#misha collins drabble

[strawlessandbraless]

Dean, an inch from Castiel’s face while adjusting the knot of his tie, explaining to Cas with such raw honesty that humans lie when they most want something

[castiwls]

Come home to me - c.n

Paring; castiel x reader

Synopsis: Getting hurt on a hunt was expected, but this was different. This left your life on the line

Warnings; mention of death and injury

Requested;anon

Notes;so sorry this took so long! also not wrote for castiel in a minute so I apologise if its kinda occ :) reqs and inbox are open

Masterlist

Pain was something you were used to. It wasn’t often you found yourself walking away from a hunt unscathed but this…this was something you’d never felt before.

White hot pain pulsed through your side as you tried to remember how to breathe again. You couldn’t even remember what had happened. One minute you were standing and the next you were looking at the barn's roof.

You weren’t even sure if you’d finished the hunt. The only thing you knew was that you were in pain.  A hand on your chest pulled you back to reality. The car jostled slightly causing you to wince as pain shot up your side.

“Is it bad?” Your voice was strained as you looked up at met a pair of blue eyes full of concern. Castiel was quiet his eyes trained on your face. “You're going to be okay.” He nodded before moving his hand over your side. 

His voice was passive but you could tell by his eyes that he was scared and you couldn’t tell if he was reassuring himself or you. Taking a sharp breath you reached a hand up towards him. One of his hands quickly wrapped around yours and squeezed it.

“M’tired Cas.” You mumbled watching as his eyes widened slightly. He shook his head before saying something you didn’t catch. Your ears seemed to fill with water as the voices in the car blended together to make one muffled mass.

The pain continued to pulse through you as quiet mumbles left your lips. Your eyes continued to droop as you watched him stare down at you. 

Truthfully you had no idea if you were dying. The thought left a small pinch of fear rushing through you. What if you were dying? What if you died in this car? What if you died and never got to tell him?

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

Castiel watched in near horror as your eyes finally closed and your body went limp on his lap. Placing a hand on your shoulder he shook you gently, careful of your wound. “Hey.” He could feel Dean’s eyes on him from the mirror as he continued to shake you.

The sound of the engine revving faded into the background as he continued calling your name begging for your eyes to open again.

Until now fear had been something he’d never felt. The idea alone was so alien to him that for a moment he had no idea what that cold feeling that seemed to chill his body was. 

For the first time, Castiel was genuinely scared. He knew healing you wasn’t an option until you got back to the motel. The car was too shaky and he wasn’t willing to risk causing you any more pain. 

“You're gonna be okay.” He mumbled pushing your hair off your face. Staring down at you he found himself slowly mapping your features. He’d always known that there was something about you. Something which left him constantly looking for your attention. Your smile alone could brighten his day and the thought of never seeing it again left him feeling sick to his stomach.

Losing you was maybe his worst fear, and now that might actually be a reality.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

Castiel didn’t know how long it had been. Both Sam and Dean had begrudgingly retired to their own motel room leaving you both alone a few hours ago. 

Even after being healed you continued to lie lifeless on the old bed while he sat quietly at your side. Letting out a breath he leaned forward on his knees looking at you for a moment. Your clothes were still bloody and torn but your side now showed no memories of the gash that had been there only hours earlier.

Running a hand through his hair he leaned back into the chair, his mind still going a mile a minute. Castiel had never had the words to tell you how he really felt. He’d become so accustomed to being your ‘best friend’ that the idea of being anything more had slowly faded away. 

He knew he was in love. He’d been in love since the first day he’d met you and now he’d waited too long and may never get the chance to tell you.

A small pained groan broke through the silence and his head shot up. Another small noise left your lips as you stretched out your leg, feeling the stiffness on one side of your body slowly lessen.

“Wha..what happened?” You asked turning your head to where he was sitting. “Cas?” His hand shot out grabbing a hold of yours, his eyes wide. “How do you feel?” His voice was laced with concern.

You thought for a moment trying to piece together your foggy memories of what had happened on the hunt. The pieces slowly slotted together and you let out a worried breath immediately reaching for your side.

Feeling the now untouched skin you looked over to the angel. “Stiff but…much better.” You smiled weakly, fatigue still clouding your mind. “Thank you.” 

He nodded a small smile growing on his lips. Relief rushed through him as you slowly moved to sit up against the pillows. “I’m glad.” He was quiet for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Can I…can I tell you something.” Castiel felt his gaze fall onto his hands as you tilted your head watching him. “Of course. You can tell me anything.” You answered trying to reassure him. 

