab his arm to drag him off but realizes that both of them are full. She looks from the cigarette to the beer. Thinks for a second—decision made, she downs the beer and places the bottle on the closest flat surface.

“What are you doing here?” She asks again once they’re at the courtyard. They are face to face again, but she has actively decided to put a couple of steps worth of distance between herself and the man of her dreams. For precaution.

“I had to see you,” Dean replies.

“Thought you were gonna see me Tuesday,” she chastises with very little heat, taking a drag of her cigarette.

But apparently Dean takes it to heart. “That—yes! That’s what I am here for. That is the stupidest thing I have ever said. Actually, no scratch that, that’s the second dumbest thing I’ve ever said, ‘I know’ is first.” Confused, she scrunches her forehead. So he explains, “When I was being dragged to hell?”

“Oh,” makes sense, she muses. She shrugs then another puff before she says, “When in doubt, go with Han Solo.”

Dean shakes his head but he’s wearing a smile which she can’t really place. “Yes but it—it was dumb, and I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Dean. No. I am sorry. I put you in a very weird position at a very, very wrong time. It was my fault,” she tells him, and she means it. “Even today, I dropped a whole freakin’ bomb on you without any preamble. Your response made sense considering the condition. I’m sorry to have put you in that position to begin with.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean says and his words carry so much determination it makes her shiver.

She waves it off or well, tries to. She has to take a couple steps back, pulling her arms across her chest, she leans on the steps just behind her. She takes a long drag before she asks, “Is that what you were here to do? Say sorry for your response?”

Dean nods. “Yes, and to ask you,” he takes a few steps towards her, “I had to ask you…”

“Ask me?” She urges.

“Did you mean it?”

And she has to roll her eyes at that, drawing on her cigarette again. “What kinda question is that?” 

“A serious one,” Dean says evenly.

“Fine, yes. Of course, I meant it.”

“You don’t regret it?” Dean questions.

“What?! No!” The idea seems so silly to her she can’t even come up with a sarcastic remark for it.

“And you still feel that way?” Dean asks, with a hint of… is that fear in his voice? “Do you still…?”

The night is quite forgiving to them. The moon is out but not in full force, otherwise there would be one less party guest and one extra dog in the boarding house. Her birthday party fell on a full moon night, sadly the patent group werewolf, Tyler, had to skip that one. 

But tonight’s not a full moon, it’s a crescent moon. Shining quite bright, bathing Dean in its light. That along with the warm yellow of the garden lights makes him look ethereal, she thinks.

“15 years I’ve loved you, you think I’ll be able to get over it in three hours?” She throws back.

“A yes or no would do,” Dean rebukes.

“Yes,” she says, sighing. “I still feel that way… but…”

“But?”

“But I think… I think I’ll try to move on…” she acquiesces, a long inhale of smoke, a shorter exhale of the same.

“Why?” Dean bites.

She pulls back a bit before answering, “I understand that the position I put you in isn’t entirely fair. And well, it isn’t great for me either, is it? It would be better for both of us if I just tried to move on… for good this time.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t move on, damn it!”

And that just pisses her off, she throws the cigarette on the ground, butts it with all her fury. “What? Is this some sort of fucking ego trip for you? Look at the hopeless girl in love with me?”

“2 out of 5 cuss words already used. The day’s barely started and you’re left with only 3,” Dean comments with a smile that makes her want to punch his lights out.

“Quit it!” She yells. “You just making fun of me now? That’s just fucking cruel, Dean.”

“2 left,” Dean states but at her glare he takes another step towards her. “I don’t want you to move on.”

“Why the fuck not?!” She’ll probably punch this guy very soon.

“Cause I don’t want you to.”

“Why not? You just want me to stay madly in love with you, keep watching you chase after girls at bars and keep letting my heart break? You want me to keep dying bit by bit, is that it?” Her voice breaks a little at the end.

