#the thing on his ribs is the protection cas put on them like. burning through his skin

[kimodraw]

sammy sunday is a state of mind. a monday can be sammy sunday

[casdeans-pie]

Dean's ribs are aching.

He presses a hand against his skin, feeling the solid bones under his palm, and tries to imagine the ornate carvings running across them - remembers what the x-ray looked like. But his mind keeps getting stuck on the feeling of Cas's hand, strong and sturdy, in the center of his chest, and the pleasant burn that'd taken his breath away when he'd pressed into him.

A sensation that had been perfectly balanced on the knife-edge of pain and pleasure.

Dean lets out a shaky breath and tugs the scratchy motel sheets closer as he turns over, unable to stop being so aware of it all. A particularly loud snore from the bed next to him tells him that Sam isn't having the same problem.

It only takes another few minutes of Dean gritting his teeth and willing himself to go to sleep before he gives up with an angry sigh.

When he exits the room quietly, hoping to get some air and clear his head, he nearly walks straight into Castiel himself. "Jesus, Cas!" Dean yelps, then catches his volume, glances at the room behind him, and adds in a hissed whisper, "What are you doing here?"

Cas, for once, looks startled and a little guilty. "Hello, Dean," he says, voice rumbling quietly, "my apologies, I didn't expect anyone to leave the room until the morning."

"Yeah, that doesn't really answer my question, buddy. You were kind of loitering."

Cas shifts his weight a little in a nervous gesture that amuses Dean because it looks almost human. "I've been informed that watching over you while you sleep from your bedside is" - he squints his eyes - "creepy."

Dean can't help the huff of a laugh that escapes him. "'Cause it is."

Cas frowns. "And I can no longer sense either of you due to your sigils, so..."

(Dean presses his hand to his chest, echoes of the pleasure-pain running through his ribs.)

Cas's eyes flick down at the movement, but snap back up before Dean can put a name to the expression that passes over Cas's face. "So I have been watching over you... both of you... from outside your room instead. While I still know your current location," he adds sadly.

"Keeping tabs on us like this is still creepy Cas," Dean says, but there's no heat in it. In fact, he's surprised to realise that he really doesn't mind the idea of Cas watching over him- them.

"I can no longer sense you," Cas repeats, more upset this time.

A blue neon sign for the motel shines from above them, casting a moody blue light over Cas - catching the tips of his messy hair, and lighting up his eyes so that they're almost glowing. He's lit up in a way that reminds Dean of the Angel he really is, and it makes his ribs ache.

Dean grips the shirt over his chest in a tight fist.

Again Cas's gaze flicks down.

"What do they say?" Dean says so quietly it's nearly just a breath.

Cas must understand what Dean means, even though what he said makes no sense, because he replies, "It means you are to be kept away from all the eyes of the Angels, and none have permission to know of your location or gaze upon you." Cas reaches a hand up, suspends it in the air, and then lets it fall back to his side.

Dean feels a pulse race through his bones as he impulsively reaches for Cas's hand and places it on his chest, covering it with his own and pressing it down firmly. Warmth that feels like protection and safety rushes out from where their hands press together.

"I give you my permission," Dean says quietly, into this moment they've created, under the unnatural blue light of the motel sign, and the silent night around them.

Cas's eyes are wide and Dean feels his hand shaking. "You..." he visibly swallows and licks his lips. "You shouldn't say things like that to an Angel, Dean."

"Yeah? Well, too late. I mean it Cas. You've got my permission. And I know that means jack to symbols literally carved onto my bones, but it means you physically checking in with me if you want to know where we are - use your cellphone - and if I text you our motel room, and you're not, y’know, doing rebel Angel stuff, you can be our lookout." Dean feels silly all of a sudden and drops Cas's hand, stuffing his own into the pockets of the sweatpants he shoved on before he left the room. "And if I can't sleep, maybe we can talk outside again like tonight. Or whatever."

After a beat of pure silence the light on Cas's face from the sign seems to intensify and Dean can suddenly hear it buzzing.

The handprint on his shoulder pulses in time with the beat of his heart and the ache in his ribs.

"I would like that," Cas rumbles, a gentle smile on his lips.

Dean clears his throat and absentmindedly rubs his chest again. "Okay. Well. Good talk. I should- I should go back to bed- lots of big days coming up- world to save- goodnight, Cas." Dean doesn't want to call what he's doing running away, but he certainly does a good impression of it when he turns around and ducks back into the room.

A soft, "Goodnight, Dean," follows him inside before the door clicks shut behind him.

[onfreckledwings]

“You know I didn’t mean it, right?” Dean says one night.

Cas squints in that way he does as he looks up at Dean through his lashes across the library table. He tilts his head in question.

“What I said that night. Before you left...after Mom.”

And that’s all it takes for the wind to leave his sails. Deflated. The memory is still fresh in his mind, even after all this time. And despite Cas’s best efforts, yeah. It still stings. He lets his eyes fall to the names scratched into the mahogany of the table. He stares at them: at Jack’s name and his, at Sam and Dean’s initials.

At Mary’s.

Why does that something always seem to be you?

You’re dead to me.

He lets his index finger trace the letters of her name. Grief, guilt, and loss unfurls from behind his rib cage and grips around his heart like tentacles.

He’d said he was sorry. Cas knows he is. Logically, at least. He’d be lying if he said doubt didn’t sometimes reside quietly in the corners of his mind, in the chambers of his heart.

His forefinger is tracing the ‘W’ next to the ‘M’ when he tries to hold his stiff upper lip, tries to conceal the raging inner battle from Dean.

“Of course.”

And it’s the best Cas can do in that moment. He regrets it almost instantly, because it sounds like bullshit, even to him. So he tries to deflect, to end this conversation before it begins. He rises from his seat and takes both of their scotch glasses in hand.

“I’ll go get us some more,” he says, plastering his best attempt at a smile on his face as he starts heading for the kitchen. Dean’s footfalls are quickly behind him.

“Cas,” he calls out, and Cas tries his best to steel himself against the ache in his chest as he continues walking.

Being human sucks sometimes. He used to be able to flip on a proverbial robotic switch whenever he needed to avoid feeling, to avoid emotion, because angels were soldiers first and foremost. And because emotions were always the doorway to doubt, it was important to be able to turn them off in order to preserve the objective of the mission at hand.

Now though, after Jack pulled him out of the Empty, grace left behind, he’s finding it exceedingly more difficult to hide behind a mask. Especially now that his built-in armor is gone.

He feels everything so much more intensely now. And he hates it, particularly in moments like these. Because he doesn’t want to feel insecure, he doesn’t want Dean to feel guilty, he doesn’t want to rock the boat.

When he steps down into the kitchen, he notices how Dean’s footsteps don’t follow his over the threshold. He puts both glasses down on the counter as he reaches for the bottle of Macallan 12 in the cupboard. He unscrews the cap and begins pouring.

“Don’t do that.”

It’s a small, quiet thing. Cas’s hand stills over the rim of the second glass before he glances over his shoulder at Dean.

“You don’t want any?” He tries going for nonchalance. But he can tell with the weight of Dean’s footfalls that it doesn’t work. He rotates on his heel to face the man as he approaches.

“Not the scotch, Cas,” Dean says, low and quiet. He steps down gingerly into the kitchen then, wincing slightly before stopping at the opposite end of the island. His green eyes bore holes into Cas’s, and it feels like he’s staring into his soul.

Maybe he is.

Cas can’t help the worry that cloaks him as he watches Dean move. Can’t help the guilt he feels at not being able to help. He drops his shoulders then as he turns around, pouring the amber liquid into the second glass before capping the bottle and placing it back on the shelf. He feels rooted to the counter, and so he sips his scotch in an elongated pull. Avoiding.

“Look at me,” comes the soft plea. He hates how sad Dean’s voice sounds; how guilty and rough and burdened.

Cas inhales deeply, and turns to place Dean’s glass in front of him on the island. He can’t help but map the freckles dusted across his cheeks.

Whatever Dean sees in Cas’s eyes must be distressing, because he’s looking at him with such pity and sympathy and Cas feels shame creeping up his neck. He looks down at the fabric of his navy blue t-shirt, picking at an invisible piece of lint by way of distracting himself from Dean’s stare. But then he hears soft footsteps before he sees Dean’s feet approaching into his space.

Cas lifts his chin and tries a fake smile again, reaching to take a sip from his glass. He hums softly as the hints of vanilla, butterscotch, and an array of berries flow down his throat.

“It really is astonishing how they’re able to combine so many different flavors in this,” he tries. Because he really is fine. It was almost a year ago, and there’s no use rehashing something that’s already been dealt with. It’s stupid that it still feels like a sharp ache in his chest — because Dean’s already apologized, so it really shouldn’t matter anymore, right? — and so Cas is trying his hardest to brush it off.

But then Dean’s reaching to take his glass out of his hand and placing it on the counter before his hand encircles Cas’s wrist. His eyes shoot up to meet emerald green, and he feels paralyzed, because lying to Dean has never been easy.

“Don’t,” Dean says again. “Don’t do the whole brave-face thing. Not with me.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m not,” he says with a scoff, more on instinct than anything else. But then Dean’s setting his jaw, eyes piercing, and Cas relents. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve already apologized. It was a long time ago, Dean.”

“It does matter,” Dean grits out through clenched teeth. “The fact that I hurt you...matters. You ain’t a machine, Cas.”

Dean takes a labored breath, taking his free hand to rest it against his chest.

“...it kills me that I ever even said ‘em,” he says, green eyes pleading into blue. “You gotta know that.”

Cas shakes his head, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. His eyes begin to burn, and he sets his jaw as he closes his eyes. He refuses to let Dean see him cry—because he still feels like it’s his job to protect him, grace or no— so he turns his back to Dean to grab his tumbler of scotch and knocks it back.

The smooth burn on his tongue settles into his stomach, and it grounds him, allowing him to bite back the tears that threaten to fall. He braces himself against the counter, and Dean’s hand falls from Cas’s wrist to his side.

“You weren’t wrong,” Cas murmurs in the stillness. “I made some really poor choices over the years that put you and your family in jeopardy.”

He keeps his voice eerily steady and even, sighing heavily as he lifts his chin to look at the ceiling again. “I didn’t blame you then, and I don’t blame you now. It wasn’t like I didn’t deserve it.”

Dean’s hand grips his shoulder and he spins Cas around to face him.

“You didn’t. God—” he says, green eyes ablaze with ferocity. And Cas wants to argue, but then Dean is pulling him towards his chest.

Cas goes rigid and tries to push back against the force of Dean’s embrace. “Dean, your back—”

“Is fine,” Dean bites out and forcefully yanks Cas into him. “Come here.”

Cas’s eyes flutter shut involuntarily as his chest crashes against Dean’s, and he lets his arms encircle Dean’s waist gently, mindful of the still tender wound in the middle of his back. He chokes back a whimper as Dean’s arms envelope him, one hand resting between his shoulders and the other cupping the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean whispers against the shell of Cas’s ear, voice thick and gruff. The warm caress of Dean’s breath chases goosebumps across Cas’s skin. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Cas murmurs gently against the line of Dean’s jaw, rubbing circles near the small of his back. “It’s okay.”

Dean’s breath saunters, and Cas can feel a warm wetness trickle down the slope of his neck, seeping into his shirt.

He wishes he could meld Dean into him then, just to envelope him completely, to shield him from everything that could hurt him the way he once could.

But Cas is human; and all he can do now is hold Dean.

So he does.

He buries his nose further into the crook of Dean’s neck and breathes deeply, relishing the scent of his shampoo, scotch, and simply the essence of Dean Winchester.

God, how he loves him.

“I forgive you,” Cas whispers around the tears clinging stubbornly to his throat. He lets one lone tear slip down his cheek as Dean’s fingers curl into Cas’s hair.

He feels the stifled sob before he hears it, and he pulls back gently to search Dean’s eyes as they spill over freckled cheeks.

Cas reaches to cup Dean’s face before resting their foreheads together. “I forgive you.” He drops one hand from Dean’s face to place it over his heart, feeling it thrum beneath his fingertips. “Please try to forgive yourself.”

Dean screws his eyes shut as he clenches his jaw, and Cas knows he wants to protest, wants to berate himself and scoff at the idea of self-compassion. So he lifts his chin to press his lips to Dean’s forehead, letting the kiss linger for only a moment.

He swears Dean leans into it.

“Let me check you,” Cas says quietly, reaching to place his hands gently at Dean’s sides and urging him to turn around.

“‘s fine, Cas,” Dean says, but lets himself be moved so that he’s bracing against the island. Cas reaches for the hem of Dean’s black tee, lifting it up midway to inspect the once-gaping wound in the center of his back.

It’s mostly healed by now; Jack had gotten Dean through the worst of it, but Cas’s stomach churns at how close it could have came to a different outcome entirely.

So he sees to it to check the wound every day, tracking the progress of its healing and closely monitoring Dean’s recovery. The pink, puckered skin is still raised slightly, promising a gruesome scar in the future. But it’s nearly fully closed up, and there’s no sign of infection.

Cas lets his thumb trace a large circle around the wound, and Dean shudders at the soft touch.

“It’s healing well,” Cas confirms. He removes his hands and lets Dean’s shirt fall back down, smoothing the fabric down his ribs. “How does it feel?”

Dean turns in his arms, and Cas starts to step back when Dean’s hands fall to his hips, anchoring him there.

He gets lost in those beautiful forest greens.

“It’s okay,” Dean murmurs. “It just pulls sometimes. Kind of catches when I move too quick.”

Cas nods, and feeling emboldened, reaches to flatten his palms against the planes of Dean’s chest.

He takes a heavy breath, eyes downcast with guilt. “I’m sorry I can’t heal the rest of it.”

He feels Dean shake his head as a finger curls underneath his chin, lifting it to meet their eyes again. Cas’s chest aches when Dean’s palm cups his cheek, grazing the stubble.

“You’re back,” he whispers gravelly. “‘s all that matters.”

Cas nods, and his heart begins to hammer under Dean’s locked gaze. He feels like he should step back in the interest of personal space, but then Dean’s eyes are flicking between his, to his lips, and back again.

Cas freezes as his breathing quickens, and then Dean is slowly leaning in to brush his lips against Cas’s own.

The world stops.

Cas reaches up Dean’s sides to cling to his shoulder blades, and he lets himself fall pliant when Dean presses him against the counter. Dean’s tongue is a butterfly caress against Cas’s mouth, and he opens to let him inside.

It’s a gentle, smoldering thing; not urgent or frenzied, neither panicked nor rushed. Something heavy and ethereal blooms behind Castiel’s ribs and spreads through his limbs, leaving sparks and tingles in its wake. He lets himself sink against the counter, and welcomes all of Dean’s weight as he presses into him.

It feels like grace.

Cas reaches up further, one hand cupping the rough stubble of Dean’s cheek, the other carding through sandy-brown strands of hair that have grown slightly longer in the midst of his recovery.

Cas tries to stifle a whimper as Dean’s tongue flicks languidly against his own, mapping the peaks and valleys of his mouth. His heart aches, aches, because he never thought — ever — that he’d be lucky enough to feel this. To have this.

Tears slip out from behind closed eyes, trailing down his cheeks. The cool air of the bunker chills the warm rivulets on his face.

Dean shifts minutely, dipping his chin slightly to move away for air; but not before he sucks Cas’s bottom lip between his own, gently nipping with his teeth. Claiming.

Ragged breaths fill the kitchen as they both heave for air. Foreheads rest together as Cas drops the hand from Dean’s hair to rest it over his heart.

It’s pounding just as hard as his.

“I love you too,” Dean chokes out around a muffled cry as one hand frames Cas’s jaw, the other falling to grasp against his ribs, fisting into his shirt.

Cas’s legs nearly give out then. He pulls Dean into his chest, cupping the back of his head to bury Dean’s face into his neck. Dean’s arms wrap around him like a vice, and he sobs quietly into his skin.

Castiel kisses Dean’s temple, lips ghosting the shell of his ear. “I love you so much.”

[omgrachwrites]

Our Souls Crave This Magic- Chapter Two

Pairing: Prince Caspian x Reader

Summary: All you want is a quiet year of university as you and your best friend, Edmund move to New York City. Though, that all changes when you meet the spoiled trust fund brat, Caspian. College au.

Warnings: fluff, slow burn romance, swearing, mentions of sex, enemies to lovers

Words: 2590

Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me and all characters are 18+

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this part! I forgot how bad I was at writing party scenes 🙃 I didn’t mean for this to be actual enemies to lovers but this is the way this is turning out! Please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

previous chapter   masterlist   next chapter

Chapter Two - If Only For Tonight

Caspian grimaced as he walked through the cool streets of New York with Edmund; he always tried to never judge a book by its cover because he didn’t want to be like his parents. But, it was hard not to judge, this was a seedy part of town where muggings and drugs were rife. Caspian wouldn’t usually be caught dead in this part of town. Edmund had invited him to a college party, Caspian had thought about saying no but he didn’t want to alienate himself and he actually really liked Edmund.

Ed had even convinced Caspian to join him at Aslan’s – somewhere where Caspian had never set foot – for a couple of drinks beforehand. Caspian didn’t want to leave his friend alone, especially when Ed had ulterior motives for going to Aslan’s, the girl he fancied was going.

Ed looked back at Caspian and grinned, choking on a laugh, “oh, come on, don’t look so glum, mate, tonight is gonna be great!”

Caspian rolled his eyes at Ed as he raked his fingers through his hair, “I hope that you appreciate what I’m willing to go through for you,” Caspian grumbled as they walked into the bar.

Caspian wrinkled his nose and tried not to sneer at his surroundings, the air reeked of stale alcohol and cigarettes as the music pounded in his ears, “Ed, you’re here!” there was a loud giggle as a beautiful girl with golden blonde hair ran up to him and wrapped her arms around him.

Edmund chuckled and blushed, it was so obvious that this was the girl that he fancied, when the girl pulled back with a grin, Ed gestured over at Caspian, “Caspian, this is Lilly, Lilly, this is Caspian.”

Caspian lifted his hand in a small wave and Lilly smiled, “it’s nice to meet you,” her gaze hardly lingered on him before she gazed back up at Ed with a wistful look in her eyes. Caspian hid a smile; it was obvious that Lilly held a torch for Edmund.

Shaking his head in amusement, he looked towards the bar and what he saw there almost made him choke on nothing. There was a girl with her back towards him, leaning up over the bar, wearing a pair of black killer heels. Caspian really tried not to stare but her lace crimson dress had ridden up enough to show the garters of the suspenders she wore.

“You’re staring, Caspian,” Ed said and Caspian could hear the smirk in his friend’s voice.

“No, I’m not,” he jolted guiltily and turned back to look at Ed, feeling like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Lilly raised an eyebrow as she looked at the bar, “hey, Y/N!”

Caspian did a double take, his stomach performing somersaults when the girl in the crimson dress – with the amazing legs – turned around and Caspian realised who he’d just been checking out. Y/N grinned, she looked just as beautiful in the front as she did from behind, Caspian just wished that she wasn’t so irritating.