He nodded before falling quiet again. You watched as opened his mouth a few times before stopping himself and shaking his head. “Cas, come on you can tell me.” You laughed gently patting the bed beside you.

Taking the hint he came to sit beside you. He felt the bed dip slightly as you moved closer a smile on your lips. Part of him was so relieved still that you were alive that it took him a moment to realise that you’d placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m in love with you.” He said suddenly. The confession seemed to shock you both as you stiffened slightly and he sucked in a breath.

The air seemed to grow tense for a moment before he turned to face you, his breath catching in his throat as he mentally prepared himself for the possibility of you rejecting him.

Instead, you were smiling brightly, a small dusting of red on your cheeks. “You're not just saying that 'cause I almost died right?” 

He shook his head reaching for your hand which wasn’t on his shoulder. “No. No of course not. I really mean it.”

He looked down to where your hands were intertwined. “Well.” You moved your hand from his shoulder to gently tip his chin up.

“I guess it’s a good thing I feel the same.”

[averagedenjienjoyer0290]

Y’all don’t know how happy I get when we get new spn/the boys content/teasers cause I already KNOW the freaky niggas of tumblr will wake up and pop out with some heat.

[angelickks]

𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋²²²

a mix of fics, drabbles, blurbs, headcanons, playlists and more!

(𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 ; 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓)

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 " iʻm an aquarius, i like sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women "

[HUNTER DOSSIER – UNOFFICIAL]

fuckin' dad - the winchester family

life growing up with the winchesters would include, childhood (1)

life growing up with the winchesters would include, teen years (2)

no map, no plan, just each other - winchester siblings

where the devil left us - the fall of the winchesters

bf!dean winchester x rich!bimbo!gf! reader

pink is the color of payback - bf!dean x rich!bimbo!gf!reader - request

𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 " what kind of house doesn't have salt? low-sodium freaks! "

[HUNTER DOSSIER – UNOFFICIAL]

fuckin' dad - the winchester family

life growing up with the winchesters would include, childhood (1)

life growing up with the winchesters would include, teen years (2)

no map, no plan, just each other - winchester siblings

where the devil left us - the fall of the winchesters

𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋 ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 " learned that from the pizza man "

celestial equivalent of a golden retriever: the three times max flirted with castiel and the one time it worked

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 (𝐎𝐂) ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 “ ‘rest in peace.’ cowards. i’d haunt everyone.”

[HUNTER DOSSIER – UNOFFICIAL]

introducing - female oc! max "mad max" winchester

1990, the tulsa case - the horrific origins of max winchester

the curious case of max winchester, the girl with a null heart

how max got the name "mad max"

mad max's hunting kit

fortis fortuna adiuvat- max winchester (drunk tattoo edition)

fuckin' dad - the winchester family

the ballad of two bastards

the max interceptions: how to ruin a girl's love life in three (overprotective, armed) steps

no map, no plan, just each other - winchester siblings

where the devil left us - the fall of the winchesters

interrogation tactics - winchester siblings

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓(𝐒)

castiel’s playlist (max gifts him one of her ipods to indulge in)

max winchester's playlist

dean winchester’s playlist

sam winchester’s playlist

𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐧' 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐊𝐒

[ohyouluckysaint]

𓈒 ◯ 𓏸 ∿ STAR FROM THE BED OF THE SEA ﹙ castiel ﹚

🝣𝜚 ⠀ starring       ⏖   𑂴    ˖ (black) mermaid!reader and castiel

𓇼　 　SUM .ᐟ 𓈒ּ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ° 𓂂 the testimonial humming of that saddened tune inadvertently catches the attention of a wandering angel. she’s on a hunter’s radar even though she’s not to be blamed.

.　 ᵔ GENRE ◟ ͜ ׁ𝄞 mildly emotional, fluff, romance.

⌣⌣ cw ⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ no use of y/n, endverse!castiel for visuals strictly, explicit language, fem!reader, use of she/her pronouns, mentions of drowning and death, jimmy novak mentioned (in a memory, not named), sam and dean are here too, nudity, merfolk and siren lore won’t be 100% accurate & is partially loosely based on different films I’ve watched, subtle flirting, cliffhanger, formal speech from both characters, third person omniscient, mostly proofread but should be readable if there’s any errors. word count ⋆.ೃ࿔* 3.5k

SAINT SAYS.ᐟ ༉‧₊˚ This is my first time ever writing for Castiel so I pray his personality isn’t skewed here also this has been rotting in my drafts since the beginning of this month.