“No. Of course not! But if you moved on, it would kill me, so I can’t let you do that, Y/n. I can’t.” Dean tells her. 

She doesn’t understand any of this. What even is happening.

“I think you’ve finally lost your mind. Hell has clearly gotten to you. You’ve gone mad! What do you want me to do, keep falling deeper and deeper in love with you, torment myself day in and day out when I know that you will never love me back. What is wrong with you, Dean? What the f—”

“Listen to me,” he cuts her off. “You really need to listen to me cause you’ve got just one cuss word left for the day and what I’m gonna say you might need it for that.” He breathes in, slow and deep. “I never said that.”

“Never said what?”

“I never said that I didn’t love you back.”

She… What?

Wait what?

“What do you mea—?”

He cuts her off again. “I saw you 15 minutes before you saw me.” She’s so confused she thinks she might just cry. And it’s all made worse because Dean takes a few steps closer to her. The gap is nowhere near as secure as it was when this conversation began. “I was getting out of the car and you were…” He smiles, so beautifully that her heart aches. “You were smoking, of all things. At the ripe old age of 13, by the way.”

“My parents had just died like, 6 months ago,” she defends like it matters at all.

Dean smiles all the same. “Smoking your first cigarette. That’s how I saw you, and you were—you were smoking that like a champ, honestly. I think you took four drags, before you decided it was too much and then butt the entire thing. You then began your mission to hide it like they were porno mags under your bed that Stefan and Damon could discover any moment.”

“Porno mags would’ve caused less trouble,” she comments absentmindedly.

He smiles wider then. “Fair enough.” He nods almost to himself. “But yeah. I saw you 15 minutes before you ever saw me. So, I’ve been in love with you 15 minutes longer than your 15 years.”

She doesn’t think she remembers how breathing works.

“I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you. And every single day I wake up and I think I could not love you more but then something happens, you laugh at some joke or you talk about how democracy is a concept built on the idea of inequality, or you sing karaoke at some bar or you just are, you just be and I just… I fall harder in love with you. Every moment I spend with you, is another moment where I find out that I can love you more than I already did.” Dean laughs then. “I was stupid, I was so stupid. I kept thinking that I couldn’t have you. I kept thinking that I shouldn’t even try because what would be the point? I was never gonna quit hunting and this life—it’s filled with so much shit. I thought there was something really bad around the corner, so how could I drag you into that mess with me? So I just—I never thought that I could have you but then I died! I fucking died, Y/n. And now apparently there is a goddamn apocalypse around the corner so clearly bad things will happen no matter what! Then why the fuck should I have to go through all of that alone? Why should I have to go through that without you? I can’t do it. I don’t fucking want to.”

He doesn’t want to.

She’s dreaming, isn’t she?

“I didn’t know, though,” Dean says sheepishly, with apologies all over his face. “I never fucking knew how you felt. Of course I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have—All the girls, all the bars, they were just—I didn’t think I could have you, I didn’t think you’d ever want someone like me so I wanted to numb the pain, I never thought I was hurting you in return. I wouldn’t have—”

She takes a step towards him. They are now standing too close, chest pressed into chest. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Dean argues, still feeling so guilty that it’s almost painful to watch.

“It’s okay now,” she clarifies. “Do I get to have you now?”

“Obviously! Of course! I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, Y/n. Only yours—”

She cuts him off by pressing her lips on his. It’s a small, tentative thing, mostly to try it out, but also to shut him up. And shut up, he does. 

She pulls away, not too far, never too far, just enough to look up at him. 

Then Dean Winchester smiles. Wide, and cocky, and flirty and beautiful.

He pulls her back in, hands on caressing her jaw so gently that a part of her thinks maybe she was made of porcelain all along and everyone forgot to inform her. Because he is being so soft with her, his lips on hers are tender but there is so much love in every movement that she can taste it. 