Y/N gave Ed a hug while she nodded at Caspian, with the hint of a smirk on her face as she took a sip of her cocktail, “Ed and Cas, sounds like a shitty superhero show.”

Edmund rolled his eyes as they walked towards the bar, narrowly missing getting splashed with beer, “I’ll pretend that you didn’t just say that, I thought that you were working tonight,” Ed raised an eyebrow.

Y/N had had to reject so many invitations to parties in the past month because she was working, Y/N shrugged, “I was, Aslan heard about the party so let me clock of early,” she grinned before turning back to Caspian with her eyebrows raised and he tried not to let his eyes linger away from her face, “I’m surprised to see you in a place like this, thought it was too good for you. Never thought you’d climb down from your ivory tower long enough to join us mere mortals in the real world,” her tone was teasing and it surprisingly seemed to lack the venom her voice usually held.

Nevertheless, Caspian still scoffed as a bottle of beer was placed in front of him, “trust me, this is the last time you’ll ever see me in here.”

Y/N laughed, biting her lip as Caspian watched her lips touch the sugared rim of her glass and she took a small sip, “I’m going to put a better song on,” she smirked, letting her hand linger on Caspian’s chest as she brushed up against him before eventually walking past him to get to the juke box in one corner of the room.

After a little while – and a few beers – Caspian relaxed enough to let his guard down and try to enjoy the new experience. Caspian cringed slightly as he watched Edmund trying to chat Lilly up, blissfully unaware that she was trying to do the same thing. Caspian smirked over at Y/N as Ed wrapped his arms around Lilly as he helped her line up her shot on the pool table.

“Do you think that they’re really that oblivious or is just because we’re here, cramping their style?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, “can’t say yet, but I’ll tell you one thing, Lilly is amazing at pool,” she giggled and for the first time, Caspian noticed the way her face lit up and her cheeks dimpled.

Caspian laughed out loud as he looked at the couple at the pool table before glancing back at Y/N who had a wistful sort of look on her face as she watched Ed and Lilly, “you look really pretty tonight, Y/N.”

Y/N stopped stirring her blue cocktail as she looked up at him with a surprised look on her face, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks, “wow, Caspian you’re sweet. Who would have thought it?” there was still that sharp tone in her voice.

Caspian knew that she didn’t like him, he just didn’t understand why, he sighed as he slouched back in his chair and frowned at her, “look, Y/N. I know that you don’t like me, I’m not expecting us to be best friends but please, for tonight can we just put our differences aside?”

Y/N smirked down at the contents of her drink before glancing back up at him from beneath her long lashes, “sure, if only for tonight, I can pretend that you’re someone else, someone likeable. As long as you let loose and take as many jello shots as humanly possible,” she laughed.

Caspian playfully sighed as he rolled his eyes, “alright, Miss Y/L/N, it’s a deal,” he laughed, clinking his glass against hers.

Half an hour later, Caspian was regretting the deal that he’d made with Y/N. He was standing in front of a huge frat house where drunken people were falling out of, left, right and centre. Was this really going to be his college experience? Caspian wanted to break away from his parents’ traditional views but did he really want to go this far?

Caspian jumped as he felt an elbow in his ribs and discovered that Y/N was grinning at him with her eyebrow raised and her teeth digging into her lip, “we have a deal, remember? Let loose, that means no judging,” she laughed a she walked in front of the group, “see you suckers later, use protection and all that jazz,” he laughed as she shot them finger guns before running into the frat house.

The party was just like Caspian thought it would be, undignified and rowdy with people practically having sex in public. Caspian tried to enjoy himself but it was hard when all he wanted to do was run out of here and never look back, he also had to reject the same sorority girl multiple times. Plus, he didn’t want to be a third wheel on Ed and Lilly for much longer.

Though, Caspian had to hand it to Y/N, the jello shots were amazing, at first they were disgustingly sweet, the flavour sticking to his tongue but they quickly grew on him. Caspian soon began to feel light headed, he wasn’t drunk, just light headed and the party was far too crowded. He pushed past an idiot who was doing a keg stand and he breathed out in relief when he got outside into the cold night air.

He sighed and leaned against the hard brick of the wall, momentarily closing his eyes. His dark eyes snapped open when he heard a whimper, he knew what happened at these types of parties, and it wasn’t good. What if someone was in trouble? He swallowed and took it upon himself to investigate.

Though, when he turned the corner, he had never wanted to turn back time so much in his life. Y/N was leaning against the wall, caught in a passionate make out session with some curly haired frat boy. She giggled and sighed when the frat boy dipped his hand beneath her skirt and she wrapped one leg around his waist, it didn’t look like she was in trouble.

The jello shots curdled in Caspian’s stomach and he felt like he was about to throw up, though he managed to hold off long enough to run back inside to look for Ed and Lilly.

-----------------------------

You were roused from your sleep in the sweetest way, with soft kisses that trailed from the base of your neck, ending on your shoulder. You snapped your eyes open with a racing heart before you pieced everything together and you relaxed, you had never felt so hungover in your life. Turning over in bed, you smiled at the cute curly haired frat boy who placed a kiss on your nose. He defied all expectations of what you expected a frat boy to be, he was surprisingly sweet, now if you could only remember his name.

The frat boy smiled, his eyes the colour of honey in the weak light of day, “good morning. How you feelin?”

You let out a weak little laugh as you stretched your arms above your head, “like shit,” you hummed and trailed your fingers against his stubbled cheek, “I’m getting in the shower, are you coming?”

Sam – you remembered his name was Sam – grinned as he all but leapt out of bed, pulling on some pants, “fuck, yeah.”

You slipped on Sam’s shirt and giggled as you walked to the bathroom with Sam’s arms wrapped around you from behind. You had barely touched the doorknob before the bathroom door was wrenched open. It was hard to conceal the gasp that threatened to spill from your mouth but you managed it somehow. Caspian was standing on the other side of the door, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair was damp, water droplets were sliding down his smooth chest, disappearing beneath his towel.

You swallowed as you quickly turned away from the handsome man, “jesus, Caspian! What the hell are you doing here?!” you yelled, covering your eyes.

“Ed let me crash here last night,” he mumbled, his voice was thick with sleep and when you chanced a glance at him from beneath your fingers you saw that his deep brown eyes were blood shot.

He nodded at you as he slipped past you and Sam with red cheeks, the look on his face made you wince, you knew exactly what that look meant. You bit your lip nervously and looked at Sam who was grinning at you sheepishly, “I think you should go.”

“That’s actually a really good idea,” he gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing as he did so, “I’ll call you or somethin’, doll.”

You let out a relieved breath, shaking your head as you walked into the bathroom and started the shower, your face burning with embarrassment. In the shower you scrubbed your skin beneath the scalding hot water until your skin was red raw and you slipped into some comfy loungewear before taking a deep breath and walking down the stairs.

Ed, Lucy and Caspian (who was thankfully dressed) were all sitting around the table, Caspian and Ed refused to look you in the eye, while Lucy was bright red, a little smile on her face as she pushed a plate of pancakes towards you. The silence was unbearable as you drizzled syrup over your breakfast, adding sprinkles to the top.

“Did your friend not want to stay for breakfast?” Lucy asked, her voice shaking with laughter while Edmund scowled at her.

You let out a sigh as you looked up at the boys, “look I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that I quite clearly kept you up for most of the night,” Ed looked up at you before flushing and looking back down at his breakfast while Caspian kept his eyes on you, narrowing them ever so slightly.

“I’m just sad that you guys didn’t invite me to the party,” Lucy pouted as she stabbed at her pancakes with her fork.

Edmund choked on his coffee as he looked at his sister, his eyes blown wide, “for one, you’re not old enough if you wanted to go to parties at 19, then you should have stayed in England. Two, if going to frat parties has that outcome, then you’re never going to one, ever.”

Caspian chuckled as he ran a hand through his still damp hair and you couldn’t help but watch his movements, you hated to admit it but he looked good in the morning, “you’re just mad that you didn’t get lucky with Lilly.”

The four of you laughed together before Lucy initiated a whole new conversation that broke the tension and for that, you were internally grateful. Everything was going well as everyone tucked into their pancakes, or at least you thought they were going well.

Caspian frowned as he looked up at you, “is that usual for you? Bringing back some guy you hardly know?”

The silence was deafening as you looked up from your breakfast and glared at the handsome man who was sitting opposite you and he didn’t look especially guilty, “what the hell is that supposed to mean? What are you implying?” you asked, getting defensive because you knew exactly what he was implying. You hardly knew Caspian; he was in no position to start judging you.

“Y/N,” Ed trailed off in a warning voice as he looked between you and Caspian with a worried expression on his face.

“No, Ed,” you glared at him before looking back at Caspian who was leaning back in his chair, his eyebrows raised at you, “he’s got something to say, so say it, Cas!” he was silent as he swallowed and he averted his eyes and you scoffed at him, “just as I thought,” you stood up, taking your plate of pancakes, “I’m not ashamed for enjoying sex, even if it is with a stranger. Just because you’re probably a sad virgin doesn’t mean we all have to be. You stay away from me.”

You knew that he was only trying to get underneath your skin, as payback for all the times you got under his skin. Also, you knew that there was no way in hell that someone as good looking as him was a virgin but it made you feel better to insinuate it.

“It would be my pleasure,” he mumbled.

You scowled back at him as you stormed into your room with your blood boiling, you hated him so much.

  -----------------------------

@smiithys​ @elayneblack​ @amelie-black​ @generalblizzarddreamer​ @blackbirddaredevil23​ @whiskeywinter89​

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Seal the Deal

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 2658

Summary: A hunt gone bad leads to Dean’s death. While Sam looks for solutions in vain, you make an appointment with a crossroads demon. 

Notes: Here is the first part of the Deal series! This series is gonna be suuuuuuper dark, so fair warning to all of you. I’m really really proud of these three imagines, so I really hope you guys enjoy. As always, let me know what you think!

Warnings: Death, gore, mentions of Hell, plenty of guilt, sacrifice

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural​ . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

-

Thursday 4:44 P.M. 

You messed up. You had been so sure, so ready to be the hero. Why wouldn’t you just listen to them?

Sam and Dean stood on either side of yo, guns raised and shoulders tense. Two pairs of black eyes glistened wickedly. They definitely weren’t vampires. 

“I think we owe the pretty one a thank you.” The one possessing the girl laughed. “Sam and Dean Winchester dropped at our feet like a good hunting dog.”

“What am I, hellhound food?” You snarked, readying your weapon. She just smiled. 

“You will be.” 

“Enough talk.” Dean stepped in front of you, his defensive boyfriend mode activated. 

The boys leapt into action, Sam taking the man on the right and Dean took the one on the girl with the mouth. You only had your knife, but luckily Dean had come prepared with an angel blade. She swung her arm forward, crashing a nearby table into both of you. You recovered quickly and lunged at her. The demon Sam was fighting grabbed you by your hair and prepared to slit your throat. 

“No!” Dean shouted, throwing the angel blade into the demon’s chest. 

That’s when a sick snap echoed through the room, making the rest of the world go silent. You turned around and felt everything inside of you shatter. The demon had her hands on either side of Dean’s face, his head turned in an unnatural way. His body fell, but you didn’t hear it hit the ground. You didn’t hear anything. Not Sam screaming out his brother’s name or the demon’s dying shriek when he ran it through. 

You didn’t realize you had moved until you were on the floor, checking Dean’s broken neck for a pulse. You watched the life fade out of his eyes, his green irises staring blankly at you. 

“Come on Dean, we have to go.” You whimpered, laying a hand on his cheek. 

“Dean…” Sam crouched down beside you. “No. No, Dean you can’t go like this.” He clutched his brother’s hand, letting out a painful, guttural cry. “Dean!”

-

10:27

Dean Winchester was dead. His body laid on the bed in front of you. This was real. And it was your fault. Sam was pacing back and forth, muttering something about calling Cas and looking for spells. 

“I’m so sorry, Sam.” You muttered. He stopped moving. 

“Everything is going to be okay.” He assured you, his eyes filled with desperate hope. “We’ll get him back.”

“This is my fault.” You wiped a tear with the back of your hand. “We went in unprepared because I didn’t listen to you. Dean dropped his guard because he was saving me.” 

“You can’t think like that.” He sat beside you, reaching out to comfort you, but you pulled away. “You’ll find all the ways to blame yourself, believe me, I know. But that isn’t going to help Dean.”

“He threw that blade without a second thought.” You mused, as if you hadn’t heard what he said. “He gave up his only weapon to stop me from getting hurt.” You finally tore your eyes away from Dean and looked at his younger brother. “Why would he do that?” Sam’s eyebrows drew together. 

“He loves you, Y/N.” He said softly. “Dean protects the people he cares about, no matter what it costs him. He sold his soul to save me all those years ago. It’s who he is.” You froze, letting his words sink in. 

“You’re right.” You sat up straighter, pulling your thoughts together. “Sitting here feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to bring him back.” But you knew what would. Sam nodded. 

“Cas has been M.I.A so far, but he might know what to do.” Sam looked at his brother with determination. “You should try and get some sleep. We’re going to need all of us at our best game to get him back.”

“When are you going to sleep?” You countered. Sam sighed, putting a hand on Dean’s arm. 

“When I figure out how I’m getting my brother back.” You huddled close to the younger Winchester. Laying your head on his shoulder, you tried to fight the exhaustion that was slowly taking over your limbs. Sam leaned into you, wrapping an arm  around your shoulders. “We’re going to get him back.” 

“We’re going to get him back.” You repeated. The world needed Dean alive. You needed him. Before you fell asleep, you looked at his face. You would give anything to see those green eyes again. Anything. 

-

Friday 3:23 A.M. 

“Y/N! Sam! Anybody!” Dean’s screams echoed in the dark. Fire ignited around him, illuminating the table he was strapped down to. A saw blade hung above him. “Not again. I can’t do this again. Sam! Y/N!” 

The saw’s shrill cry drowned out his painful pleas for help. It lowered ominously towards him. Dean’s blood splattered his screaming face as the saw cut into his rib cage. 

You woke up to darkness in a bed that was not your own. It took a moment to catch your breath and for your eyes to adjust. You were in Sam’s room. He must have carried you in here when you fell asleep. It was nicer than the couch and Dean was in the bed that you shared. Dean. The image of his chest splitting open burned itself into your head and you rushed into Sam’s bathroom. You threw up the little you had in your stomach before stumbling through the bunker to you and Dean’s room. 

He was just a still shadow in the dark. You collapsed next to the bed, hands clinging to his unharmed chest. Tears streamed down your face and your words came out as garbled sobs. 

“I’m going to get you out.” You swore. “It should be me. You’ve already suffered so much. It should be me.” You fell into a shaking, crying mess on the floor, a hand still desperately clutching his. You had to fix this. Dean wasn’t supposed to die. If you had just listened…

“Y/N?” Sam opened the door, letting light stream in the room. When you could see the body, you started screaming. You shrieked like you had lost your mind. Maybe you had. All you could see was Dean on the table being ripped apart. 

Sam grabbed you and lifted you up off of the floor. You fought him without thinking and he trapped you in his arms until you had calmed down enough to stand on your own. 

“We have to save him, Sam. We have to save him.”

“We will.” He put his hands on your shoulders. “We’re going to find Cas and we’re going to make a plan.” You shook your head. 

“No, no, Sam we don’t have time. We have to get him out. He’s been there too long already.”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” 

“I saw him and-and-” You started hyperventilating and Sam put your amblings aside, chalking them up to panic and grief. He pulled you close again, keeping your face to his chest. Dean would know what to do. He stared at Dean’s body and did the one thing he could do. He prayed. 

-

2:07 P.M.

There was nothing Cas could do. Without his grace, he couldn’t even transport on his own, let alone raise someone from the dead. He felt so useless.

“We’ll find a way.” Sam refused to give up. If he had to go to the ends of the Earth, he would. It’s what Dean would have done for him. 

Sam was worried about you. You hadn’t said a word since last night and you wouldn’t leave the room. You barely even blinked when Cas arrived. He knew how much you loved his brother and he knew how much the guilt was gnawing at you. 

“Should I talk to her?” Cas asked. Sam shook his head. 

“Not yet.” He said somberly. “She’ll feel better once we have a plan.” 

“Sam,” Cas sighed, “I think we might need to start making other kinds of plans.”

“What?”

“I want Dean back as much as you do, but you know this isn’t what he would want.” Cas knew that someone had to be the voice of reason, even if he wanted nothing more than to bring Dean back to life. 

“What if it was me in that bed? Or Y/N? Or you?” Sam snapped, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Dean would not rest until we were alive again.” Cas’ face pleaded with him and Sam’s shoulders slumped. “But,” He took a breath, “if nothing works, and we’ve turned over every stone, looked at every spell… then we have to let him rest in peace. He’s earned that.”

You stood around the corner, your heart sinking with every word. He wasn’t at peace. Unless you did something, he would never be at peace. You crept back to the room, making sure not to make any noise. You carefully closed the door and lowered your voice so Sam and Cas wouldn’t hear. 

“Sam’s working hard to find a way to bring you back.” You leaned against the wall, watching Dean as if you were expecting him to respond. “But they’re not going to find anything. Life's just not that easy for us.” You paced forward, standing over him with a sad smile. One of your tears fell down onto his lips. 

“I know what I have to do. Trouble is, I know that you’re gonna hate me when you wake up.” You lifted his hand, holding it against your heart. “But that doesn’t matter. The world needs you, Dean. Sam needs you. I-” You choked back a sob. “I need you to come back, baby.” 

You knew that this was right. You just hoped you could be brave enough to do it.

-

11: 49 P.M.

It was a warm night, but you still felt an icy chill run down your spine as you stood at the crossroads. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Dean Winchester’s little pet.” Her red eyes glistened when she smiled. 

“You know why I’m here.” You snapped. You didn’t have time for witty demon banter. 

“Yeah, yeah, you want your boyfriend back because one of my black-eyed friends snapped that pretty neck.” She rolled her eyes. “What is it with you people and sacrificing yourselves all the time? Dean’s gone, sweet cheeks. Move on.”

“Can you do it or not?” You were half tempted to take an angel blade to her throat. 

“Dean’s a pretty big player. He’s already gotten out of hell once, not to mention all of the trouble he’s caused for us.” She started to circle you, her wicked grin making your skin crawl. 

“Look, if you can’t do it, can we just-” She clicked her tongue like she was scolding a child. 

“I didn’t say I couldn’t do it.” The demon stalked towards you. “But it’s going to take a lot of pulled strings and I don’t have ten years to wait around for your soul.”

“That’s fine.” You growled, stepping forward. You weren’t afraid of her. “Dean only got a year when he saved Sam.”

“Oh, I don’t have a year either.” You faltered for a moment. 

“How long will I have?” She seemed to be calculating in her head, counting off on her fingers. Her smile grew. 

“I can give you until Monday at midnight.” 

“What?” 

“Three days. 72 hours to spend getting freaky with Dean-o before I feed you to the dogs.” She laughed, watching your confidence fade. 