The water was cold, the sky was a wide and dark stretch like the darkened sea below it, and the spring wind was cool enough to wrack a shiver through anyone even though it was relatively warm still. Mainly teenagers would come around this time of night and wouldn’t necessarily bother with dipping into the water unless it was a dare from a friend. It was perfect because it was when she’d come to collect some things that children and adults had left behind to learn as much as she could. Maybe she’d been indulging in greed then. What if they had come back to collect their rightful belongings? She would’ve given it all back, of course.

Especially if a child began sobbing. She has this softening for them in her heart. But the things she would collect had already been swept off into the water where they couldn’t reach. A huge, alive and well body it is. She looked around for a moment to see if the usual crowd was there. No, but there were a few people scattered, and then she paused as she first saw him.

She watches with big, curious eyes as he looks worn from the day. It was a human. One quite handsome that she wouldn’t bother interacting with. He was with his own little family—a wife and a small daughter. The mother and father are holding a conversation while maintaining eye contact, and the daughter is giggling while running on the sand with her doll which looks similar to her. She believes if she’d gaze skyward, she’d see a glint like when the man stares at his wife. She wants a love like that, she thinks.

It’s meant to be more innocent than it initially sounds. She wouldn’t take another woman’s man. Mermaids are big on not committing adultery. They’re also not meant to interact with humans because of the danger they posed to them long ago and still do. She wavered for a moment then swam away without slowing or stopping any further when the man noticed her with those blue eyes. She held on tightly to what she’d managed to grab. A handheld mirror, a wristwatch, a tiny jewelry chest, and a pair of glasses. She collected out of curiosity only whether it seemed that way or not. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears like a drumbeat in a rainforest as her blood pumped wildly synchronously with her heart in the cavern of her ribcage.

Mermaids had occasional wonderments about humans, even though they were not meant to be near them, due to humans confusing merfolk for sirens and promptly attacking them. Killing them, to be blunt. Often hunters nowadays rather than fishermen. Harpoon guns filled with silver spear projectiles tore through their flesh, leaving them to “drown in their blood” (actually for their bodies to seize helplessly before returning to seafoam.)

She never learned his name or spoke to him as he never showed up at that beach again. Maybe it was solely for vacation; maybe one or all of them passed. She wanted to talk to him. She’d learned a few languages and dialects from listening to strangers, so she knew she would’ve done well communicating with the man. She’d been around for a long time after all. Centuries to be exact.

As the waves ebbed and flowed, Castiel sat there in the sand on duty, unable to ever turn down an offer from Dean as long as it meant helping a friend (especially with his bias toward him). His fingers flexed onto his flip phone and he sighed heavily until he heard that singing from the cove that was several feet from him, but within walking distance. If it were a siren like Dean assumed, it’d have no effect on him—hence why he was sent out. He sauntered nearer even as the waves tried to be more insistent that he stay.

As he got closer he swore could hear the strumming of a harp as well and thought he must’ve been mistaken until he hesitantly wandered inside the inlet, his shoes crunching against the wet stone. His surroundings were seaweed, coral, cool clear water he could get submerged in with a misstep, salty air like it were on the open beach, seashells, a conch shell, and some likely stolen miniature trinkets.

She hummed as her iridescent scaled tail lightly thwacked against the water below her, her webbed fingers strummed at the harp that sat on the rock she was perched upon. Her eyes were shut, and her sun bleached light brown sister locs decorated with cowries cascaded down her shoulders like the water that trickled over her profile and on down to her tail. She finally fluttered her eyes open to show her eyes that resembled pearls—no iris in sight, just smooth creamy white. She sensed an energy, similar to when merfolk had been at war and she’d been exiled long ago. That took a metaphysical toll on her. Her singing came to a halt and she set the mirror down on its back, against the rock gently before proceeding to lower into the water, her head and hands only poking up like a groundhog to see who or what was exactly approaching.

Her feelings of qualms only furthered when Castiel came into her sight. That same face and body, but a blinding aura and a shadow of wings now. What wrong tornado whirled and could’ve tossed an angel right to her? She didn’t speak and just stared at him, quickly realizing he wasn’t the same man she’d seen all those years ago.

When his pocketed cellphone rings due to Dean wondering why he hasn’t checked in yet, it gets Castiel to stop walking for a moment and causes her to sink into the water to conceal herself completely and swim down while he’s answering the phone.

“Dean, I-” Castiel began before Dean interrupted, his signature rough timbre leaking through the tinny speaker, “You okay?”