Her hands find his hair, and she plays with the soft spikes, pulling him closer, and perhaps it’s her hunger for him or maybe his for her, but tenderness gives way to passion. They are all hands and lips and desperation. He’s grabbing onto her for dear life, pulling her closer and closer as he wants her whole and maybe he does. She understands though, because she’s holding onto his leather jacket like if she lets go he’ll vanish and urging him closer too. It’s mindless and mindful at once.

Lips slotted together seaking out all that they’d been wanting for, for the last 15 years.

Dean’s hand travels down to her thighs and instinctively she knows to jump up. He grabs her easily as she wraps her legs around him. It’s hungry now, they are so very hungry now. It makes her moan, Dean, ever the man of opportunity, takes that moment to slip his tongue in. Their tongues dance together in a heated embrace. She can’t help herself, she’s seeking some release from the tension building inside her, so she grinds against him, only for both of them to pull away, moaning in sickening pleasure.

And she can’t help it, she laughs. “Fuck.”

Dean laughs too. Pressing his forehead to hers. “That’s all of them, sweetheart. You’re out of cuss words for today.”

“That might be a problem considering the state you’re in,” she grinds against him again, to tease him, to feel him, to have him, cause she can now. 

Dean groans before smiling again. “Fuck me, sweetheart. I can cuss all I want, you’re the one who’ll be in trouble.”

“Maybe I want that?” She smiles.

Dean laughs again. “God, I love you so fucking much.”

She kisses him again, it’s a sweet, loving little thing. “I love you too, Dean.

Find Part 1 here.

[littlebluebird2000]

Little Red Riding Hood

Genre: BTS fantiction, Supernatural au, smut

Pairing: werewolf!jimin. redridinghood!reader

Warning:  Smut! 

Words: 1430 not edited sorry:(

Summary: Ever since you were a little girl, your mother warned you about the dangers of the woods, and the creatures that lived there. That is why you never dared to stray from the path to grandmother’s house. However, one encounter may change everything you ever know about the woods.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 (final)

“I’m a big boy. I can help.”

Your breath got stuck in your throat. Why did he sound so…alluring? His voice was soft yet rough at the same time. Teeth pulling at the skin below your ear, fingers caressing your shaking and naked form, body pressed close together…All of this seem to be part of a spell to put you under his complete control and obey his every order. It didn’t help that you could only feel him and not see him because of the material covering your eyes. Tingles were still present at the place your skin and his touched.

“How can you help?” You asked tentatively

“I know about somethings that can help appease this ache.” He kissed the side of your head. This little gesture of affection reassured you that the soft boy you always new was still there. “You can say no and I’ll stop. I would not force you to do anything, little red.”

“No.” You griped his arm; afraid he backs off of you. For all those years, it was the first time you could actually touch him. You could not let this opportunity pass… and you did want him. “I want this. I want you to help me, please.”

 “You are sure? You can say no if you don’t feel---”

“I’m sure.” You let your head fall backwards on his shoulder, exposing your neck to him. “Please, take care of me.”

He took a sharp inhale and his chest raised up and down more rapidly with every breath that he took. He hid his face for a second in your hair. “I can’t believe this is real” He moved both of his hand from your arm to your waist and slowly caress you. Tingles appeared again. “I dream of this moment so often. You and me…Dreaming of the first time that I could touch you, to make sure you were the one.” He laughed. “I knew it was you. I always knew.”

His hand started to wonder up a little and you grab onto him to make sure not to fall. You were felling lightheaded. He continued as he grabs my breast into his hand and massage them softly. A sighed left my lips. “Father said he could not think this was possible, but here you are, clenching your thighs together because those tingles feel so good on your skin, right?”

A gasp of pleasure left you and you bend forward a little. He was rougher now, pulling and playing with your nipples. He pulled you back. “Don’t run away now, Y/N. It’s only going to get better and better.”

 Suddenly, he turned you around. You were breathless and he had not done much yet. Heads pressed against each other; you were still tying to process what he smelled like when his lips touched yours.