“Three days?”

“Do we have a bargain or not? I have other appointments, you know.” 

“You swear that you can bring him back? No tricks. Just Dean, him and his soul in one piece?” She held up her hand in a mock pledge. 

“Scout’s honor.” For a second you just stood there. Could you do this? You didn’t have a choice. “Come on, Y/N. You have to seal the deal.” 

The clock struck twelve, the sound of the bell snapping you out of your trance and restoring your courage. You yanked the demon forward, colliding your lips into hers. She pulled back, red eyes flashing with twisted delight. 

“Time starts now.” 

-

Saturday 12:32 A.M.

Sam finished lighting the last candle and inhaled the overpowering scents of artificial pine and apple cinnamon. It was nauseating, but it would hopefully help when the room started to smell. He turned to the body and sighed. Cas was right. They needed to do something. He heard the bunker door open and rushed out to the entry, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Where the hell have you been?” He demanded. You looked at him blankly. “Y/N, you can’t just run off in the middle of the night. I was worried that you had-” He didn’t even want to think about it. But you were here now and not at the bottom of a ditch, which was something to be grateful for. 

“I’m fine, Sam.” You tried to keep your hands from shaking by holding onto the railing as you went down the stairs. Sam noticed the dirt on your hands and the still determined look in your eyes. 

“Y/N,” his expression changed from angry to panicked. “Where were you?”

“Does somebody want to tell me why my room smells like an old woman’s car?” The voice echoed from down the hall. Sam’s eyes went wide and your heart started to race. As soon as Dean appeared in the doorway, you leaped into his arms. You took his face in your hands and kissed him like it was the first time. Confused, though pleased, by this greeting, Dean pulled away. 

“Dean,” Sam let out a sigh of relief and hugged his brother, momentarily forgetting your suspicious absence. 

“What the hell is going on?” Dean barked, eyes darting between his brother and his girlfriend. 

“What do you remember?” Sam asked. 

“I remember the demons and this neck cramp like you wouldn’t believe.” He thought for a moment, everything slowly coming back to him. “I was in this place. A home. My home. There were pictures on the mantle with me in them…” HIs gaze landed on you and he smiled lovingly. Your blood ran cold. No. “You were in them too. There were a few of me and Sammy, on hunting trips- but not our kind of hunting. Normal people hunting.” He stared off, like he was trying to go back. “Y/N, you came in holding this little boy with my chin and your smile.” He finally snapped out of it, remembering where he was. “Anyway, I heard this clock bell chime and I woke up surrounded by a whole Yankee candle store.”

“Dean…” Sam said softly. “I think you were… in Heaven.” 

“I don’t know, but it sure felt like it.” Dean sighed. He had seen the life he always wanted. A real life, a family, with you. 

You just stared, processing every word. Sam read your face and remember your unexplained absence. 

“Y/N, where did you go?” He spoke in that low voice that always came before he went off. 

“He’s back now, Sam.” You held your head up. You did the right thing. You did the right thing. Dean froze. 

“What is he talking about?”

“Y/N disappeared for four hours and then you suddenly came back to life.” 

“You wanted him back too, Sam!” You yelled. You did the right thing.

“Not like that!” Sam’s voice boomed and the room fell silent. HIs anger dissipated into dread. “We would have found something else.”

“Not in time.” Your eyes fell to the floor. Dean put his hands on either side of your face. 

“Y/N, look at me.” You looked up into those green eyes- the ones that you sold your soul to see again. You would never regret it. Dean watched your chin tremble, confirming his fears. “Baby…” You could see his heart break. “What did you do?”

-

Continue to 72 Hours

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624​; @halesandy​

[jackandthesoulmates]

Sun and Moon and Samuel

Author: jackandthesoulmates / tintentrinkerin

Title: Sun and Moon and Samuel

Created for @spnkinkbingo and @spndarkbingo

Square filled: anal sex (kink bingo), dark magic (dark bingo)

Pairing: onesided Samjack, implied unrequited Deansam, 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: non con, somnophilia, dark!jack, dark magic, POV: perpetrator, coming untouched, dead dove: do not eat!

Word count: 1956

Sometimes Sam falls asleep in the most uncomfortable poses and places. His head would sink on the desk in the library, he passes out in the passenger seat of the Impala. Sometimes he drops like dead weight on the bed in a shabby old motel, fully clothed, not even slipping out of his shoes.

Jack doesn’t sleep much. It’s hard for him to relax when needed. The ritual of sleep is weird to him. People go to bed for that. As soon as it’s dark outside, the sun has set, some people shower. Dean does. Sam showers in the morning. Castiel has no sense of night and day, sleeping or being awake. Humans, they brush their teeth, undress, then put on their pajama’s go to bed. Sam reads until he falls asleep. Dean listens to classic rock. And Jack? Jack sleeps maybe an hour or two. He doesn’t dream. At least not anymore since he burned his whole soul away.

Did the snake sleep, before Jack gave it salvation?

To Jack, sleeping feels like being unconscious for a while and then just to wake up to realize it’s 3 o’clock in the morning and no one is awake but him. Nothing stirs. The bunker is pitch black and silent like a grave. Well, sometimes Dean can’t sleep and when Jack is on one of his nightly tours through the halls, he is tempted to sit by him, maybe ask him for a sip of whiskey, but he is never really sure about Dean. If Dean wants to protect or kill him. Jack is not afraid. He’s afraid of nothing anymore. He’s like the skeleton of a whale who died on the shore somewhere far away and the sea has washed away his flesh, his organs, his life. All that’s left is bleak white bones, a hollow rib cage where birds nest in spring after a successful mating season.

The only thing that really catches Jack’s attention is Sam and his habits. Oh, Sam.

When he still had his soul, Jack would say, he had a major crush on him. His heart would jump, his palms sweat, he would feel dizzy when they touched. Oh, how much he had loved it. Now, all of this is gone. It’s become a habit for Jack to study Sam. To find out who he really is. Deep down, under all these layers of sass, wisdom and his caring nature. There has to be more. There is always more to it, Jack must know. If there hadn’t been more to himself than being the offspring of Lucifer, he wouldn’t feel so hollow now. Something was taken from him and he wouldn’t miss it if it hadn’t been there in the first place. He tries imitating himself, but it’s like putting on a mask that doesn’t quite fit.

He clings onto the faint imprint of a romantic crush he felt for Sam. Something that had kept him absent-minded and focused at the same time. Falling back in love with him - Jack knows it won’t work but he tries anyway.

Sam looks like an old oil painting when he sleeps. Jack would stand in his door for hours and just watch him shift and turn in his sheets. He sleeps naked and Jack is oddly fascinated about Sam’s noises, his dreams, the gasps and most of all, how his cock grows hard and then softens again, without Sam doing anything about it. Sometimes he would reach down to stroke himself once or twice in a short moment of waking, but he never does more. Sam’s sheets would always be pushed to the side. Sam needs it chill to sleep. Jack knows his habits by now.

What he can’t ignore, is how his own body responds to what he sees. To Sam’s face, that switches from relaxed to twisted. In pleasure or pain, Jack can’t tell. Sam calls out in his sleep. Dad, Mary, Dean. Cas. No. Adam. Leave me. Dean. Don’t do that. Help me, Dean! Please. Lucifer. Jess!

Jack is so curious. He could make it easy and crack Sam’s mind open like a freshly laid egg. He could put his fingers in Sam’s psyche and stir it all up. He could dive his whole face inside this ocean of nightmares and hazy prophecies. What keeps him from doing it? He doesn’t want to see Sam broken. He wants Sam to be the way he is.

Tonight is different. Like always, he stands in the open door, his eyes glowing and seeing Sam lying on his belly, his hips gently rocking in the mattress. There’s one of these moans, so vulnerable, so needy at the same time. Mumbled names and hands clenching in the sheets. Jack gulps when he finally stirs again and sneaks in the room. The faint lights from the hallway lighten his way. Jack hasn’t bothered putting his pajama’s on, he’s just in black briefs.

Underneath, he’s throbbing and twitching at the sight of Sam’s muscular body and his perfect ass. Sam’s still gently humping the mattress, blanket wrapped around his stomach. Jack slides beside him in Sam’s bed.

“What… no, who do you dream of, Sam?”, Jack whispers.

Sam only sighs, his strong hand is fisting the pillow. Jack’s eyes glow golden now, the lights outside flicker and dim down a little. It’s not that he uses the magic on purpose. It’s like breathing. This is why Dean sometimes looks like he wants to strangle him. Make him stop.

There’s a whisper, not more like a loud drawing of breath first but then there’s a word, a response to his question.

“Dean.”

Of course, it has to be him. It’s always him. Jack wraps one arm around Sam. He doesn’t resist, he’s pliant. Damn, warm skin, musky smell. A little bit of sweat and beer, his perfume. A smell that stabs straight-up to Jack’s crotch. He kicks out of it, presses himself against Sam’s back. Jack holds him tight, eyes still glowing. Sam starts shifting, his conscience wakes, Jack can feel it.

“Shh, it’s okay, Sammy, sleep,” Jack says in a Dean-voice.

Magic tingles in his insides, fill him up, and makes him feel better. Powerful. He rubs against that hot and welcoming body of Sam. It’s thrilling that he is asleep. When Jack tries to picture doing this with his caretaker, this doesn’t feel as good as now. Sam’s responsive, he even presses his ass against Jack with a deep and shaky sigh. But he is at Jack's mercy, he's helpless. Weak. A strong person like Sam, the hunter. Always struggling for control, who's afraid of change and shies away from intimacy; oh, Sam. Strong as a tree and a force to be reckoned with. All of that is stripped away in his sleep. Jack loves to see him that vulnerable, so pure. Sam's shifting, moaning, and his other sweet noises make Jack's cock grow harder and harder. He shyly reaches for Sam's cock, just to find out, he's hard as well. Incredibly thick and long, it looks still insanely big in Jack's bare hand. A few gentle and soft strokes and Sam whimpers, his eyebrows furrow, his lips part. His tongue flickers over his upper lip and then there's this moan. Again. A moan. A name. Full of longing. And Jack's magic works wonders, Sam arches and Jack jerks him hard now, buries his face on Sam's neck, and whines softly himself.

“Yes, like that, Sammy… just like that”, Jack whispers, his voice trembling in pleasure.

Maybe it's because he is asleep, but Sam cums just early with a few long, broken moans all over Jack's hand.

He needs to be quick now, hurry! Jack catches every drop of Sam's cum to cover his cock with it. He needs to feel Sam's insides around him, clenching his cock. He wants to feel his cock rub in Sam's insides and tear apart what keeps Sam together. He wants total surrender. Feel him raw, chase an orgasm and fill him up. Just this one time…

“Dean, don't…”, Sam mutters.

His eyelids flutter slightly. Is he about to wake up? Oh, please no. No no no! Don't ruin it now, Sam! The air around them starts crackling when Jack works magic upon Sam.

“It's okay, Sammy, it's all good. I'm here.”

Sam's eyes fall shut again and Jack breathes out heavily. The tip of his cock presses against Sam's anus and he pushes in. Slowly. Jack hisses at the sensation, the tightness, the hot surroundings. Sam groans and whines, his hand grabs Jack's. It’s a strong grip like someone drowning or falling trying to hold on to someone else. It’s a good feeling. Sam is dependent on Jack now, not the other way around. Jack gives. He can give, he can control, he can create or destroy and there’s no one in this bunker to stop him. Sam won’t, most of all. His sleeping body moves as a response to Jack’s thrusts. He holds his lover tight, because that’s what you call someone you have sex with, right? He lifts Sam’s upper leg and pulls it close to his own body, pushes in deeper. Sam’s silky insides feel so good, so incredibly good. Why did he reject Jack all the time, when it feels so divine? The angle shifts, and Sam suddenly arches, his fingernails dig in Jack’s arm and the leg that Jack hiked up to fuck him deeper kicks helplessly and Sam cums again, this time untouched.

Sam is sobbing in his muzzy state, it’s a thin line from pleasure to pain. But this sob is enough for Jack to lose it. With a growl and a strong bite, - that will leave a mark - Jack cums inside Sam, pumps his seed inside his ass, fills him up. The feeling is so overwhelming, fulfilling, he can’t see or breathe for a moment, all he does is still ram his twitching cock inside Sam until the waves of his orgasms finally break and calm down.

Jack is covered in sweat now, breathing heavily, his nose pressed in Sam’s neck. As he lets go of Sam’s leg, he immediately crawls up in a sleeping position again. Muffled sob’s, muffled Dean’s.

Jack wants to tear Sam apart for thinking of his brother, why was he better? Why couldn’t Sam like Jack? He just gave him so much pleasure!

There’s a cold flame of rage burning in his stomach when he gets up and gets back in his briefs with shaky legs.

The noise. The gasp.

“What the fuck, Jack?”

Jack feels a sudden hot terror driving down his spine and when he turns around, there’s Dean in the doorframe. His nostrils flaring.

“What. Have. You. Done. To. Him?!”

It’s no surprise when Dean slams Jack against a wall, a hand on his throat, a knife poking the fabric of his underwear.

Jack smirks.

Then his eyes glow in rich gold.

“You know what I did”, he says, his voice a singsong, “I gave him what he wanted.”

Dean turns white as a sheet, he even stops breathing for a second. There are so many emotions crossing Dean’s face, it’s fascinating to watch and wait which emotion would win.

“You always wanted a taste of him, too… right?”

The dark room illuminates with the golden sparks that fly from Jack’s eyes. There’s the sound of crackling in the air, it smells of petrichor and flowers.

The room smells heavily of rain and sunshine and daisies when Jack leaves and the last thing he sees before he shuts Sam’s bedroom door is Dean, who leans over his brother, ready to take what Jack left for him.

There’s nothing human in the angel’s face.

THE END

Winkline @laxe-chester67 @vulgar-library @writethelifeyouwant @itsabookishblog @schaefchenherde @sacrificialtendencies @ohnoitsthebat @stemroses @nightmarecait @lostmykiliel @alexa-alcantara @wincestismyheart @closetedshippers @dragonardhill @alex-is-a-gay-human

[swift--fox]

Maybe Death Does Know a Thing or Two... And Dean

Part twwwwwooooo!!! to this fic right here! With the help of @pissbabydean, we got through it somehow! Thanks babe. ily!

Also @wordstrings thank you for this prompt idea! I was going to tage you in the last one and then I was stupid.

~~~

Dean’s a whore. Cas provides. And is also an asshole. Sam hates them both.

~~~

“So, Dean? What’s it going to be?” Cas asked, silky smooth next to Dean’s ear.

“I-I...” Dean tried, but nothing came out. He was still stiff as a board, eyes trained on the door. It looked so appealing, but the burning on his back from where the fingers were laid kept him from moving towards it.

After a long thirty seconds that felt more like eons to Dean, he felt maybe actions were easier than words right now. He allowed his arms to relax, and he moved them away from his sides. Ever so slightly, and only a couple of inches. He could feel his hands shaking.

“Is that your answer?” Cas asked, teasingly. His voice ran deeper than normal, causing Dean to have to fight the urge to scrunch his neck up to his ears.

He gave a weak nod, eyes still trained on the door. His arms reeled back into place, glued to his sides, as soon as Cas’s whirred to life. They gently scratched at the hollows of his ribs, hitting every pocket of nerves they could in the soft flesh between bone.

Dean was already laughing. The vulnerability he became subject to in their previous conversation heightened his senses. He leaned back into Cas, trying to use him for stability. Cas stepped back, gently helping Dean to the floor, never stopping the onslaught to his sensitive sides.

Once Dean was laying flat on his back, Cas stopped in order to swivel himself around, landing on Dean’s lap. The door was no longer an option he thought, as he stared up into the angels eyes. They held the look of mischief, and sadism. Two looks Dean had never seen cross the other man's features before now. Both that would have terrified him in any other situation. But here, now, all he felt was a nervous excitement.

Cas placed his hands on Dean’s sides again, just holding them there. He felt the stomach under him tense and suck in, while the hunter squirmed lightly under his hold. He didn’t move, though - not yet. He wanted Dean to stew before he attacked.

Dean’s eyes went wide as he felt nimble fingers reach for his sides, already squirming. When the fingers didn’t move though, he felt himself involuntarily sucking in his stomach, a feeble attempt at averting the soon-coming onslaught. When the fingers still did not move, he screwed his eyes shut. The tension began to build to an almost intolerable level.

That’s all Cas needed to finally dig in. His fingers squeezed the sensitive flanks twice, before deliberately wiggling into the soft flesh. He revelled in the gasp and the loud, bright laughter it brought out of his hunter. He felt frantic hands grappling at his forearms. His angelic strength kept them from having much effect, though he could tell there was no real strength behind them. More instinct than anything else.

Dean’s eyes flew wide at the first pinch, his arms immediately squeezed to his sides at the second. His hands flew to grab at Cas’s hands, more to ground himself rather than push him away. Once Cas started kneading, he screamed from the built up anticipation and release. He writhed and bucked under the grinning angel, his laughter taking on different pitches and qualities as Cas migrated from spot to spot - these reactions were duly noted in the back of his mind. 

“Cas! Cahahahas! Wahahait!” Dean screeched, the first words he’d spoken since wanting to run for the door.

He was in the middle of an admittedly cruel assault of his underarms, though Cas noted Dean still wasn’t putting up much of a fight - certainly not what the hunter was capable of (in fact, he was almost sure Dean had loosened his arms so he could get to the protected skin)- when he realised how loud the hunter had started to become. He uncurled his fingers from where they were digging into the soft flesh and trailed them down his sides, feather-light, to rest at his waistband. Dean’s laughter had tapered off into almost-giggly breathing while he tried to catch his breath.

“Dean, if you continue screaming like that, Sam is bound to hear you.” Cas smirked down, meeting the hunter’s gaze.

Dean bristled and glowered up at the smug angel.

“I was not screaming,” He huffed, an insult sitting on the tip of his tongue. It never made its way out though, as Cas’s fingers decided that was the best time to dip into his waistband. He clamped his arms down and frantically batted at the intruding digits.

“Play nice, or I’ll give you a reason to scream,” He tutted, “I built you up from nothing, I know exactly how to tear you back down.”

A jolt of anxiety laced excitement ran down Dean’s spine and he sucked in a sharp breath with a hiss as he curled his toes. 

“I’ve been to hell and back. I can handle you,” He challenged, hiding his nerves behind an easy smirk.

“You are very confident for a man in your current position-” Castiel dipped down to right beside Dean’s ear, fingers wiggling to life, gently playing with the skin right above his waistband. “Maybe we should find out how long that confidence will last.”

Dean’s breath hitched, and shut his eyes. Before his brain could comprehend what his mouth was saying, he blurted, “Bring it.”

“Of course. But remember; keep it down. You scream, and I stop. You don’t want that, do you?”

Dean swallowed and didn’t reply, words failing him as he surveyed the predatory and calculating look on the other man. But, actions did speak louder than words, didn’t they? 

He stuck out his tongue. 