“Yes, but I think my phone ringing scared the siren off. It stopped singing and playing its harp.” Dean sighed heavily on the other end as he readied to apologize and Castiel began looking around before he slipped right into the water unexpectedly. Once his phone clatters unceremoniously onto the stone and he doesn’t respond when Dean calls out to him. It sets festering panic into him. “Cas?…Cas?!”

Castiel doesn’t fret in the slightest as he doesn’t have the possibility of drowning but just when he’s about to swim upward he sees something go by too quick to catch only to be promptly lifted up by strong arms, he hurriedly looks at who’s carrying him and his eyes widened at the sight of her. She looks nothing like the illustrations of their true form in their handy journal, aside from the whole half human, half fish deal. Her optics are iris less rather than slit, she has actual hair, and she’s not dragging him under. He can’t rip his gaze away from her the entire way up. Once they’re both back to steady grounding in the cove, she ushers him onto the rocks again and stare right at him to see if he’ll react at all or leave.

When he crashed to his knees against the rocks (knowing that’ll leave matching nasty bruises soon), she rose to where her torso was visible, her breasts donning patterned scales as well against her deep brown skin. She didn’t move in case he were to play any tricks on her. His blue eyes flickered to meet hers in the shitty lack of lighting in the cove. “Why do you sing?” His gravelly timbre cracked through the silence and echoes subtly off the wet walls before she can speak, which made her softly blink. “I can see what you are,” she responded bluntly, though her voice was gentle. His eyes lingered on her ineffable beauty before he responded, “An angel, yes,” he muttered. She felt as if the world were tilting before her.

“Do you come bearing gifts or to smite me?” She asked. Pseudo spiritual and true spiritual civilians had left gifts at the entrance of the cove, likely assuming she were a siren demanding something.

“I’m here to figure out why you’re drowning men.” He bluntly replies without missing a beat. Her countenance contorted in displeasure at the accusation. Her? Drowning men? She wishes, but merfolk don’t do that. It’s a non verbalized code and mainly in their nature not to do that. Unless it’s out of pure defense due to a long history of being wrongfully attacked with the means to kill them even when trying to help. Sam and Dean linked the disappearances to what the locals say about this mermaid, figuring she was the cause and to (possibly study her since they’d never seen one, and then) go for the kill. He could hear Dean telling him, “Don’t be an idiot,” for even being this close to her and see his face as a memory flickers across his forefront from the last time he told him that.

He doesn’t want to begin championing his idea to his friend, so he did this haphazardly even when knowing he’d have to report to either brother like a dog how he’d “captured” her. “I sing because I am still grieving. Not to encourage men to drown,” She finally admits. He could see her sharpened canines as her plump lips parted. They would’ve considered shooting her point blank anyway, he imagines. Past him would’ve thought her an abomination and would’ve told a hunter or angel to solely intellectualize when approaching.

If anything she’d been saving drowning children and adults at the beach when she felt it was safe enough to and even made her appearance more inviting so they wouldn’t be afraid or nonplussed. Much like angels with their “be not afraid” deal. Her and Castiel couldn’t be more far from orthodoxy. It’s why he’s understanding.

“It must be a siren and I do not do their bidding.” She said before swimming forward figuring he wouldn’t attack since she had explained herself. Sirens cries cause a sense of dread and cause men to leap to their demise or bring their ships to wreckage. Castiel watched her carefully, but didn’t view her as threatening in the slightest. He swallowed thickly at just how much more eerily beautiful she looked once in his orbit. “I was rushed out where mermaids rest much deeper. It was awful…” she paused before swimming even closer and rested her cheek upon her arms as she stared up at him. “You believe me, don’t you?”

To which Castiel just narrows his eyes and she feels her nerves thrum for a moment before he relents and stands to his feet, steady this time. The words latching onto the tip of tongue, all tangled and rendering him from speaking for a moment, “Yes, I…do not sense you’re lying.” She softly smiles and Castiel couldn’t help but mirror her expression.

She lived deep within the ocean where there’s little to no sunshine that still peeks through like a sheer curtain, she wasn’t friends with other sea animals as other mermaids weren’t but they coexisted until there was war. War can happen in heaven, upon grass, and even below. Migrating was non negotiable for her when that happened and they swam to shallower oceans to rebuild only for that fail as well and so now she sits here in her coral and seaweed littered abode with an angel who knees buckled at the sight of her (or tiredness, but she doesn’t believe angels require sleep—they don’t.)