It was soft at first, then he took more and more control over the kiss. Tongues battling together, you could not stop the whimpers from slipping out of your mouth. It was hot and intense. His lips felt so good you never wanted to stop kissing him. Jimin took both of your thighs and wrap them around his waist. While he griped your behind, you took the time to explore his body. Running your hands up and down between the two of you, the muscle of his stomach jump at each caress. You did not dare to go any lower once your fingers brushed against some hair and Jimin shivered suddenly. You grabbed his arms instead and trace your fingers the veins that covered them. Finally, you grab his face and pushed him away a little. He tried to go for your neck but you pushed him back. It took you a minute to regain your breath so that you could speak. “Jimin, I need to see you. Please.” You were almost crying at how much emotion you were feeling at the same time. “Please, please, please. I need to see your face, please.”

“I know baby, I know.” He started to walk me backwards and he lay me down on something that I figure were his or my clothing. “But first I need to take care of that aching, yeah?” His soft hair brushed my face has he spoke.

He kissed the side of your face, your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your neck… He spends quite a bit of time there, bruising deliciously your skin and licking away any pain. He found a spot that he like at the intersection between your neck and your shoulder. That spot made you moan and shivered like no tomorrow and that drove Jimin crazy. He continued on and kissed your breast. He took your still tender nipples into his mouth and a gush of wetness found his way between your legs. Jimin sniffed the air and a dangerous growled left his mouth. The vibration made even more wetness pooled between your thighs. You were so embarrassed that you tried to close your legs even more tightly together than they were before. Jimin kissed down your stomach and by now your chest was falling up and down rapidly. You felt him pull himself up on his knees and looked at you. “You’re going to tell me where it aches now so I can help you, little red?”

“Jimin, don’t make me say it, please!”

He chuckles. “I love when you beg Y/N, but it’s not going to help you on this. You have to tell me or I won’t know how to help you.”

 You sighed and closed your eyes behind the fabric. You knew Jimin would take care of you. You could trust him with everything and this was not different.

“There.” You pointed down. “It aches there.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by there Y/N…” He teased you.

You took a deep breath. “Between my thighs…” You lower your voice at the end.

 Jimin hummed. “Ah, then don’t worry. I know how to help you feel better.” His hand took a hold of your legs. “I’m a big boy after all.” He slowly pushes your legs apart and you let him do so. At this point, you were disparate for him to do anything to you. You heard a gasp follow by silence. You nervously bit your lips, waiting for him to say or do something.

Finally, he did. He caresses your inner tight softly. “You’re so pretty. So, so pretty. How can I be this lucky?” He took a breath and a small laugh left his mouth “Your dripping on the clothes already and I haven’t touch you there yet. You were really made for me…” His hand got closer to were the ache was coming from.  You let your head fall back completely on the ground once his fingers touched you there.

“Such a pretty pussy just for me to see, to touch…and to taste.” Once he said that, he took your bundle of nerves in his mouth and sucked, licked and bite. Moans kept on leaving your mouth and you could not stay still, back arching of the ground. Jimin had to hold your thighs from closing around his head. His tongue and mouth were doing wonders. Every lick felt so intense, so good... Never had you imagine such pleasure could existed. You heard Jimin slurping at your wetness like your pussy was his last meal. He was growling as well, the vibrations making you completely breathless. You took a hold of his hair and Jimin combined one of your hands together. Fuck. At this point, words kept on going out of your mouth. You didn’t know what you were saying, probably begging him to let you finish.

 You were close, you could feel it, and Jimin too. The heat in your lower stomach kept on spreading everywhere and your moans kept on going higher and higher in pitch. Suddenly, the blindfold covering your eyes was removed. You were blinded by the sun for a second, but when your eyes locked with his, you came right there.

Your body shooked violently as spams of pleasure took over you. Mouth open and eyes closed, you let yourself go in this spiral before collapsing back on the clothing you were laying on, feeling wonderful. Your head was still spinning, but you force yourself to open back your eyes.