Castiel, the winged sadistic bastard, drilled right into his hips. 

His thumbs massaged, rubbed, vibrated along the hypersensitive ridges of bone while his fingers fluttered and scritched at his sides. Dean’s mouth fell open in what was going to be a scream until Cas leaned down and licked a stripe up his neck. The unprecedented and ticklish sensation ended up tangling his tortured scream with a choked snort and he just ended up coughing.

He was a little more prepared to fight against the urge to just screech until his vocal chords tapped out, but it didn’t stop choked laughter from spilling out between his lips. As hard as he tried to keep himself under control, there was only so much he could stop from bubbling to the surface. With his smile wide, he could only pull his lips back in a scowl for a few seconds. But it was long enough for Cas to notice the strangled surprise flash across his features.

“You look surprised, Dean. Did you think I was bluffing?” He teased, skating his hand over to spider at the center of his abdomen - the soft spot just under his ribs that made him toss his head back and tumble into full-belly laughter that he was having a hard time stifling. 

“You’re being very inconsiderate to Sam. All this laughing is surely going to disturb him, I thought I told you to keep quiet.” 

“Screhehehew off!” Dean rebutted and a few particularly bright giggles slipped out. Cas was almost sad he was making Dean hold them and their brethren in. 

Oh well - another time, then.

And, yeah, he had a feeling there was going to be a next time - if the reactions, no matter how held back and muted, were anything to go by. Dean was just covering his face with his hands, attempting to stuff his fist in his mouth while his eyes were pricked with tears of mirth. 

He looked beautiful, not particularly more so than usual, just...different. Lighter. It was the kind of beauty that left you feeling like some of it rubbed off on you. Castiel decided he liked Dean like this more than he thought he did. The hunter never failed to surprise him.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he started hearing wheezing. He lightened his fingers, drawing light circles around his sides, waiting for Dean’s laughter to taper off. Once his held-back cackles died out into heavy breaths mixed with light happy giggles, he allowed his sadist mask to fall for a moment.

“Are you doing okay? Do you need me to stop?” He asked.

Dean shook his head, “I juhuhust need to cahatch my breath,” he scrubbed  a hand down his face, wiping the small line of sweat that accumulated above his brow.

The angel nodded, before pressing a hand to Dean’s chest, while he kept the other at his side, still tracing teasing circles. A wave of grace entered his lungs, filling them up with air and removing the residing ache. “Better?”

Dean’s eyes widened slightly. He forgot about angel mojo. But as he took a few breaths, he nodded, feeling rejuvenated.

“Good, because I’m not finished with you yet.” Cas’s sadistic smirk reappeared.

Deans nervous giggles returned before they jumped back to mirth filled laughter. There was skittering along his inner thighs, but he could feel Cas’s one hand on his chest and the other still teasing at his side.

“C-Cahahahas, what eheheheis thahahat?” He tried kicking his legs out, but the sensation never relented.

“Giving you your strength back made me realize, I have been neglecting to use the best way to torture you. My grace.” Cas said matter of factly.

“Th-that ihihis so unfahahahair Ah- Cas, nohoho!” Dean clapped a hand over his mouth trying to stifle his laughter, as he felt the invisible force rise up, forcing its way into every groove of his hips. 

He felt it scrape along the edges of bone, and vibrate into the dips where his abdomen met leg. He could almost feel it under his skin and even in his bones.  In a feeble attempt to muffle the screaming cackles that were being forced from his throat, he grabbed whatever was closest to him- which just so happened to be Castiel’s trench coat covered arm, still lazily resting on his chest- and stuffed it into his mouth. He bit down, thankfully on just fabric, and screamed into his angels forearm.

Dean lasted a total of 37 seconds before succumbing to silent laughter. Cas continued the onslaught on his hips for a few more, before finally moving his grace up his sides, and rolled off the hunter. He curled around himself, giggling like a mad man.

As the grace slowly subsided from Deans waist, so did his laughter, until the only sound filling the room was his panting. Once his breathing calmed, Cas stood up, offering a hand to help the other onto wobbly legs and walking him to the library couch. 

Once close enough to the cushions, he let his body tumble, laying on his back, eyes closed. He threw an arm over his head, a small smile still noticeable. Cas took a moment to take in the sight. He was in awe. He didn’t recognise the Dean Winchester splayed out in front of him. The angry, pissed off, World on his shoulders hunter had been replaced with a soft, happy, free human being. They still had another apocalypse to derail, that they knew nothing about yet. But it would still be there tomorrow.