“And you’re wet,” her way of saying that was the obvious as much as her statement is. Her gaze flickered over his oatmeal colored trench coat that had been soaked to being much browner now. He made this indistinguishable expression of he found her words humorous or the opposite before he picked up his minute phone and realized it’d been corrupted with water damage. He couldn’t exactly fix it (and it was nearly out of minutes anyway) so he tucked it away into his pocket. “Are you leaving?” She piped up as he began to turn on the heel of his soaked oxfords and he stopped mid turn and looked down at her still in that pool of water with her lower half submerged.

“You’re a kind angel, uh…”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel.” She parroted his name, rolling it on her tongue all syrupy, and she found herself showing off a sugary sweet smile and softly nodding. She told him her name in exchange and hesitantly reached a webbed hand toward him to see if he’d take it, and when he stood to his feet and accepted it she giggled and curtly nodded toward her hand to gesture for him to lift her up. Once she had been pulled up, she rested against the rocks as her scales first went and then her tail seamlessly took a few seconds to transform into legs, to which she covered her breasts with arms and crossed her thighs tightly.

He slipped off his trench coat, which had been decorated with sea water, and handed it to her before closing his eyes and turning his back toward her. He didn’t even have time to immediately realize her eyes had gone to normal with an iris and pupil, along with her hands, and her canines weren’t as sharp. Once she secured the trench coat around her, she lightly bit the swell of her lower lip and stood up on her new found feet that wobbled like a fawn’s at first to which she yelp once her ass hit against the rock upon falling so sudden. Castiel turned to help her up almost instantaneously and she smiled softly at him as her eyes narrowed playfully.

“You’re not even going to look at me?” She says as her soft gaze flickered over his face now that he was close, and Castiel hesitantly made eye contact with her. “We should get you properly dressed. I will take you back to my friends.” He says gruffly, turning to walk out of the cove, but she doesn’t budge and clears her throat. “Were you afraid for a moment that I might’ve tugged you down underneath with me?” She says finally, the silence was impenetrably thick for a moment until his boots scraped and he looked about, and then his breath hitches softly when she gently guided his face to turn toward hers with her very human silk to the touch hand.

It’s strange to him how the softest touch somehow feels like a command. He finds himself following by looking into her eyes, his gaze steady, “You’re a mermaid. If you were famished, you would’ve hunted for fish, not man. Nor angel. If you were hunting for sport, you would’ve failed to kill me opportunistically.” He bluntly tells her, knowing he’d be much quicker to rid of her if she were a threat.

Her gaze flickers between his eyes for a moment, “A nasty sense of humor,” she murmurs with a raise of her brows before allowing him to carry her out of the cove as she attempts to gain proper footing. Mermaids don’t have this collective delusion or gullibility like loosely claimed in texts about them. They’re rather curious, but they will act fast if needed. Castiel shouldn’t be mistaken is her point.

“A fuckin’ mermaid, Cas? That’s just not– I’m lookin’ at a half naked and confused woman.” Dean told him as he glanced over at her as she picked up his BlackBerry with a curious expression and hesitantly brought it to her mouth to bite only to frown when it didn’t taste good and set it back down. Dean dead panned at that before looking to Castiel with a straight face. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Dean.” He responded while serving him that familiar almost awed puppy dog look in his eyes and his brows furrowed.

“If she’s a mermaid, we don’t know any of this part of lore on her. Nothing in dad’s journal. I mean, why would she have legs instead of having a big fat fish tail?” Dean retorted which earned a look from her that could eat him alive paired with a subtle frown tugging at the corners of her already pouty lips. Speaking as if she were a child that couldn’t sit at the adults table a peeve of hers quickly. He was making it a habit of skillfully tap dancing on her last nerve.

Sam huffed out a breath of laughter as he took notice which startled her a little, she’d almost forgotten he was there tapping away on that laptop of his to find an thoroughly accurate source. She learned quickly he practically buried himself within this often. By now she’d been dressed in Castiel’s button up shirt and had a fresh towel and his trench coat covering her lower half still until they could actually get her something or send her back off into the waves.

“She’s not killing anyone, Dean. She explained everything to me and…I’m sure.” Castiel supplied and glanced over at her to see she was already looking at him and her eyes widened a fraction before her expression softened as she smiled with teeth and waved. Castiel hesitantly waved back to which Dean looked between the both of them out of disbelief. “What? She’s your friend now?” He felt like Castiel was trying to play hero, he didn’t want to argue.