A angel was hovering over you. That’s how he looked. Jimin. Ethereal. He smiled at you and passed one hand trough his jet-black hair. “Hello there, little red.” You smiled and looked back into his beautiful yellow eyes. “Hi.”

[blog-about-daemons]

Supernatural + Daemons

Castiel's daemon was inspired by a fantiction on AO3! Go check it out

My irl friend also helped me with all of the daemons! Thank you Lex!!

Dean + Sennia (Vanner Horse)

Sam + Arria (Great Dane)

Castiel + Angela (Firefly)

Bobby + Lusia (Moon Bear)

Charlie + Charmides (Bumblebee)

[thesilvergriffin]

a destiel au

It makes sense that when people write alternate universe fantiction for Supernatural, they usually cast Dean as some sort of law enforcement/justice/do-gooder type FBI Agent, police officer, firefighter, doctor, etc. And I totally get that, it makes all the sense because that’s who Dean is. Someone who helps people, hunts things, has a way with children. He’s good at being a hunter and those skills fall over into investigation work. I get it.

But sometimes I think about Hollywood Babylon and how quickly Dean fell into being a PA. He was good at, quick on his feet, well-liked, and knowledgeable. And that gets me thinking about a different sort of alternate universe. What if Dean was a PA for movie and television sets? And he’s good at it, one of the best, always willing to stay longer, help out the crew, whatever needs to be done. And he loves working on the set of Dr. Sexy, M.D. Because really, how cool is Dr. Sexy? He wears cowboy boots! But one day, a new character is introduced to the show, a gruff, serious doctor played by Castiel Novak. 

Now, Dean can be a bit of a super fan. He’ll never admit it to Sam but he read every book Carver Edlund wrote for the Supernatural series. He even watched the mini series that played on Sci-Fi and his favorite rebelling angel was played by Castiel. After that, he watched every thing Castiel appeared in from tv movies to indie films to one episode runs on Nip/Tuck and CSI. He knows everything there is to know about this up and coming actor and Dean is overjoyed when he’s cast. He spends the first few weeks making sure that Castiel has everything he needs to feel welcomed to the cast of Dr. Sexy, M.D. 

Castiel for his part is baffled by the attention but grateful. He’s never had an easy time making friends or fitting in. He’s amused that Dean seems to know his entire filmography and happy to have someone to tell him the secrets of the set, like Lisa is catering will always slip you an extra muffin if you remember to ask about her son and you never want to be around when the studio executive Zachariah is around. It doesn’t take long for them to build a real friendship after a few months and Castiel becomes Cas. He finds he doesn’t mind the nickname.

Dean’s never had a best friend before. There’s his brother Sam who he’s closer to than anyone else and Gabe who grew up with him and spend his days heckling people at the comedy club he runs. But nothing like what he shares with Cas who refers to it as a ‘profound bond.’ It makes his cheeks flush a bit but he can’t argue with facts. It doesn’t quite explain why he’s stopped taking the extras home at night or why he gets uncomfortable with Cas’ romantic arcs on the show. Cas gets weird whenever Anna, one of the shows writers, spends her breaks with Dean. He tends to stay away and Dean has to go hunt him down.

It goes like this for a while with the two of them spending time together outside of work and getting closer. The rest of the cast and crew start to place bets on how long it’ll take them to realize they’re in love and when they’ll get together. (It happens at the wrap party at the end of season five. The only one who was even close was that dick from the PR department they call the Voice of God. Everyone is pleased when Balthazar steals the pot from him during a game of darts.)

[jwnchstr]

[theconstantsidekick]

Someone help me out here, when did Dean tell Cas "we need to put a bell around your collar" cause my god, I've read it in every. single. fic.

[theconstantsidekick]

Why have we, as a fandom, collectively decided that Castiel's birthday is on Christmas? Am I missing something?

[theconstantsidekick]

Guys, @enochian-things hit the sweet spot. This shit hit different.