Cas grabbed the lore book he was reading before Dean had walked in, and lifted the tired man’s head, sneaking himself underneath. They stayed like that the rest of the day, Cas’s hands tethered in his hunters hair while Dean took a well deserved break from the fight.

~~~

Four years and three apocalypses later, when Chuck became the most recent bad guy in a long list of bad guys, and brought up Death’s previous pastimes, Dean and Cas shared a look. A knowing look. A shared inside joke between the two of them. Perhaps Chuck brought it up to let them know he knew. Or maybe he didn’t know, and was just bantering about Billie.

Either way, if it weren’t for Death, Dean and Cas would have never gotten together. Maybe he really did know what the hell he was talking about all those years ago.

And as for Sam, well. Dean never really was as quiet as he thought. Sam just learned when to leave the bunker before being subject to listening to them again.

[kyber-kisses]

Calling Out

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon like violence, cursing, angst

Summary: Dean waits impatiently for a call from Y/N when things take an unexpected turn and he suddenly fears the worse.

A/n: fun story, I posted this yesterday and it randomly disappeared so I had to rewrite the whole thing. I’m bitter. I had tears in my eyes because I had to write this whole thing again. Enjoy. (Throws it over shoulder)

“Dean, would you stop looking over at your phone for one damn minute? She said she would call later to update us. Calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down?! Y/N left without so much as a word! Forgive me if I’m a little bitter.” Dean growled, pacing across the floor of the war room.

“She went to help Charlie with a case in Colorado. She should be back tomorrow.”

Sam sighed, leaning forward in his seat, no liner paying attention to the article on his laptop. His brother had been acting off ever since you had left. He was a bundle of tightly wound nerves.

“She could have at least told me she was with Charlie. . .”

Eyebrows now knitted together, Sam sucked in a breath. “What is up with you lately? You never act this way. Charlie and Y/N are a perfect team.”

“I’m fine, Sam.”

That was a lie if Sam ever heard one. The way Dean was anxiously looking back at his screen was a dead give away.

“Wait? Are you jealous?”

That got Dean to stop. His step faltering as he looked over his shoulder at his brother. “What? No! I’m not jealous. Pff.” He shrugged, trying to mask his expression. “Me, Jealous? No.”

“Oh my god, you are!” Sam mused, shoving his laptop away from him and giving his brother his full attention. “You do know Charlie and Y/N are just friends, right?”

“Okay, we are ending this conversation now.” Dean warned, giving him another glare before letting his shoulders drop. “And it’s not that. . . At least I don’t think it is. It’s just, she dropped everything to go help, and I mean, I get it. . . But she never just works cases with me. Makes me think she doesn’t like me.”

“Okay. Wow. You are totally overthinking this. Y/N is constantly talking about how great you are. You're practically her favorite person-“

“Okay now that’s an exaggeration-“ Dean began, only to be cut off by the shrill ring of his phone. The older Winchester practically vaulting towards the device and the table at lightning speed and pressing it to his ear.

“Y/N! Thank god, I was be-“

“Dean? It’s- it’s Charlie.”

Deans face fell almost immediately, along with his stomach. Why was Charlie calling from your phone? Why weren’t you on the other end?

“Charlie? What’s going on?”

Her voice was shaky as he pressed the phone closer to his ear, leaning against the table. “Something- something happened. And I knew I should call you and Sam.” She breathed, the fear in her voice clear as day.

Dean swallowed down his own, jaw clenching like a shock absorb-er for his emotions. He had to keep it reined in. This was just another job. “It’s alright kiddo, just- just put Y/N on the phone.”

“I-I cant. Dean, it went wrong.”

At this point Sam was up and out of his seat, leaning in close to listen as Charlie spoke. His own expression now filled with worry.

“Charlie, what do you mean; you can’t?” His tone now rising as he took a step forward, suddenly itching to move and grab the keys to the impala.

“Y/N. We were hunting Djinn- and” the red heads voice fading as she choked on her words, only making Deans concern rise.

“Charlie, you better tell me what the hell is going on right now.” He warned, stalking across the room and grabbing his coat of the chair, along with his keys. Sam right on his heels.

“There were so many of them- and one of them-“ her words coming out fractured due to her own fear. “She’s en-route to the nearest hospital. I had to call an ambulance. Her wounds I couldn’t patch up-. Dean, it’s really bad.”

If Sam has been looking at his brothers face as they moved towards the garage, he would have seen his face quickly drain of all color. His iron like grip on his phone enough to crack the screen.

“Okay- okay. It’s alright kid. Sam and I are on our way. Just send us an address.” He breathed, trying to collect his thoughts. Keep his mentions in check.

“Okay. And, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Please hurry.”

*. *. *. *. *. *.

As the impala tore down the asphalt of route 36, Sam swore he could smell the scent of burning rubber. Dean had kept the vehicle moving at least fifty over the speed limit the entire time. How they hadn’t been pulled over yet was beyond him.

“Dean, she’ll probably be fine-“Sam tried, eyeing the white knuckles grip his brother had on the steering wheel, his gaze locking on the horizon.

“But what if she isn’t, Sam? What’s if- what if they can’t save her? That’ll mean I never got to tell her-“ Deans voice was shaky as he flexed his fingers over the wheel. Ever since he hung up with Charlie it felt like gasoline had been thrown on the spark of fear slowly growing inside him.

God, if anything happened to you. . .

Even though he had cut the travel time in half, the minute the headlights flashed across the dimly lit parking lot, he felt like it had been days. His skin was itching to get to you. Check to see if you were okay. That you were alive.

That you were breathing.

He had to keep himself from launching himself out of the car and running full speed through the sliding glass doors. Instead he slid out of the impala, pocketed his keys, and briskly walked with Sam towards the front doors.

Up ahead he could see a certain redhead pacing the length of the entrance, chewing on her nails and paying no attention to the doors sliding open repeatedly each time she passed the motion detector.

“Charlie, where is she? Is Y/N okay?” The words falling off of Deans tongue a she walked up to her, making her slightly jump in surprise.

“Oh thank god. I didn’t know how to handle this alone.” She breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging.

“What the hell happened? I thought you said this hunt was a milk run?” Sam questioned, giving her a worried glance as the trip moved through the doors, the brothers flanking the redhead on either side.

“That’s what we thought too. And then one Djinn became three and—“ she paused, sucking in another breath as they worked their way down the hallway. “Oh god. This is all my fault. I should have been watching her back more.”

As desperate as he was to get to you, Dean slowed down, putting a hand on the young woman’s shoulder, “woah, hey. This is not your fault. Y/N knew what she was signing up for. She’s been a hunter for most of her life. Mistakes happen.”

As the words left his mouth he still wasn’t sure if he was trying to calm himself or Charlie. He didn’t have words to properly describe the fear he was feeling. As a hunter, it’s a universal rule that you only play the hospital card if it’s really bad. . . And apparently it was.

Dean almost slammed into the young hunter when she abruptly stopped, pausing in front of what had to be your room. Taking a deep breath, she slowly opened the door, ushering the brothers inside.

It took all of three steps before Dean froze.

His swore he could feel his heart drop in his chest at the sight of your unconscious form. His eyes glazing over with hot, unshed tears. How could this have happened? How could things have possibly gone that wrong? You were one of the best hunters he had ever seen. This didn’t make sense.

It was Sams voice that broke the silence and muffled the sound of the heart monitor. “Oh my god-“

If Dean did have anything to say, it was now caught in his throat, his eyes locked into your still form as he slowly stepped across the dimly lit room towards your bed.

It looked like you had picked a fight with a block of cement. You had a busted lower lip along with a cut on your upper one, a nasty black eye, and a rather large welt covering almost the entirety of your right cheek. You had several stitches above your brow, sealing a massive cut. . . And those were just the wounds he could see.

“Oh Y/N.” He breathed, hand delicately wrapping around yours and squeezing. He had hoped it might bring you back into consciousness, but he knew better. That’s not how those things work.

“We killed them. The Djinn. But not before one of them got their hands on her, knocking her out.” Charlie tried to explain, standing idle at the foot of your bed.

Not daring to take his eyes off of you, Dean tried to pick his words carefully. “That doesn’t explain why she looks like this- Djinn knock you out with a touch.”

“She- she was protecting me. They had us tied up, and she-“ she choked on the words, unable to speak much more.

“Hey, hey it okay.” Sam nodded, patting her shoulder.

If Dean had the energy he would have probably faintly smiled at what she had said. Of course you were protecting her. Y/N Y/L/N. Ever the hero. You valued saving lives above everything else. That was one of the reasons why he got feelings for you in the first place. You found a cause and you served it.

“She hasn’t woken up since.”

At that Dean looked over his shoulder, eyebrows knitting together. “You killed them right? All of them?”

“Yeah. I made sure of it. That’s why it doesn’t make sense.” Charlie echoed, going back to chewing on her nails, eyes fixed on you.

Sam knew that the last thing Dean was going to do was leave your side. With you in such a state Dean would probably be glued to the chair next to your bed.

“I’ll tell you what, Charlie and I will grab our laptops and try to see if we can’t figure this out. There has to be something in the lore that can help-“

“Help what?!” Dean snapped, eyes suddenly blazing, “her busted face?! And god knows what else?!”

“Two fractured ribs and a broken leg-“ Charlie mumbled, eyes now firmly locked on the linoleum tiles beneath her feet.

At that, Dean let out another shaky breath, his hand rubbing against his jaw. He hated this. He hated that this was one of those times where he couldn’t just fix everything.

“Okay, I’ll try calling Cas. See if he can’t help us.”

“Alright. I’ll go grab my stuff from the car.” Sam sighed, casting you one more solemn look before retreating out the door with Charlie in tow.

Sinking down slowly into the chair besides you, Dean slipped his hand back into your own. He needed to feel that you were still alive. He needed something to help keep him tethered.

“Y/N if you don’t wake up I swear-“ he swallowed, finding the words catching in his throat again. “God, I don’t know what I would do. I need you to wake up. I need you to hear me.”

Taglist still open!

@familybusinesswritingbro​​​​​@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti​​​​​ @callmekda​​​​​ @jordangdelacruz​​​​​ @orphiceseum​​​​​ @andthatsmyworld​​​​​ @marvelfangirllll​​​​​ @fandomnerdespressourself​​​​​ @gladiosamicitias​​​​​ @castielsangelsx​​​​​ @lxstgxrl-ck​​​​​ @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit​​​​​ @amendoise​​​​​ @phoenixuprisingsstuff​​​​​ @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl​​​​​ @neerness​​​​​ @totallyluciferr​​​​​ @supernaturalenchanted​​​​​​ @dolanfivsosxox​​​​@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts​ @akshi8278​

[they-call-me-megs]

Let It Be Me - Part 2

Well...here it is. Part two of this story.  This is my first time writing anything smutty, so I’m really not sure how fantastic it will be--I’m excited to put it out there nonetheless!  I’d love to hear any feedback you all have!  I’d definitely like to grow in my writing.  I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: NSFW (18+) smut

_________________

“I said, if you want to be the one that takes my clothes off, then do it.”

You could hear Gavin’s breath catch in his throat. He was still aside from the tremble in his fingers and the faint brush of them against your skin. Your mind started to race in the stillness--was he going to change his mind? Did you not just majorly just step over a line, but full blown jump over it and go too far? You were about to speak when you felt the fabric of your shirt begin to rise.  Gavin raised your shirt just above your navel when he stopped, gripping your shirt tight in his left hand and bringing his right up to grab your hands, still hanging in the air. You felt him take subtle steps forward, nudging you towards the wall. Once you felt the cool surface hit your back you looked up at Gavin who had yet to speak another word.

“Ah...are you sure this is what you want?” Clear concern could be heard in the tremble of his voice.

You looked up at Gavin and couldn’t help but give him a smile. This man who had done nothing but protect you for so long. Who had always been so understanding of you and never cast judgement your way, no matter how bad your judgement had been at times. Who could take you right now as fast and as hard as he wanted; but he was making sure that he never stepped over any lines and wanted to take care of you. You could see how tender his eyes were when he looked at you, refusing to break his gaze. You could also see that behind all of that there was a fire burning and you longed to let that fire consume you.

Tilting your head up you brought your lips to a hover just above his and spoke in a quiet voice. “You’re what I want. You’re what I’ve wanted for a long time. And I want all of you”.

That was the go-ahead he had waited for, his lips crashed onto yours, the hunger for more evident from you both. You felt his hands return to the hem of your shirt and Gavin broke your kiss to finally fulfill your request. It was a slow strip and the movement of the fabric against your bare breasts led to pebbled peaks yearning to be touched. When your shirt hit the ground, Gavin let out a hiss, running his hands through his hair and giving you a look of desire that made the cheeky underwear you were wearing wet with anticipation.  

“I ca...you...you’re beautiful. More than I could have ever dreamed or imagined. I can’t believe that you’re real and standing in front of me like this.” A careful touch, as if to make sure you weren’t just a dream, curious fingertips brushing over your ribs down to your stomach, just grazing the waistband of your panties, made you bite your bottom lip and inhale sharply.  

That’s when the fire in his eyes broke forth. He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up to him. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. You had always known that Gavin was strong.  Experiencing it like this...was something otherworldly. You couldn’t wait to see how the strength was going to be used in other ways. Gavin kicked open the partially closed door to his room as if it was a barrier to keep him from having you. He had wanted you for so long--he wasn’t going to let anything get in his way now that he was this close.

Laying you down on the bed, he stood at the end and continued to look at you with a bit of a slack jaw. You began to get up after a bit, wondering what he was doing.

“Stop,” he said in an impassioned voice. “I just want to take you all in. I want to memorize every single part of you. I don’t want to ever forget this moment.”

You sat up and gave him a playful smirk. “I promise--you’ll have plenty of time for that.  But now--I don’t want to be the only one in just my underwear.”

You went to grab his belt and slowly pulled it from the loop. You could see the restraint Gavin was trying to keep. Could hear the way he held his breath as you started to unbutton his pants. Could feel the way the bulge under his boxer briefs was growing with every small movement you made. Gavin stepped back to completely remove his pants and to lift his black t-shirt over his head while you watched. You thought you knew how fit he was underneath. It was nothing compared to reality--chiseled abs and a perfect V leading straight to the only piece of him left hidden. 

He crawled on top of you pushing you back onto the mattress. Holding himself up with his left arm, Gavin brought his right hand up to the side of your face, running his thumb along your bottom lip. He looked at your face as if he was an explorer that just discovered the thing he’d been looking for his whole life. 

“MC...I have loved you since we were teenagers. I know that I want this - but are you sure that you do?” There was yearning in voice despite the concern he was expressing. A tinge of worry in his eyes that you might say no.  

You opened your mouth enough to allow his thumb inside, closing around it to give it a gentle suck. There was an audible pop when you released it, looking at him pleadingly before giving a breathy “yes”.

He let out a desperate moan, quiet despite its urgency, and pressed his erection into you while bringing his lips to your neck.  From there his lips travelled lower, first pressing gentle kisses between your breasts before he slid his tongue along the underside. When he settled his lips upon your peaked mound, his tongue give it a gentle flick, his other hand joined and gave your other nipple a slight twist. You couldn’t hold your own moans in anymore, twisting underneath his weight, throwing your head back. Gavin stared at you as if he couldn’t believe that he was the one unraveling you like this--and he had a hunger for more. He released you from his mouth, ready to continue his journey downward. When he reached the hem of your underwear he stopped for a moment looking back up at you.  As you realized he had stopped you looked at him, locking eyes, feeling the electricity between you. You were ready for him to see all of you. Ready to see more of what his tongue could really do.  If he needed some encouragement to keep going, you were ready to give it.

“Gavin...please.” You had no qualms pleading with him, lifting your hips ever so slightly to allow him to remove your underwear. Gavin hooked his fingers on the sides of your underwear and slowly slid them down, revealing the part of you you never thought he would experience. Once you were completely naked he worked his way up your leg, planting kisses like stepping stones to his final destination. When he reached the inside of your thighs, he gave you a subtle lick before turning his head to breathe a hot breath on your sex, not reaching it yet.  You had no idea Gavin was such a tease! You moved your hand to his hair and gave him a look of desperation.  

He smirked and nuzzled the sensitive skin just next to your pubic hair.: “God, I’ve never wanted to taste something so much.”

“What’s keeping you, then?” you whined, squirming, trying to get him closer.  

The slide of his tongue along your slit was slow and soft at first-- a taste test, not just to give you the chance to get used to it, but to savor you. It wasn’t long before his tongue went deeper and he began to suck on that little bundle of nerves in a way that had you writhing and letting out moans you didn’t know were in you.  This wasn’t the first time someone had gone down on you--but it was certainly the first time anyone had used their tongue like Gavin. He kept his eyes on you, watching every move you made,  putting his observation skills to use, picking up the subtle movements you made when he did something you seemed to particularly like and making sure he didn’t stop.  

He had you wishing that it was possible to keep this feeling going.  He kept going, pushing you closer towards the edge with every kiss and lick.   Maybe giving in would be okay--knowing what would be coming next made your heat rise even higher. That thought and one last flick of the tongue brought the wave of your climax crashing upon you, back arched and toes curled.  Gavin lapped up your juices, not wanting to let a single bit go. As you came down from your high, Gavin worked his way back up your body, giving you kisses along the way. He nuzzled up to your neck, his breath giving you goosebumps.  He was breathless, his voice hoarse as he whispered against your skin. “I didn’t know you could make sounds like that.” 

You felt his erection hit your sex through briefs that were slightly wet from pre-cum. You brought your lips to his ear and whispered back. “Now I want to hear what sounds you can make.” 

Your fingers went to the edge of his boxer briefs and you lowered them, freeing his erection that had been dying to get out. Your eyes went wide and you felt your arousal peak again, ready to know what it would feel like to be filled to the brim with it. Gavin lined his body back up with yours, hovering just enough for his cock to ever so slightly brush against your slit.  

Before doing anything, Gavin brought his face to yours to give you a gentle kiss then a soft smile--you could see the love in his eyes. You didn’t think he could be any more adorable than he was at that moment--but your body was ready to move past adorable. You brought your hand to your slit, swiping at your wetness before bringing your hand to his cock, pumping it slowly. Gavin closed his eyes and leaned his head back, giving a low moan.

“Oh, God, MC. I...I want more. Please...I want more,” he whimpered his request, making your heart swell with pride and longing. You did this to him, made him needy like this. Needy like you. 

You lifted your hips, touching the tip of his cock to your slit before kissing his lips again. “I want more too--I want you to fill me up.”

Gavin entering you was like a slow burn. He took his time. He savored every inch and wanted to make sure that you were comfortable.  After waiting for so long there was no rush now, only pleasure. 

His movements started out slow and steady, each push back in seemed to hit you right where you wanted. It was as if his body had known yours for a lifetime--the way he fit into you was as if he was made just for you. That’s what you had wanted for so long--for him to be only yours. The moans coming from your slack-jaw were the fuel for Gavin’s fire. Each sound you made revved up his motion until he was thrusting into you, your legs wrapped around his waist and sweat forming along his brow while he stayed steady trying to hold his own moans in. You kissed him hard, biting his bottom lip, causing a small and low moan to finally come out.  

“Let me….hear you, Gavin. I want to hear you too.” 

Your panting request fell from your lips and he began to thrust harder, grinding on you to perfectly hit your clit. 

“You feel....so...good, MC. Oh, God--I...I can’t believe this is real.” 

Gavin’s voice quivered. You could feel your walls beginning to clench and knew another release was close. He pressed his forehead to yours and picked up the pace, the push and pull of his cock inside of you and the way he hit your clit with every time he moved had you almost there. Almost. 

“I… want you to come… wanna see it...“ he panted and you whined, nodding your head furiously. A last kiss and he sat up slightly, just enough to slip a hand between your bodies while rocking into you. You arched your back, hands gripping the sheets as Gavin once again pushed you over the edge into blissful euphoria. Still catching your breath you leaned up and pulled him back down and towards you, boneless and sated. He had slowed down to give you the break you needed, still moving in and out of you in a smooth motion. You grabbed his butt with both hands, pulling him even closer and kissed him once again.  

“I love you, Gavin. So, so much,” you whispered against his lips, gasping as he began thrusting harder again.

Your soft confession sped up Gavin’s own release.  He grabbed your hips to give his final movements. Gavin shuddered, tensed and relaxed again, pulling you close to his body, holding you while staying inside you. You folded your tired body into arms, grateful that he stayed there, not quite ready to part just yet.  Gavin’s warmth around you was consuming--without realizing it soft tears trickled down your cheeks.  He brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek after brushing back your hair. With a hint of concern in his eye and his voice, he asked: “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

After the rush of emotions, shyness overwhelmed you in your vulnerable state, and you replied with your eyes cast down: “No...you didn’t hurt me.  I’m just...happy. And I meant it when I said that I love you, Gavin. I can’t believe it took me so long to finally tell you.”

Gavin placed a soft kiss to your forehead before he began kissing away your tears. Once he was satisfied and had peppered your face with kisses,  he returned his gaze back to yours. The affection and care in his eyes was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. No one had ever looked at you that way--you never wanted him to look at anyone else like that or for anyone else to look at you this way for that matter. He gave you a soft smile before he whispered back: “I love you too, MC. I always have, and I always will.”

There, resting in the confession between the two of you in both bodies and words, you started to believe that a happily ever after was real--and he was holding you in his arms.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Maybe, Just Maybe

Characters: Jo Harvelle x Winchester!Reader, Sam and Dean Winchester, Meredith Grey, Mark Sloan, Jackson Avery, Owen Hunt

Word Count: 1,150

Warnings: supernatural/grey’s anatomy crossover, all angst, end of season 5 spoilers

Summary: Jo is someone that shouldn’t be hunting in the first place, but after you have a fight, you come to learn bad news that just shatters your world.

Squares Filled: No pain no gain for @as-the-saying-goes-bingo​ // surgery in @hc-bingo​ // last times/farewells in @ladiesbingo // broken bone in @spngenrebingo​ // homesickness in @badthingshappenbingo​

Fandom: Supernatural/Grey’s Anatomy

Beta: she wants to remain anonymous

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in!

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

Not every relationship is going to be perfect. There are big obstacles and small ones, and only if both parties are willing, then they can get through anything. Your relationship, however, may be suffering too much to fix it. You said something you shouldn't have, even though you believe it to be true. Your girlfriend, however, didn't like hearing it.

You've been hunting ever since you could walk. Your mother died a year after you were born, so your dad took you into his family. He was also on his own with two boys, and as much as he did not want you to, you got into his lifestyle. How could you not when he came home bloodied and bruised, or when he hid weapons and other supernatural items all over every motel you stayed in.

Yes, your dad was John Winchester, but your mom wasn't Mary. You're the youngest of the Winchesters, and your half-brothers are very protective of you. They tried everything to keep you away from the scary stuff, but there came a time when you had to learn to protect yourself. John hated bringing you into this life, but in his mind, it was better than being put into the foster system. So, Sam and Dean helped you be the best hunter there ever was.

And you were until you met Jo Harvelle.

It's not that she made you a bad hunter, it's that she made you a cautious one. While that should be a good thing, it's actually the complete opposite. Sam, Dean, and even your father taught you to shoot first and ask questions later. Jo always loved to ask questions first. She was so eager to hunt with you that she threw all caution into the wind. It was your duty to look after her. She's unknowingly caused so many injuries and accidents.

You can't blame her. Her mother is a hunter, and so was her dad. She so badly wants to be one, that she skips over steps. She's inexperienced, but she refuses to see it. You've told her this many times in the nicest way possible, but it won't stick into her head. You're about the same age as her, and because of that, she thinks she can do whatever you can do.

You grew up with experience... she didn't.

The last conversation you had with her was you trying to explain to her why she couldn't come with you to Seattle on a werewolf hunt. You tried to be nice about it, but you ended up screaming in her face about how bad of a hunter she was. You might have said some other things involving her dad that you can't take back. The look on her face tore your heart into two. Instead of helping her become a better hunter, you just pushed her away.

Classic Winchester.

She knew she was inexperienced, but all she wanted to be is like her parents. A part of you never wanted her to become involved in the first place. She's smart, young, adventurous, brave, full of life, and very beautiful. Monsters eat people like her for breakfast. You were just scared of losing the person you loved dearly. You've seen what it did to your dad, Sam, and Dean. It sucks the life out of people. You didn't want to see that happen to her.

You regret everything you said to her. You love her. Hunting means nothing if she isn't by your side. You left over a month ago and wouldn't take anyone’s calls, not even your brothers. You wanted to prove that you can still hunt alone.

You can't.

You proved that when you thought it was a good idea to go after a werewolf nest without any backup. Yes, werewolves have nests, and they are fucking vicious when threatened. You didn't know if you would even make it out alive. Maybe you didn't. Maybe what you're looking at isn't a dark sky with a bunch of twinkling stars. Maybe you didn't get your insides ripped apart like it was a Christmas present. Maybe you didn’t break almost every bone in your body, trying to fight them off. Maybe you're not lying on the grass, fighting for every breath. Maybe you're not wishing Jo, Sam and Dean were with you.

Maybe, just maybe, you're not currently dying.

Because if all of the above is true, then maybe you're not going to make it home after all.

What happened? Where are you? Why do you feel so numb? The last thing you remember is fighting that werewolf—or actually losing against the werewolf. You were looking up at the stars, wondering if you'd been too harsh with Jo. Jo! Shit! You need to get to her!

You yank yourself up from your bed, but two things stop you: pain burns up your abdomen, and a bunch of wires keeps you locked on the bed. Oh, you're in a hospital. Your legs are in casts. How did you get here? Who found you so close to a werewolf's nest? Are they okay? How many bones did you break?

"Oh good, you're up,” a female doctor says by the beeping machines.

How did you not notice her or the nurse there before?

"Page Dr. Sloan and Dr. Hunt, please," she asks of the nurse.

"Right away, Doctor,” the nurse nods and leaves.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?” she asks, and you just nod. "Do you know where you are?” Nod. "My name is Meredith Grey. Can you try speaking for me?"

"Water, please,” you try saying, but it comes out all raspy.

"Of course," she nods and leaves.

As soon as she leaves, three more doctors enter. All men, all with smiles on their faces. One is the tallest with grayish hair, the other is a black man with gorgeous green eyes, and the last one is a redhead. Why are they here? Meredith comes back with some water, and you down it graciously.

"Can you tell me your name?” Dr. Grey asks.

"Y/N."

"Y/N, they are Dr. Mark Sloan, Dr. Jackson Avery, and Dr. Owen Hunt," she introduces the trio respectfully.

"You have really pretty eyes," you say to Jackson.

"Thank you," he blushes.

"Can you tell me how you got your injury?"

"My injury?" you ask before remembering the werewolf.

"Your abdomen was badly damaged. Dr. Avery and I were able to repair some of it with skin grafts, but we had to pull sections from your thighs and butt," Dr. Sloan explains.

"I've never seen trauma that bad. What happened?" Dr. Hunt asks.

Dr. Avery's eyes remind you of someone. They are bright green with a hint of blue, though, you're not concerning yourself with the blue.

"I have to call my girlfriend. She'll worry," you say when you remember your brother and the whole reason you're in this mess.

"I'm sure she will be alright. Is there any family we can call?" Dr. Grey asks.

"My brothers. Please, let me have my phone. I need to talk to them."

You beg with your eyes, and the doctors realize they won't be getting anything out of you unless they give you what you want. The doctors shuffle out of the room after giving you your phone. You haven't spoken to anyone in a good month, so you hope you can get them to come to you.

Dean hasn't said a word since he and Sam have arrived. He's been standing by the door with a sour look on his face. Sam is talking to Dr. Grey, but you don't know about what. As soon as he's finished, he walks into your room and locks the door.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean explodes.

"You could have gotten yourself killed,” Sam adds.

"Not calling or texting in a month? Because of Cas' stupid rib branding thing, we couldn't find you," Dean glares.

"I'm sorry,” you sigh.

"What happened?" Sam wonders.

"Werewolf nest. I couldn't get out in time. I thought I was dead."

"You will be because l am going to kill you!" Dean shouts.

"Before you do that, could one of you tell me why Jo isn't calling me back? We had a huge fight before I left, and I need to tell her that she was right. I shouldn't have said what I said, and I really hurt her feelings. Is she ignoring me?"

Dean's anger and Sam's concern completely wash away at your girlfriend’s name. Something happened, you can read it on their faces. Did she get hurt? Worse? You haven't been home in a month, so how bad can things actually get?

"What happened? Tell me she's alright,” you whisper.

Sam takes a seat on the edge of your hospital bed. If Sam is the one talking, then you know you're going to hear bad news. He's the brother that always gets that job.

"Don't say it," you get tears.

"We were being chased by hellhounds, and one of them got to her before we could."

"Tell me she's okay," you cry.

"She didn't make it. Ellen either. I'm so sorry,” he sighs.

You're already crying at the thought Jo is no longer with you, but Ellen too? You left things off with Jo by yelling at her and telling her she sucks at hunting? Now she's gone? You didn't even tell her how sorry you are. You're never going to hear her voice again, stare into her beautiful eyes, run your fingers through her blonde locks, kiss her plump lips, and so many other things.

You're never going to tell her how much you love her, and it's all your fault. Maybe if you had never left, you might have been able to save her. All you can do now is to cry for the loss of a family who never deserved any of this.

Maybe, just maybe, things would have been different if you stayed.

Wanna get tagged? Add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

no jo harvelle tags just yet!

[vitiatasxinficit]

Come Home Part One

@hi-its-teamfreewill @whattheciel

There is a fear that Sebastian harbors. It resides deep down, in the dark corners of his soul nestled up with the demon that prowls within, the thing capable of the worst. 

A fear born from accomplishing that which they had fought and cried and bled to do. To bring Vittoria home. It was now, a matter of waiting. It could be any second. Any day now, and he’d hear her voice and while that filled him with something akin to joy, eagerness, a restlessness that made him anxious, it came burdened with a fear. 

It was brought to bear as Sebastian moved quietly about the Estate. He was headed for the apple tree outside. He couldn’t find his angel and as habits would predict, he should be outside at the apple tree. Waiting for him. 

As he passed by the large windows, he stopped for a glance. One of the many things he enjoyed doing. Stopping to watch the angel just...be. 

Except he wasn’t there. 

His eyebrows furrowed, disgruntled and now somewhat concerned. He changed course and scoured the entire estate. Why didn’t he look, however, in the one place he saved for last.

He approached her room with caution. He had not entered since the day that he laid her body there. Blue eyes seemingly forever closed and he had fell at the feet of her lifeless body and broke in a way that he had never done before. 

Sure enough, there he found him. He was busy tidying up. He’d brought in fresh flowers and opened up the curtains and when he did enter, Castiel looked up, surprisingly startled. 

Sebastian’s mind is clever, but it can also play tricks on him. It was sharp, and knew every detail, especially when focused on Castiel. He knows that surprise. Labels it immediately. This was not a space he often occupied even when she was alive. They would disappear into the room with her secrets and spells and potions and stories of a world Castiel didn’t know. 

Was he ever banned from entering? No. But he’d knew to respect them. He’d been the last to join their little family and he wouldn’t dare impose himself on their happiness. 

Perhaps that is why Castiel was startled to see him there. Perhaps he didn’t belong. 

Still, auburn eyes look over the room with curiosity before landing on Cas. 

        “You’ve been quiet all day, I had wondered what you were doing.” 

       “I’m ready for her to come home.” 

His look of pleasant happiness at the idea of her returning sparked the thought. Then his look of distress. 

       “What if she doesn’t remember anything? What if she doesn’t remember us...me? What if it isn’t the same Sebastian I’m--” 

       “Worrying for no reason.” 

He blew out an even breath, eyebrows raised. “She’s coming home. Perhaps you should brace yourself so she doesn’t crack one of your ribs in a hug.” 

He almost pout should’ve eased him but it did not. Because for certain their reunion would be glorious. These two had defied the odds before. They’d died for one another, stuck together so that they’ve survived and made a home together.

Nothing can trump such a relationship. 

Not even Sebastian.

The fear took root at that. 

A fear that upon her return, what had become of himself and Cas would fall aside for Castiel being reunited with her. He could almost see it. How they would fall back into their routine. Their love had nothing on their history. 

He excused himself on the premise that he too, needed to begin preparations for her return home. That delighted Cas, who promised to join him as soon as he was done. 

That night had been long and full of doubt. And he wrestled with those thoughts alone in bed. Only because he chose not to occupy the day bed Cas insisted on sleeping in, in case she turned up during the night. 

Two months passed. 

In early March, on a windy warm day, Sebastian was tucking roses into a vase to place on the large dining table when a voice brought him out of his revere and thoughts. 

       “You always had an eye for such things. I once thought that was silly but I can not tell you how much I missed it.” 

Laying eyes on her, in all her glory, was a flooring thing. The vase rocked as he released it, threatening to tip over and fall to the floor but settling itself, her laugh rang through the room as she found herself swallowed up in a hug. 

       “I didn’t know you were such the hugger Sebastian.  You’ve changed.” 

      “Well it’s not every day you have to lose someone, now is it?” he grumbled, breathing her in. 

       “I know. I’m sorry. Sebastian?” 

He’d grit his teeth and closed his eyes against the way his chest caved, saved from being called out for being on the brink of perhaps almost maybe tears, by the noise Castiel made when he entered the room.

        “Sebastian the crystal in her room is missing and she needs that to get--” 

He released her in time for sure. The way they collided, years worth of happiness and fears and love and need seemed to blossom in the way they wrapped around one another. Tears came to her eyes, both of them as they collided to the floor. Their laughter mixed with sobs filled the air and despite the warm smile on his face as he quietly exited the room, Sebastian left with only one thought.

His worst nightmare would surely enough be reality. 

The morning after saw a bit of normalcy return. He began the morning with the idea of breakfast, sleeves rolled up, arms deep in pancake batter when he sensed more than saw Castiel sleepily wander in. He looked like he wrestled with a tiger and was just waking from a coma and it saw Sebastian smile, a quirk of his lips at the messy haired angel who padded his way over, peering at the beginnings of a delicious breakfast. 

He forgot, temporarily about the second set of footsteps as he trapped Castiel against the counter and leaned in. A normal morning for them was Castiel talking about the new flowers outside, or wanting to drag Sebastian to some new place he’d discovered on the estate grounds while Sebastian either tried to finish making breakfast, or his lips along his skin in reverent sweet kisses.

This morning, Castiel in pure awkward nature attempted to squirm and shy away but Sebastian would have none of it. Cute how he was still shy around the demon, as it were. Sebastian captured his lips a kiss that was pure hunger and love and need. He stripped off the gloves, content to let his work wait until he heard her clear her throat and pulled back to look behind him.

Vittoria looked like she couldn’t smirk any wider as she watched them, far more put together than Castiel. 

      “Oh don’t stop on my account. I mean I heard but I wanted to see for myself--” 

Castiel wriggled away from him and he let him go. 

      “I’m going to take Vittoria to the waterfall, do you want to come?” 

His lips remained sealed for a moment longer before he replied smoothly, “Go ahead. By the time you return, I’ll have finished breakfast. You two will work up quite the appetite.” 

Castiel didn’t seem at all content with the idea of Sebastian remaining behind but with a soft nudge toward the door from the demon himself, they retreated to their rooms and then waved goodbye as they headed out the door. 

Months rolled by in the same fashion. Saw that the Knight of Hell withdrawing completely almost. It led to arguments between the two, which would lead to Castiel stealing away to Vittoria’s room to not be seen for hours or even once, days. 

He’d rather push him away than say goodbye. 

Sebastian was leaving. He didn’t want to say it, goodbye. Those words would hurt him. Before the incident, before Vittoria’s death they had once meant nothing to him. He felt nothing. But now, Hell forgive him, he felt everything. So perhaps it was time to return. Vittoria was back, the job was done. 

The afternoon had seen to a nasty fight in the household. One that shook Vittoria in a way she hadn’t felt since she had died. Her boys were so angry and it was distressing. She couldn’t figure out what was happening. How was it that now, after her resurrection, was her home falling apart. 

      “It wasn’t like you helped!”

      “You wouldn’t let me! You were too scared but I’m just as badass as you!”

       “Yeah right, tripping over your own feet is scary? You’re a pile of feathers, just go back home or did you not fit in there either?” 

       “Well, go back Hell, cause I don’t want you here.”

The air in the room seemed to shift, and Vittoria, content to allow her boys to fight this one out, was on her feet in seconds.

       “Now wait, don’t we think we need to talk this out--”

Sebastian’s face seemed to fall, smooth out like glass and Vittoria’s heart plummeted to her stomach. “No! Sebastian wait a second, hold on you two stop it right now! Sebastian turn them back ON!” 

Castiel’s chest hurt. It ached. Words fell from the same lips that used to always promise love and protection and acceptance and now they spewed poison and ....it just fucking hurt. 

       “Yeah run away but turning your stupid humanity off. At least I had the balls to live when she died but you run every chance you get! So run now!” 

It was like the air was hot passing in and out of lungs so rapidly, full of anger and a pain that was slicing through him hot and burning away at rational thought. 

Vittoria watched as Sebastian reached over onto the counter to retrieve his gloves and slowly slid them on.

         “I shall.”

The look, Vittoria had seen it before. It was the old Sebastian. Aurburn eyes glittered. In a flutter of black feathers and ashes, he was gone.

[ltleflrt]

Hnnngh *bites lip* so hard to choose. Dragon/Wedding planner AU for your prompts game? I‘ve loved all of the ficlets that came out of this so far!

I fracking love this prompt, thank you :D

“This isn’t even my wedding, how did I get roped into this?”

Sam casts Dean an unimpressed look as he opens the door to the meeting room and gestures for Dean to precede him inside.  “There’s more to being the best man than planning the bachelor party, Dean.”

“Since when?” he demands, just to be stubborn.  He doesn’t really have a problem helping out with anything Sam and Eileen need, it’s just weird to him that they’d hire someone to do all the hard work for them, and still need Dean’s input on stuff.

Sam’s answer is lost to him when Dean’s eyes fall on the room’s stupidly sexy occupant.  His feet glue themselves to the floor, and it takes a nudge from Sam to get moving again.

“Hello, Castiel,” Sam says brightly as he crosses the meeting room.  “Thank you for coming here to meet us today.”

“It is my pleasure, of course.” The man–he’s certainly male, if not human–smiles graciously as he accepts Sam’s hand to shake.

Dean’s eyebrows feel like they’re trying to launch themselves into his hair.

Touching a Phoenix is an invitation for third degree burns, but Castiel doesn’t even flinch as his hand is engulfed in Sam’s much larger grip.

“Castiel, this is my brother Dean,” Sam says, gesturing for Dean to come closer.  He casts Dean a look that says get over here idiot, which works because Dean’s on auto pilot.  “He’s going to be helping out when Eileen and I are unavailable.”

It’s been trained into him since birth not to touch anyone.  His nature as a Phoenix puts most creatures in danger of burns from standing too close, much less initiating skin to skin contact.  So it’s a surreal experience to feel a hand that doesn’t belong to someone of his own species slide against his own.  His fingers brush the edge of a cool scale and it sends a shiver up his arm.

Flame-blue eyes stare up at him, and Dean’s brain experiences a mild short circuit when Castiel smiles at him.  “Hello, Dean.”

“You’re a dragon,” Dean blurts.

When Castiel laughs, his whole body gets in on the motion.  The wings draped over his shoulders flutter, and his tail whips left to right.  The sunlight pouring in through the wall of windows lining one side of the meeting room glints off the iridescent scales along his neck and hairline.  “I believe I am, yes.”

Dean blinks and shakes his head.  Castiel’s voice is like thick smoke, and it’s going straight to his pleasure centers.  He needs to get a grip on himself before he does something really embarrassing.  He pastes on a charming smile.  “Sorry. I’ve never met a dragon before.”

“And I’ve met very few Phoenixes,” Castiel counters with a teasing smile.  “My people do prefer the view from their mountain tops, but I find that sometimes the rest of the world holds much more pleasurable views.”  His eyes trail down Dean’s body, lingering on their clasped hands, before coming back up to lock their gazes together again.

Is that a flirtation?

Dean hopes it’s a flirtation.

Sam ruins the moment by clearing his throat.  “Eileen’s sorry she couldn’t be here today.  She’s needed in Oberon’s court.”

“I understand.”  Castiel turns his attention to Sam, a professional facade coming down over his expression as he releases Dean’s hand.  “She’s a very busy woman, and I’m here to take as much stress and work off her shoulders as possible.”

Dean misses Castiel’s touch as soon as it slips away.  But he’s suddenly looking forward to all his extra Best Man duties.

***

As ambassador to the land of the Fae, Sam is a pretty busy guy, and his engagement to Eileen, a high ranking member of Oberon’s court, means even more rounds of social events.  So Dean ends up doing a lot more of the work on getting the wedding set up than he expected.  And that means spending a lot more time with Castiel than the bride and groom do.  

Which, to be completely fucking honest, is awesome.

Castiel insists on meeting in person often, sometimes multiple times a week.  And it isn’t always to visit bakeries and flower shops.  They spend an equal number of meetings in coffee shops, or cozy restaurants, with Castiel’s binders open on the table between them to keep up the appearance that what they’re doing isn’t dating.

Because it hasn’t been said out loud yet, but Dean’s pretty sure that’s what this is.  Why else would their discussions veer from business to personal so often?  Why else would Castiel touch him whenever he can, like he can’t help himself?

Dean could be way off base.  Maybe dragons are touchy-feely by nature.  It’s completely possible that Castiel is always staring at Dean’s lips because he’s hard of hearing.  Eileen stares at Dean’s mouth all the time, and it certainly isn’t because she wants to jump his bones.  And the intense eye contact when Dean’s not speaking?  Well that could just be Dean projecting.  Eye contact is normal, right?  It’s not all eye fucking.

It certainly feels like eye-fucking though.

He could ask.  Hey, Cas.  Is this thing between us all in my head?  Maybe write him a note, and ask him to check yes or no if he likes Dean the way Dean likes him.

Or he can continue to be chicken shit about it, and just bask in Castiel’s presence.  Treasure every look, every gentle slide of Castiel’s fingers against his hand or his arm.  Soak in the cooling relief of his presence, because Castiel probably doesn’t understand the concept of Personal Space, and isn’t standing shoulder to shoulder with Dean in the print shop because he craves that contact as well.

Over the months they gravitate closer and closer.

Dean never asks why.

***

Never in his life has Dean seen a wedding so beautiful.  

Sam and Eileen stand together under an arch of orange and yellow irises.  Bonfires flank the raised dais, and torches line the aisles.  Light and shadow from all the flames dance across Eileen’s flowing white dress, making her appear to be bathed in her own fire.  Both the bride and groom are displaying their wings proudly, Eileen’s sheer and rainbow shimmery, Sam’s fiery feathers arched over his shoulders.  Only clever spell work keep them from sparking fire in his clothing and the nearby flowers.  And Eileen’s fairy blood protects her from Sam’s burning touch.

The priestess bonds them together with a rope of pure gold wrapped loosely around their clasped hands.  She repeats the sacred ritual in three languages, including sign.  And when she announces them Bound, the torches and the bonfires roar higher, adding more noise to the cheering of the gathered crowd.  

Petals from orange roses are tossed over the wedded couple’s heads as they turn to their guests, and raise their tied hands up high to display them to everyone present.  

Dean’s vision blurs, maybe from tears, maybe from the heat haze of so much open flame.

After the ceremony it’s hours before Dean gets a moment to himself.  He sneaks away as soon as he finishes his Best Man speech, to a quiet corner of the palace gardens.  The marble bench he finds is cool, and the gentle breeze rustling the surrounding bushes is refreshing on his cheeks.  Even as a creature of fire, it feels good to get away from the hot press of bodies packed into one place.  

And out here, he doesn’t have to pull himself in tight to prevent brushing too close to someone who might suffer injury on contact with his skin.  He lets his head fall back on his shoulders and looks up into the starry sky, smiling at the unfamiliar constellations of the Fae realm.  With a sigh and a slight relaxation of his concentration, he lets his wings slip free.

He can’t spread them, for fear of setting the garden on fire, but having them out in the open is relief enough.

“Lovely.”

Dean’s wings flinch, but before he can slip them away, Castiel stops him with a touch to his shoulder.

“No, don’t,” Castiel murmurs.  “Your flame poses no danger to me.”

Dean looks up at the dragon, and thinks the reflected gleam of his wings in Castiel’s eyes is far more beautiful than the stars.  “Uh thanks.  They were getting a little cramped.”

Castiel flares his own wings slightly.  “I can imagine how uncomfortable that gets.”

Of course he does.  As a dragon, Castiel is squeezing his whole body into a smaller form, not just hiding his wings.  

“Yeah it’s not the greatest.” Dean slides over on the bench to give Castiel space.  “Join me?”

His heart thumps almost painfully behind his ribs when Castiel accepts his invitation and settles on the stone seat.  Even though Castiel is safe, Dean still pulls his wings away out of habit.

Castiel notices the gesture and smiles gently.  He lifts a hand, but hesitates.  “May I?”

Among his own kind, touching wings is an intimate gesture.  Most people of other species would start to feel the burn before even getting close enough.  Phoenixes aren’t exactly a dime a dozen, and Dean’s a little too rough around the edges to attract a mate from the Fae, so it’s been many years since he’s felt another’s touch in his feathers.

The urge to allow it is overwhelming.  Only a lifetime of discipline keeps him from shoving his wing right into Castiel’s waiting hand.  But his feathers ruffle up with anticipation anyway.  

Unable to speak around his heart in his throat, Dean nods.

Castiel’s fingers sink into Dean’s flaming feathers, and they both let out a sigh.  Dean in utter satisfaction, and Castiel in what looks like wonder.

The yellow flames turn the iridescent blue scales lining the back of Castiel’s hand a deep metallic green.  He strokes through the feathers, threading them between his fingers, and Dean can’t help pressing his into the touch.

“Lovely,” Castiel says again, low and soft, smoke rising from embers.

Dean loses track of time as Castiel gently grooms the areas he can reach.  His eyes nearly slip closed in pleasure, but he can’t look away from the awe gracing Castiel’s features, so he watches the dragon through drooping lids.

“You know,” Castiel says after a long silence broken only by the soft crackle of Dean’s flames.  “Now that my work for your brother and new sister is completed, I’ll be visiting other realms for new contracts.”

Dean’s feathers dim with his disappointment.  “So, I guess this is probably goodbye then?”

Castiel’s eyes flit from Dean’s wing, to lock on Dean’s gaze.  “I was hoping that we could continue our relationship without the barrier of professionalism.  If you don’t mind that I have to travel a lot for work.”

It takes everything Dean has not to burst into a pillar of flame.  He manages to keep his excitement contained to a grin, and maybe a little extra heat under his skin.  His clothes stay intact, even if he does catch a whiff of hot wool.  Thank the gods for whoever invented spells for fireproofing.  “I don’t mind at all, Cas.” He flutters his wings.  “It’s not like I don’t have means of traveling to see you.”

Castiel’s smile is brighter than a flame.  “I’m very happy to hear that.”

“Can I kiss you, Cas?” Dean blurts.

He receives his answer as a soft press of lips against his own.  The kiss is gentle, almost chaste, but it’s more than Dean usually dares to hope for.  

Dean doesn’t know what his face is doing when Castiel pulls back, but it’s probably something goofy and love-struck.  “That was awesome.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees.

And then they kiss again.  And again.  They kiss and touch and murmur endearments to each other under the rotating stars, until edge of the sky begins to fade from black to blue and the stars blink out of view.

[jay-and-dean]

Captive Chapter 1 : Blue Death.

Gifs not mine 

_Dean x Reader_

Summary : 

Dean Winchester is an enemy.

Every man of letters and hunters are enemies.

During the Great Purge in Europe, when every european Men of Letters allied to eradicate monsters once and for all, using hunters as their cold-blooded hounds, long before the BMOL took an interest in USA, they killed my mother, and made me go through hell. I killed so many of them I lost count, and lived a life on the run. Until one day I heard about American Men of Letters extinction, and decided to try and find peace there.

That was without counting on the exile of some BMOL, and the existence of the two best hunters of the world.The fisrt time I saw Sam Winchester, I almost killed him, and Dean has me now…

He is going to kill me, right ?

____________________________

Future warnings : Violence and captivity, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Chapter Warnings : Violence, blood, pain. This is pretty dark actually. Character death. Swearing. Dean being the bad guy. Reader being the villain... Everyone being quite bad.

***CAPTIVE MASTERLIST***

___________________________

1. Blue Death

            The knife enters the hunter’s flesh in one flowing movement and the tall man looks so surprised for a second. His large hand comes to my shoulder and he looks at me in the eye. Aware of how dangerous he is, even wounded ; I take a step back, taking the blade with me.

 “Sam !” says the British men of letters and I turn toward him with snake’s speed.

He shoots on my direction and I avoid the bullet at the very last moment, but it lodges itself inside the tall hunter’s stomach.

Looking at my attacker -skeptical because he just risked his partner’s life without a hint of hesitation- I wrap my arms around his neck from behind.

“Ketch…” says the bleeding hunter, falling on the ground like a dying wild beast.

I send his gun flying far from us and climb on his back. The men of letters nails dig into my skin while I choke him with all my strength, screaming my lungs out to focus my energy on him. He tries to bang me on the wall behind us but I’m used to pain and I resist, coiled like a constrictor, even with the muffled sound of my rib breaking.

            The lack of oxygen finally makes him weak and he falls on his knees. I scream even louder, compressing his throat more. His hands let go off my arms and he starts shaking.

            The injured hunter tries to get up but fails, groaning and pressing a hand on the open wound I made on his side. The man under me passes out and I let go off him, knowing he’s not dead. My head is spinning from pain and shock. I look at his lifeless form and take my head in my hands.

“Raaah ! FUCK !” I yell, looking around to think.

I kick the unconscious man’s body and hear something break inside him, a bone maybe. My ribs hurt so much I could faint, my heart is racing with rage and fear.

            How did they fucking found me ? I was so careful. Shit ! I’m going to run again, start from scratch once more.

“Fuck you hunters !” I shout, half panicking.

            I take a deep breath and the long hair man seems surprised again. I spit blood and whine, holding my aching chest. Bending painfully I pick my knife and lift it above the man of letters. When he sees me hesitate, the hurt hunter speaks :

“You don’t have to kill us” he says weekly.

“Of course I do…”

“Still… you don’t seem to want it.”

“Shut up ! Fuck you !” I say before putting my knife away.

            I take a big bag and untidily put a few things inside it. The hunter starts to shake, his hands in his own blood, his shirt drenched in thick vital fluid. A knife-deep cut in his side and a bullet a few inches from it.

When I’m about to go through the door, I hear him try to crawl to God knows where, like he needed to do something, anything, even if he’s already doomed. This man is a survivor and I can’t help but admire his will to fight. He crawls toward his gun and I could just leave before he reaches it, but I go to him and take it before he can touch the cold metal.

            I take the bullets out and throw them far from him, giving him the gun back, and he takes it, like that was all he remembers at the doors of death : how to hold a gun. Given his height and weight -I’d say 210 or 220 pounds- and the speed of the blood loss… I say he will be dead in half an hour. There is absolutely no chance anyone finds him here.

            I look at him and he stares at me, like a formidable noble lion looking in the hunter’s eyes. He struggles to breathe, his large and strong body fighting against exhaustion.

But he gives up suddenly, letting his head fall on the wooden ground. One menacing enemy gone, this should be a good thing… I sigh, and take a bottle of medical alcohol I have in my closet.

I kneel beside him and he looks at me with a great confusion behind the agony in his pupils. I press on the wound and he winces, I pour a large amount of alcohol on the cut then on the gun wound and he almost faints.

“If I slow the bleeding and prevent infection, someone may find you before it’s too late” I mutter, hating myself for taking so much risk. “You can’t go after me.”

Before I can find a bandage, he passes out and the door bursts violently.

Another hunter, also tall and strong, is aiming me with his gun, an extraordinary rage burning in his dark green eyes. An old but robust man with a machete and a blond woman in a cop outfit, also aiming a gun at me, follows him.

This is it. This is the end. I lower my hands and stay on my knees, closing my eyes to wait the sound of the bullet that will end me forever.

Finally.

 Dean’s Pov 

 The doctor says Sammy is in a coma, he lost too much blood and even if he wasn’t stabbed on any vital organ, nor shot in his lungs, this is not good. His body started to shut down for good.

But that is when Cas said he couldn’t do anything that I truly panicked. He put his hands on Sam’s wounds and nothing happened. No bright light or miraculous waking.

So here I am, sitting next to my brother, a heavy pain on my stomach, despair on my throat. He seems so little, covered in hoses and machines, strangled by tubes on his nose and on his mouth, needles stinging his pale skin everywhere.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, that was a simple case, that was a simple stab, a simple bullet. Sam Winchester can’t be gone like this. Ketch said we’d be back by Monday…

“Dean, we got the girl” Donna says entering the room, and something hits me. “We don’t know what she is, so we used every protections and spells we know.”

“What if this is why…” I say getting up, thinking hard. “What if Cas inability to heal him is linked to what this bitch is ?”

             I enter the dungeon, clenching my fists. Here she is, tied up to a chair in the middle of the large pentacle, her head down, hair falling on each side of it. Sam’s blood is still covering her and I have to swallow hard not to put a bullet between her eyes right now.

“What are you ?” I growl.

She doesn’t answer, keeping her glare on the floor.

“Oh so you’re not going to answer…”

I lift my arm and punch her face with full force, surprised by the lack of resistance her body opposes me. It’s like she doesn’t have any of that supernatural strength evil creatures usually have.

            She spits blood and clenches her fists. For a second, her weakness surprises me enough to make me waver. But then I see her dark eyes turn blue, an unnatural light blue that remembers me of the monster she is ; so I punch her again, this time in her stomach and she almost faints, coughing and spitting a lot of blood.

             When Ketch talked to us about the return of The Blue Death, I never imagined it had the form of a girl, nor I asked why “Blue” was in her nickname. And I know now. A fucking urban Legend among hunters, the death sentence itself, the monster that only tracks down hunters.

            We tracked her for four months, following a trail of bodies, hunter bodies. Now I wonder how she could have killed so many of them without super strength, because she killed all of them hand-to-hand, with knifes mostly, or just strangling them like she did with Ketch, before shooting and stabbing my brother.

When Ketch woke up, he explained us that she shot Sammy before stabbing him, like a coward, and that she straggled him. They are lucky to be alive. She never left survivors before.

            When he came to us for help to get rid of The Blue Death for good, he said she was hunter greater danger, and I remember smiling, thinking it was probably exaggerated. I believe him now…

            French, German and Italian Men of Letters tried to stop her years ago but she slaughtered most of them, now she’s here to decimate American hunters. I should have listened to him more carefully, Sam and I were reckless and I’m paying the heaviest price for it.

            I’m not doing the same mistake twice, I won’t underestimate her.

            I’m going to break her.

 Reader Pov 

             The pain is unbearable but I’ve known worse, worse than unbearable. If my body wasn’t able to heal a little better and faster than human’s one do, I would have died a hundred times already.

            I think my jaw just cracked, every inch of my face is hurting like crazy, and my broken ribs are now displaced. I can’t breathe properly.

            I should have ran, let this tall long-hair hunter die, run for my life as always… left the country.

           I thought America would be a fresh start, since Men of Letters disappeared here, but it is always the same : BMOL convinces or pays hunters to track me down and my life became Hell again after only six months of my exile.

           I’m used to run, I’m used to loneliness and anonymity. They sentenced me to eternal misery when I was still a child. When they killed my mother, my human mother, to take me. When they tested me, trained me like a slave soldier, when they made me kill so-called monsters.

            The monsters are not always the one you think, and most hunters are dumb, ruthless, fanatical, alcoholic, violent morons. The one beating me right now is no exception, I can smell the booze on him and I can tell by the way he hits me that he is used to violence…

            I just wish he would kill me already.

            The dark is relaxing and I try to concentrate on my broken ribs to fasten their healing, but one of the countless warnings around me seems to have an effect on me, unexpectedly. I’m exhausted and at some point I think I pass out.

            When my eyes open they meet incredibly green ones, highlighted by the red around them. The hunter is squatting in front of me with a stern face.

“What are you ?” he asks again.

Even if I knew, I probably wouldn’t tell him.

I stare back at him and study his face : This motherfucker is beautiful, probably full of himself too, conceited, convinced to be some kind of hero. His jaw is clenched by hate and I wonder what bullshit BMOL brainwashed into this empty suggestible charming head.

“You think you can keep silent, huh ?” he says with a dangerous smile. “You’re messing with the wrong guy, honey.”

With that he stabs my thigh, making me cry out in pain.

“So you have a voice…” he says.

“Fuck you hunter” I whisper as loud as my aching lungs allow, an unintentional smile on my lips.

“You are going to tell me what you are…”

“Or what ? You kill me ?” I laugh sarcastically, coughing blood.

“You don’t fear death” he says. “But you run for months… I say you fear captivity” he rubs his neck. “I won’t kill you, I’ll let you rot in here forever if I have to.”

“I need to pee” I just say, hoping he will finally hit me too much, maybe kill me by accident, put me out of my misery.

He takes my face in his big hand, hurting my already broken face, squeezing so hard my heart races almost to the point of heart attack.

“You still think this is funny, bitch.”

 Dean’s Pov

             It’s been three days and she barely flinched.

Exorcism didn’t work, iron and silver neither. Salt just burned one of her wound, like it would have on any human. She opened her mouth to drink holy water, and no spell worked.

I arranged the dungeon into a cell, to be sure she understands she’s here for good, I need her to break. An iron collar keeps her on a chain-leach, she can reach a chamber pot and lay on the ground, that’s all.

           When I enter the room, she’s sitting on a corner, shaking and holding her ribs ; she hasn’t seen me this time. I stare silently at her : she almost looks like a normal girl, dealing with the most extreme pain and despair. She winces lightly, trying to cover the cut on her leg with a piece of fabric, obviously coming from her shirt. She’s different when she knows I’m here, : no cocky expression on her face now, only exhaustion and a hint of sadness.

“What are you ?” I ask, like everyday, making her jump this time.

“Hungry” she says with that smirk that makes me punch her.

“What do you think this is ? A luxury hotel ?”

“Well if you want to keep me alive, food is not optional” she smiles despite the cuts on her lips.

            I throw her a piece of bread and she looks at it, then at me.

“Not hungry” she says with scorn.

Rage makes me clench my fists. She’s manipulating me, confirming I don’t want her dead, that I need her alive, showing me how strong and determined she is by not eating what I brought her after three days of fast.

           I crouch down and take her hair in my fist, making her look at me.

“Listen to me, whatever you did to my brother, I’m gonna undo it, and you’re gonna die…” I start but a poorly hidden surprised expression on her face forces a pause.

“The tall guy is your brother ?” she asks.

“You already know that” I spit. “You aimed at us directly.”

“No” she simply says.

I search her eyes and something makes me wonder, something about her eyes.

“Yes you did.”

“I don’t even know who you are” she says.

She’s manipulating me again. I bash her head on the wall forgetting to restrain as the image of my dying little brother hits me in the guts, and I yell :

“YOU TRACKED MY BROTHER !”

She lifts her hand on her head and looks at her fingers, they’re soaked with blood. When she sighs, I wonder. That woman is so different from what I thought The Blue Death would be.

“Are you the Winchesters ?” she asks like it just hit her.

“You already know that…”

“Shit… Obviously” she says with a sour smile.

“What does that mean ?” I say, confused by her reaction.

“That I’m so fucking unlucky… Listen, I’m sorry for your brother” she says and I get up to hold back my fists because I know I could kill her right now.

I hate hearing her talking about him.

“He needs my blood” she whispers.

“What ?”

“Give him a few drops of my blood, it usually helps…” she murmurs, her head falling slowly against the wall as exhaustion hits her, her eyes slightly rolling inside her skull.

“Is it a trap ?” I ask with something childish in my hoarse voice.

“No…” she grumbles, letting her whole body coil on itself on the floor.

            Her head doesn’t stop bleeding. I’m afraid that punch was one too many. But I don’t have time to worry about her. I take a needle and jab her arm. Maybe she lied, I can’t take the risk to poison my brother. So I touch her bleeding forehead and carefully lift my finger to my lips, letting my tongue taste the metallic taste of her blood.

It’s the first time I touch her for anything else than hitting her, she flinches slightly and passes out. She’s actually pretty and I wonder what kind of monster can look so vulnerable when she stops acting so tough.

Her blood tastes so much like human blood, except something warm suddenly roams my body : Like a hug from a friend or a shot of the best whiskey. I suddenly feel like I had slept better last night and I’m less hungry and tense. My wounds don’t really heal, they just hurt a little less.

            I look at her now unconscious form in disbelief. Who is she ?

  Reader’s Pov

              I’m so cold my skin hurts, and I’m so thirsty my lips bleed.

            Fever.

            I knew this would happen, my wounds are infected and this is really bad. I haven’t ate for four days. I know I can survive a little longer than other people can.

Eight days without food and water, according to The Men of Letters. Fifteen days with only water, 140 degrees for a whole day, -31 for a whole night. Six days without sleeping, twice more volts than a human… I remember all their measurements. How could I forget ?

            But this is too much, and one of those warnings is still holding my body down. I shiver and try to get up to see if I can stand. I can’t. I fall heavily on the floor and swear under my breath, on the verge of tears. This is fucking unfair. Sometimes I just wish I would meet my father, know who he is, why he did that to my mother, to me…

             I lost track of time, but what I know is Dean Winchester never left me so long. Maybe he is never coming back. My blood must have helped his brother and now he’ll let me here to rot.

I start to panic, breathing quickly, I feel pure, painful fear hit my guts. I don’t even know where I am and I’m going to die slowly and alone in the middle of nowhere : my own worst nightmare, just because I couldn’t bear Sam Winchester to go through it. Shit.

            Please please please, come back. Hit me all you want, torture me, kill me. Just don’t forsake me like everyone did.

            The bread is rotting on the floor and I watch it with held back tears in my eyes. Cramps are tearing my muscles up, but I stopped reacting to them because there is no strength left to this kind of thing, I’m focused on breathing.

            The door opens suddenly. A young boy enters, a phone on his hand.

“She’s alive, Dean” he says looking at you with a sudden deeply pained expression.

“Good” says the voice in the phone. “Give her a glass of water, and something to eat. Don’t let her reach you, you hear me Jack ? Never.”

“Dean, something’s wrong, she’s shaking and sweating… I think she’s ill.”

“What ?”

“Dean… Are you sure she’s a monster ? She looks… I think she’s dying.”

“I’m coming back. Don’t get near her, Jack. You hear me ? Stay away, she’s dangerous. I’ll be there before noon.”

           The young man hangs up and sits on the floor. I can’t move, I can’t lift my head or talk to him.

“You shouldn’t have hurt Sam” he says.

I sigh.

“Are you ill ? How do you feel ?”

“Fever” I just whisper.

“What are you ?” he asks with an innocent voice.

And, in my fever disarray, I finally answer.

“I don’t know.”

             When I open my eyes, the light hurts me bad. A hand is on my head.

“She’s dying of infection, Dean” a familiar voice says.

“A bullet between her eyes and we put her out of her misery. End of the story” I hear the almost comforting voice of Dean answer.

Honestly I don’t have enough energy to care what they decide.

“She didn’t finish me off Dean, she even tried to heal me…”

“What ? Are you crazy ? Sam ! I just spent a week watching you slowly die after she stabbed and shot you ! Now what ? You want me to feel sorry for that thing ?”

“She didn’t shoot me…” Sam says pushing my hair to see the wound on my forehead.

“YES SHE DID !” Dean yells.

“Ketch shot me… How could you be so cruel Dean !” he changes subject. “Look at her ! This is torture and pure cruelty, we are not this kind of person Dean !”

“What ! I can’t…” his brother answers with so much anger in his voice I almost can see his pissed face in my head.

            Then there is only flashes.

Water in my mouth.

Water on my wounds.

The smell of alcohol.

Jack’s voice asking Sam if I’m a monster.

Sam answering he’s not so sure about that.

The cold easing.

The pain easing.

Dark then light.

Then dark.

Sam’s voice trying to catch my attention.

Dean yelling.

The smell of soup.

And Dean yelling again.

  Dean’s Pov

             Sam is still barely talking to me and I just can’t get over how pissed I am.

            With Sam taking care of the monster that almost killed him for good, Jack asking how she’s doing, Cas too, Donna calling Sam to talk about her… It’s like I was the monster. And If Bobby wasn’t there to suggest cutting her throat for good, I would feel like I was the one loosing my damn mind.

            My phone rings and I sigh, putting my glass on the table. I look at the name on the screen : Ketch.

Until now, I never answered his calls, because I was too busy trying to save my brother, but now I have questions to ask him.

“Ketch”

“Dean. I was starting to think she got you too. How is Sam ?”

“Better. He’ll need time to fully heal, but he woke up” I say looking at my glass.

“Oh… I see. And the girl ? Did you burn the body already ? I’m going to need a proof of her death” he says with a hint of badly hidden anxiety.

“She’s not dead. Sam insists in keeping…”

“WHAT !” he cuts me, making me jump and widen my eyes. “Dean you have to kill her right now. Listen carefully : You’re in danger, your brother is in danger…”

“I don’t know Ketch, maybe I have more questions to ask her, like did she really shoot Sam ? Because he says you did…” I grunt.

“Don’t be a fool. This creature is the most clever, dangerous thing I’ve seen. She’s messing with your heads. You have to kill her before she makes you lay into each other.”

I lower my eyes, thinking. At this moment Sam comes out of the donjon and looks in my direction. He has a tray in his hands and I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right” I say. “I’ll have to convince Sam.”

“Screw convincing, you have to defend your family” he states.

I frown. Ketch doesn’t care about family at all, or about us for that matters. Why is he so impatient to see her dead. I mean, he lost a lot of colleagues from her hands but…

I just can’t think straight lately.

            A muffled sound catches my attention. Sitting on my bed, I listen carefully. What if she escaped ? Another sound. The clock says 4am.

            I get up and take the gun under my pillow, walking silently toward the dungeon. The door’s not perfectly closed, I push it with precaution and prepare to shoot her.

            She’s lying on the floor, bloody.

Ketch is sitting on her, beating her with full force. Her dirty clothes are ripped open, he carved something, an enochian symbol, on her chest. For a second I can’t move.

           Her head turns toward me and she sees me but doesn’t react, obediently waiting for death. Her eyes trigger something in me, and it’s like time was in slow motion. I lift my gun and her hands open on the side of her body as Ketch hits her again. He lifts his knife above her heart and mutters “I win. We win, Y/n.”

            I shoot him in the back. Twice. Thrice.

           His body falls on hers, shaking an instant and freezing completely. She closes her eyes, a tear rolling on her bruised face.

           Sam comes running, alerted by gunshots, followed by Jack. I just don’t move, not knowing what to do.

           My brother runs to her, kneels, and pushes Ketch’s corps aside. Looking at him I squeeze my gun and hear his voice saying she’ll rise us up against one another. Then I look at her bloody bruised form in Sam’s arm and I wonder how a girl so pretty and cute can attract so much violent hate.

           Sam takes his t-shirt off to cover her naked chest and the fabric becomes bloody. He looks at me.

“What happened ?” he asks, holding her.

“He was about to kill her” I just say muddled, looking at her pained face.

She clings to Sam, crying silently and, all of a sudden, that leash I tied around her neck seems so tight, I can almost feel it harm my own flesh.

***FEEDBACK IS EVERYTHING <3***

@tftumblin @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx

(Tags are open)

[webcricket]

Winter’s Eye

Pairing: AU!CastielXReader Word Count: 1560 (Ch. VII) Story Summary: Season 13 canon tells you how AU!Castiel’s story ends, this is how it begins. The deranged and damaged iteration of Castiel we met in the apocalypse universe - an obedient soldier to Michael’s cause barely in control of his vessel’s frayed and erratically firing nerves whose inherent kindness toward humankind appeared entirely obliterated - wasn’t always an unfeeling angelic weapon of interrogation. Once, he sympathized with the plight of humans; one, he loved. Outlined for 10 chapters (although, my muse is bad at maths and these things have a way of multiplying). Chapter Summary: As the connection between Cas and the reader finds firmer footing, a link from his past arises to threaten them both.

Previous Chapter: VI

VII.

“Are you kidding me?” The question explodes in a puff of breath on the frozen air; before you unfolds a pristine island of black tarvia, the filtered sun beating down on it with enough heated force to melt the snow anywhere pavement touches. Parking spaces outlined in regular intervals of yellow striping, and a handful of abandoned vehicles, radiate from the mountainous façade of a Mega-Mart.

Surveying the scene through the squinted blue optics of his vessel, Cas casts you a curious knotted-brow glance from where stands at the edge of where forest rings this convenient miracle of civilization seemingly constructed in the middle of nowhere. “Is something funny to you?” he asks, looking between you and a building too empty and too quiet for his instincts to trust; out here you’re exposed - a living breathing target unprotected by a buffer zone of wooded isolation – and he doesn’t like it one iota.

“No-” you laugh, further confusing his brow with the conflict inherent between your answer and attitude- “I guess I was expecting a rinky-dink general store fronting a small town main street. Not this-” You gesture at the looming building, a wonderland promising to contain anything and everything your heart could possibly desire and more. More, that is, beyond the surprise solace of sharing a cabin with your very own personal overly protective angel, of course.

“There is a highway not far from here, and a town like you describe – one whose populace was decimated by werewolves and worse. It’s not safe there or here,” he says gravely. And yet here you are, allowed to tag along against his better judgement because, in a moment of weakness of reason, he let an inexorably extant and angelically errant emotion of fondness for you overrule his head.

“We should hurry-” haste propels his feet forward; he curls a beckoning arm backward- “Stay close.”

You obey, legs scissoring at a trot to try to keep step with his purposeful stride. On level ground, it’s even more punishing a pace than the hike that hurried you here. Feeling the bite of blisters forming on the boney points of your heels and on the tops of your toes, you make note on your mental shopping list to search for a pair of better fitting boots and Band-Aids.

As you thoughts wander, he begins to outpace you. “Hey, where’s the fire?” you pant across the growing gap of distance.

Gradually getting the gist that not all questions you pose want answering given he observes no indications of a blaze in the immediate vicinity, he ignores the query, but not the subtext of comment on his speed, and slows until you catch up.

Approaching the sliding glass doors of the entrance, he notes they are intact and locked just as he last left them. A scattering of stone spilling outward from the threshold, not so accidental as it appears, lies undisturbed.

Strategically speaking, this would be the easiest egress for an intruder to gain entrance inside. The rear and side admittances are steel, chained, and padlocked. Still, with you to watch over, he does not permit these subtle reassurances to soothe his caution.

A flick of two fingers to focus his grace frees the dead bolt. He pries the doors apart with brute strength just far enough to permit you both to squeeze through. On last look out at the parking lot as he secures the doors shut, his regard is drawn heavenward to the horizon to a solitary silvery vapor streaking the otherwise uniformly tarnished gold glow of the sky – a wisp of airy nothingness so slim as to barely be noticed and the sort of smoky linear disturbance a plane would create in its wake as it passed - a contrail disturbing the pressure of the low atmosphere.

Except there are no planes, and there hasn’t been anything save the bodily bound bombs of angels skimming the firmament in flight - or, like him, falling in a smoldering ruin of fate - since the day Michael donned a crown formed by the flayed flesh and bone and souls of billions of humans and the emptied glory of the thousand and more angels who opposed him and whose snuffed existence stains, in a bloodied shadow of once brilliant light, Castiel’s hands.

In the seconds he spends considering the cloud, it dispels in a freshet of cool wind. It wouldn’t make sense, angels scouting here where there is nothing. They’ve done with him, banished him to dwell in and on his defeat, and ever since he etched a warding sigil upon the curved carriage of your ribs, they cannot so much as sense you exist.

Besides, with what you’ve told him of the holdouts of human resistance groups, why waste heavenly resources hunting one human in a haystack of the wild when bigger targets persist.

The tear of a candy bar wrapper loudly resonates in the benumbed and stagnant space; the crumpling of plastic and crunch of chocolate crust is swallowed up as eagerly by the silence as your gullet.

“I missed these,” you mumble and moan in immodest taste bud titillating pleasure around a mouthful of melted sugary goodness as his gaze rounds to seek out the source of the sound.

“Shh-” he scolds; the grit of worry in the warning hushes you instantly.

Terror tightens your throat so that you cannot swallow the amalgam of sugar and saliva held amid your teeth and tongue. Heart seizing, then pounding with such ferocity each ferried beat of fear shudders your frame, bits of brown moisture ooze at the trembling corners of your clinched jaw.

In the depths of the store, somewhere down a darkened aisle, winding to reach his celestially superior discernment, a soft scraping of fabric and rubber soles, slightly sticky on the tiled floor despite the feather-lightness of the footsteps, faintly perforates the calm.

Lashes widened in alarm quickly narrow again in a lethality of resolve; an inner luminance of blue burns in his searching gaze as he shifts a few steps into the eerie fringes of where the window light bleeds into the dimness. When he shakes his sleeve, you see a glint of metal flash into his grip.

Adrenaline opens up your veins and, also oiling your muscles to fight or flee from this place, it permits you to thickly and audibly gulp the wad of partially chewed chocolate nougat.

He extends the hand unburdened by a blade out at you, a movement meaning to say that you should do neither and duck out of sight behind the register.

You misread the purely practical physicality of his request and instead cede to the instinctive tug at your emotions to meet his fluttering fingers halfway, meshing yours into the warm sanctuary of their apertures and securing your other arm through the crook of his elbow to flatten his entire weaponless limb to your chest.

To say the action – a clingy suggestion of deeply rooted trust, concern, and consequently of a firm belief in his ability to shield you in the face of danger - catches him off guard would be an understatement.

However, with a hiss of his name in a tone familiar to him as that of his unwaveringly loyal lieutenant and sister – Rachel – slicing through the dark loud enough, even, for you to hear the anger and resentment whetting the knife of feminine voice, he has no time to analyze the exhilarating effect your embrace and corporal nearness exerts upon his being, nor does he permit more than a speck of added anxiety to alter the determination of his affect.

Pivoting, his typically stony rigidity a balletic display of swiftness, grace, and fluid urgency, he covers your mouth, pins you flush against the waist-high wall of the register, and very briefly steals your breath in the press of his hips against yours. The dynamism of his blues, desperately sparking hue dancing less than an inch from your flared lids, implores you to stay there no matter what happens.

He’s certain she heard you - can hear the wild banging of pulse within your body just as clearly as he can – she is, after all, an angel, and a sometime ally sympathetic to humanity who is not as dead as he presumed and evidently has an axe to grind with him.

If you stay out of her way, you may yet survive. Castiel maintains less hope for himself, and before he found you, he would’ve welcomed whatever retribution she required up to and including his life – a life sunken into meaninglessness and seeped in suffering; but now, staring into your eyes, their pleading concern begging him to be careful, to not leave you alone, he feels reason to fight.

Numbed by panic, limbs turning into immovable lead weights of worry for him, you feebly nod against the electrically charged scent of his skin a promise to stay put for his sake and collapse as he pushes you down to your knees and into the alcove underneath.

You watch the lower portion of his legs retreat from your sight and disappear into the gloom. Straining to hear what is happening, the pain pinching your heart in his absence drums dully in your ears and pulls with each strung and stinging beat at the fluid filling the blisters on your feet.

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

[wwwafflewrites]

The Not-So-French Mistake

Chapter 12: It’s Hierarchy Not Hierarchangel

By the time the sun had perched over the horizon again, Sydney was far away from everyone. She caught her breath against a humble oak tree. Its branches swayed in the wind and the tall grass danced. There were splinters in the base of the tree from old age and a rough environment.

She sat in a field—a bleeding sea of vibrant yellows—and plucked the rubbery stem of a lanky dandelion, brushing the tips of her fingers against the oily, golden surface. It sprung upward, mussed up like ruffled hair, and once the weed was thoroughly traumatized, she flicked it into an open patch of grass only to repeat the process. She threaded her fingers in the grass and pulled their roots from the loose dirt, and squashed measly ants that crossed her path. A helicopter seed flew past her nose and crash landed into a tall blade of grass.

She started a sickly fire from damp wood and a clump of dry grass and sticks. It wasn't very helpful. The wood shriveled and darkened and she poked at the fire, disturbing the ashes. It wouldn't last long. In fact, it only lasted half an hour. The small hissing flames were replaced by tendrils of wispy smoke. And the sky had now darkened with rolling clouds. She knew it would rain soon.

Without much visible light to aid her, she turned to sound. There were already sharp cries of raccoons. Frogs croaked in the mud and ate at the biting gnats and mosquitos. The itchy, tall grasses were already dripping with dew. The sky was dull with rain and day had turned cold.

There were bird conversations above her, and she eavesdropped, listening closely to the twittering and tweets, the trills and songs, and the flute-like whistling. A chickadee dropped from the sky in a flurry of fluttering wings. It carefully pecked—one, two, three—and then stilled, listening with a panicked hop before flying away.

She stilled.

A shadow had crept behind her.

While Dean was an extraordinary hunter, that had to be impossible. He was on foot. How had he pinpointed her exact location? She had covered her tracks and she had left no clues. She looked to the ground in defeat. She just couldn't escape this man.

"You still have an agreement to fulfill."

That was not Dean.

She turned to face a slender, young businessman. His clothes were wrinkle-less and his hair was slicked back. Preened like a crow. His wings were solid black—not like Castiel's, who had wings like a Starling, reflecting blues and purples—but oil-black, like a demon's eyes or black mold. He was the complete opposite of Castiel, who eyes were warm and kind.

 She got a bad vibe. "I didn't agree with anything."

He sent an unnatural smile her way. His eyes were cold and he would twitch randomly, as if half-possessed. "Oh, you did. Remember the hotel? You're promise started there."

She narrowed her eyes. "That was another angel."

His tone was hollow. Devoid of anything. "He has been demoted. The contract remains with me now."

"Contract? Again, I didn't agree with anything."

"Following through with our instructions was enough for the divinity."

"Divinity? You guys abandon God or something? You give up on him? Wow. Are you really worshipping another deity?"

"She is superior."

"She?" When they didn't respond, she shook her head. "Of course. She had to be evil. ‘Cause you angels have no sense of morality whatsoever."

There was a bit of a pause before, "You still have an agreement to fulfill."

"Yeah, yeah. You keep saying that. The note? Dean has the note. I didn't even get to read it."

His smile was more intimidating than it was friendly. "The note? Ha! The note meant nothing. All the note did was lure you into our trap." He breathed heavily now, completely entranced in his own words. "There is another. He is stronger than us. Stronger than the Divinity. And he protects you. But when we lured you in, his protection broke. It's why you had visions. He was trying to warn you. He was trying to protect you." He grabbed her hair, yanking at it so that her neck was exposed. "But he failed."

This guy was like the stereotypical villain. Monologue and all.

There was another fluttering sound. And another. And... another. Soon it was all she could here. Not like that of small birds, but large wings made for angels. She was most certainly outnumbered.

She whipped around. And while her hair still remained painfully in the angel's hand, she could see what she was up against. She wished she hadn't looked.

A crowd of angels stood before them.

In fear, she reached out to the only thing that might help her now: the strange connection. The one that had hurt her multiple times. The one they said was more powerful. The one they said was making great efforts to protect her. She reached out and asked for aid.

The angel's other hand reach out for her forehead—

●●●

Castiel was on his knees. Blood stains had bloomed throughout the room. His blood? Their blood? Sam's blood? It didn't matter anymore.

Selfishly, Castiel grieved that he was alone and useless.

"Enough of that." A voice told him scoldingly. "What have the Winchester boys done to you? Your self-loathing is deafening."

The angel jolted, blue eyes burning with every negative emotion the intruder had ever seen. Cas looks at him, speechless, for a solid ten seconds. "...Gabriel?" 

And oh boy, his voice is so small.

The archangel scoffed. "Hey, what's that look? What am I, chopped—" Golden eyes scanned the dead bodies until he caught a familiar face. His mouth opened, but he couldn't find any words. He took a few heavy steps forward, looming over the corpse. 

"Aw, Sam."

Sam's eyes were closed and his body was left twisted like a ragdoll, blood pooling around his still-warm body. It was a grim sight. And as much a Gabriel picked on the Winchester boys, this was a tragedy. He glared at the body, hating the symbolism. "Nope, we can't have this." He aggressively snapped, and a light washed the room in white, blinding even Castiel.

●●●

Dean expressed his fear through anger, so when he heaved a machete at the thick weeds and brush, anyone who knew him well knew he was panicking. There was nothing but the faint thrum of crickets to tell him Sydney was not there.

She had just run—sprinted—gone like a startled animal into the forest. She was so fearless and strong— and because of it, he forgot she was fragile.

He rested his hands in his pockets and then stilled when something crinkled. Slowly, he pulled out the note from the hotel room

He hadn't looked at it in too much detail, last time. He's been thinking about too many other things. It was folded with seven different paper clips, as if the person writing it had thought 'hm, shiny' and put them all on. The inside was no better. The words were written in purple ink. That wasn't very sinister. Had a four-year-old been tasked to write this?

However, his feelings changed as he scanned the note.

'You shouldn't have meddled.'

Well, that couldn't be right. This note was from before, when the angels had a task for her. But there was no task, just a threat in its place. Unless they anticipated this. That the seizure would happen, or that they would forget about the note.

And suddenly he realized something. They knew exactly where she was, didn't she? The carvings in her ribs could hide her from angels as long as she was midden from angels. They could find her just fine they followed her team and then her.

The town had been a trap. The unsuspecting people had led the angels right to her. Somehow, the angels had known the Winchester brothers would help the town, and somehow they knew she would be a natural leader. They knew there would be search teams.

That room. The hotel room she first appeared it. It was their base, wasn't it? He should have followed his instincts. He should have burned the place to the ground.

He had no doubt she was there, right now. And he wouldn't make it. The town was miles away. It would take him another day to trek back.

He wasn't going to make it.

Bark flew as he stabbed an innocent tree with his machete.

Tags:

@queen-bubble​ , @rosaren2498

[lightshadowverisimilitude]

The Persephone Agreement

Alright, folks, I’ve done a Dumb Thing and started another WIP, because that’s what we all need, right? Here, enjoy the Dumb Thing, arriving 15 years late with no Starbucks. Mind the cut.

Read it on AO3

Cain’s body hit the floor with an underwhelming thump. He died without melodrama, with none of the fanfare that a creature as old and blood soaked as Cain merited. Not even the great flash of light of killing an angel, or the screaming flames of putting a ghost down.

The mark on Dean’s forearm throbbed. No searing pain, no burning, just a low pulse of something almost sexual. His fingertips went numb, and the blood pounding in his ears drowned out even the sound of his own breathing. He looked down at the blade in his hand, steady now for the first time in weeks. He could feel it, warm, a flutter of a heartbeat that was not his against his palm. For a moment, he felt that if he let the blade go, it would sever the artery in his wrist. He would just drain out like an opened faucet, right there on the floor next to Cain’s perfectly ordinary corpse.

He saw his life unfolding in the blood spreading around them. The blade leaving his hand less and less often. The pile of corpses building up at his feet. Crowley, Castiel… Sam there on top. Dean with his lifeblood pounding through the blade. It felt inevitable, cause and effect, one step marching after the next. In that moment, he wasn’t any more concerned about it than he would be with the idea that he might brush his teeth after eating breakfast. The only thing that worried him was exactly how much he wasn’t worried.  

Breathing carefully, Dean left the loft room. He left Cain’s body and the blood seeping into the planks. The dry wood was greedily soaking it up. It would stain. He walked down the stairs, one step marching after the next, counting bodies as he went. Lisa. Ben. Crowley. Castiel. Sam.

His feet touched the ground floor, and Sam stared at him with his eyebrows curled up. He was a puppy, an overgrown kid, always Dean’s little brother. One day, Dean was going to slit his throat, and watch his body drop to the floor with an unimpressive thump, watch his blood spread out as a sticky pool to stain some shitty wooden planks somewhere.

“Dean…?” Sam prompted carefully. His eyes flickered over the blood on Dean’s face, the blood soaking his forearms, the sticky blade still clutched in his hand. Watching his brother examine him covered in blood made Dean recognize the smell. Iron, sickly sweet, strong enough to make the fillings in his teeth hurt. He swallowed hard – no different from any number of times he’d had a bloody nose and tasted that faint metal on the back of his tongue for days. Except that it was different, because he liked it. A shiver passed up his spine and down his arms. The hair on his forearms fought to lift up underneath the thick coating of blood. He turned away from Sam’s worried eyes and didn’t look at Cas.

Dean met Crowley’s eyes. The demon lifted one hand, waiting for the blade to be returned, one eyebrow quirked. He stepped back as he held his hand up, turned his opposite shoulder away - presenting a smaller target. He was ready to be betrayed, would probably even feel a little put out if Dean didn’t betray him. Dean could hand the blade to Castiel, let it disappear somewhere. And then what? Get back in the car with Sammy, and count those steps until he buried something sharp in his brother’s heart?

“Let’s talk, Crowley.”

“You owe me that blade,” Crowley said, head tilted, waiting for an attack. There was a time when Dean would have given it back to him by burying it in his chest.

“The blade goes to Cas,” Dean countered. He watched Crowley’s eyes darken, the quirk of his lips. The slight indrawn breath that would end in one of those ‘Dean Winchester…’ speeches. Dean drew in a shuddery breath of his own and interrupted before Crowley could gather the steam. “I go with you.”

Crowley froze, mouth left open, eyes comically wide. Dean was too wired up with the taste of blood to make fun of him for it. Maybe he would file it away for later.

“Dean!” Sam snapped. “What are you doing?”

Cas took a step forward, but Dean’s arm moved automatically, bringing the blade up at an aggressive angle. He didn’t even realize he’d moved until Cas hesitated, hands out at his sides and palms turned out. What did it say about them that Cas didn’t even drop his blade out of his sleeve, just stared at Dean with those expressive eyes screaming confusion and a terrible sort of trust?

Head tilting slowly the other way, Crowley shifted so that his chest was once again presented. He crossed his arms, and gave Dean a long look up and down. “Yes, Dean. What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t know what he was doing, except that his mouth opened and his lips moved, and he realized he must have had this plan sitting in the back of his head, waiting for the breath and the taste of iron to slip out. “No tricks, no loop holes. We do it Persephone-style. I’m allowed back up topside 6 months out of the year, and you don’t own me. I’m not going to be your attack dog, I’m not going to be your assassin on a leash. You’re not going to turn me into a demon, or have me possessed, or make me pick up your goddamned dry cleaning. Sam gets 24/7 protection, and no one lays a finger on Cas. Ever.”

“Dean, do not-!”

“Shut up, Sam!” Dean warned.

Ignoring him and the blade both, Sam darted forward to grab Dean’s arm. Crowley held up a hand, stopping Sam in his tracks and pushing him gently back several feet. Once upon a time, he would have slammed Sam into a wall, and then the conversation would have been a lot less civil. “Hush now; big brother and I are talking,” he murmured, almost as an afterthought. He turned his attention back to Dean, teeth pulling speculatively at his lower lip. “What do I get out of this?”

“You need me to spell it out for you?” He felt the pulse-pulse-pulse of the blade’s heartbeat as a steady tattoo counter to his own. Crowley was number one on Cain’s prediction. Crowley, Castiel, Sam. All in one convenient row. A quick slash at the demon’s throat, reverse motion and stab into the angel’s gut as Cas inevitably rushed forward, and then a pivot, Sam’s face shocked and horrified as he watched Cas die, and the blade slipping upward under Sam’s ribs before he even thought to be concerned. Dean’s arm began to shake.

“You’re the one who said no loop holes, Squirrel,” Crowley pointed out. He watched Dean’s arm tremble. His eyes darted to Castiel, and then over to Sam. A smile touched the edges of his mouth like he could see everything playing out in Dean’s head.

“Me,” Dean gritted out around the blood. “You get me. You said you wanted me by your side, rule hell together, all that jazz. Fine, I’m yours. The blade stays a dimension or three away from me, you give me peace. Is it a deal or not?” Dean detached the blade from his palm while Crowley thought and Sam threw a royal bitch fit, struggling against Crowley’s hold and cussing enough that he’d’ve gotten his mouth washed out when they were kids. Dean checked his hand, genuinely surprised to see the skin unbroken. The blade snarled a denial at him – they were together, they were one, he was abandoning it, abandoning part of himself, he was betraying their purpose. He held it out to Cas, but didn’t let go and quirked an eyebrow at Crowley.

“Dean, please think about this,” Cas implored without moving to take the hilt. “If you make this deal, I won’t be able to come for you this time.”

Dean ignored him. “Tick-tock, your majesty.”

“You know how I seal deals,” Crowley said with a grin.

Dean moved before the siren-song of the blade and its heartbeat could break down his walls. He dropped the blade for Cas to catch and surged forward. Crowley made a sound of surprise, tensing for an attack. His hands came up to catch at Dean’s chest, but Dean didn’t bother to knock them away. He circled his longer arms around Crowley’s shoulders and crushed their mouths together. Dean had always been an all-in kind of a guy, and he made it count. Tongue, lips, teeth, the scrape of Crowley’s short beard on his stubble. Crowley smelled like brimstone and lightning, and he tasted like cinnamon toothpaste.

“NO!” Sam howled.

Crowley freed his arms from Dean’s hold, ghosting his fingers down Dean’s sides and sliding his hands to the small of Dean’s back. The touch was possessive, his smile triumphant. “See you in six months, Moose.”

Dean met Sam’s wide eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, Sam.”

He felt a rush of cold air, a jerk under his sternum, and the blood soaked barn vanished in a sound like Baby’s engine turning over on a cold morning.