They both answer with no, but Castiel’s is immediate and hers is more of an echo with a different tone. “Seems like one of you ain’t too sure about it,” Dean sarcastically bit under his breath before rolling his eyes and then sliding a hand down his face with a sigh.

“She’s innocent, let’s let her back off into the ocean,” Castiel proposed and she nodded in agreement even though no one was currently looking her way. “Look at this,” Sam says and turns to the laptop screen toward Castiel and Dean’s general area, it shows a page of a mermaid transformation from fishtail to legs alongside some text and another image of a depiction of a mermaid playing a harp with her eyes shut, clearly focused as sea spray hits her tail.

Dean looks at her at that and then to Castiel, “You can drop Ariel here off then.” And she made a face at that, not understanding the reference and luckily Castiel wasn’t the one in the room that was a victim of that this time. “We’ll stay here and keep digging for the actual culprit. I’ll pray to you to relay something if we need anything since your phone’s busted.” Dean said to Castiel and he nodded.

“Can I use my legs for a little longer?” She asked as she walked side by side with Castiel barefoot, now donning some bloomers (courtesy of Sam and Dean) along with his shirt still secure on her torso.

“I don’t mind. But, Sam and Dean–”

“Sam and Dean. Are they the boss of you, Castiel?” It was a genuine question even though to some it might’ve sounded like assholery. Her tone solidifies she’s quite serious about asking. “Don’t you wish to have more free will? You’re an angel. It sounds like you’re submitting to humanity to me even though you’re above them in the hierarchy.”

“Not submission. Love.” He corrects, stopping his journey to turn and look at her as if trying to sear the idea into her psyche with just his gaze. She nods almost immediately understanding. “I know what love is. I felt something similar long ago when I saw someone just like you. It was beyond curiosity, but not strong enough to equate to love itself.” She tried her best to explain and Castiel’s eyes flickered with recognition. “My vessel. Did you know him?” He asks.

“Goodness, no. I noticed him. He saw me too. But, he didn’t look at me with love because he was spoken for. He was just…” she paused as she thought about exactly how he’d stared at her before she swam off to the deep. “Curious.” She finally caught the word.

“He was a good man. I knew him.” Castiel mused before his gaze flickered over her face. “I think you would have liked him had you spoken to him.” She couldn’t help but smile at that sentiment.

“If he was anything like you. I would.” There’s a sparkle of mirth in her eyes when she says it like it has further meaning than anything surface level and Castiel—unsurprisingly—doesn’t catch it. That she’s flirting but being light about it for room to safely pull back if he gets uncomfortable or seems disinterested. Until he does understand when she’s stepping closer with her hands behind her back, a soft smirk, and her eyes lingering on his lips before meeting his gaze once more. Then his eyes are flickering with recognition and he steps closer too before his mind can turn those cogs and stop him.

Now that surprises her more than anything.

“I’m curious too,” he admitted. He makes it obvious he means it in the same way she does. Her gaze flickers between his before she guides him all the way back to her cove, their fingers intertwined. Any man or angel would have thought this a trap even if it isn’t.

[reallyunluckyrunaway]

[imaginesupernaturalig]

You smile as you make the last pull of the needle and raise your arm up. Not always your best work, but you aren't a professional tailor either. This poor coat has seen a number of battles and survived many beatings. Yet at times, he misses fixing the little things, like a missing button or, in this case, reinforcing and inseam. Putting your needle away you stand up and hold out the tan coat.

"I'm a genius," you tout to yourself. Bringing it closer to inspect it you check for any more fixes. So close to your face you give in and bring it to your nose. Taking a deep breath in you close your eyes at his scent. Nearly able to tell where he's been by the woodsy scent thats left because he has a lighter natural fragrance.

You open your eyes and blush because in an instand he's standing in front of you.

"Hello."

THE END

[adriellej]

Masterlist

Supernatural:

Dean Winchester/Jensen Ackles

Sam Winchester/Jared Padalecki

Castiel (Novak)/Misha Collins

Extra characters of SPN

SPN no parings

Personalized fics

Flash:

Harrison "Harry" Wells/E!2

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

You haven’t seen Castiel since before the angels were ejected out of Heaven, so many years ago. He was such a humble but fierce warrior that you admired. What you thought was a crush that died long ago turned out to be something else when you see him again.

Currently, you’re with the Winchester brothers and their angelic best friend fighting a huge pack of vampires when he witnesses your arm bitten by the leader of the pack. The Angel reacts so violently to your injury that he almost blindingly glows and reveals his wings, damaged from the fall.

You gasp at the sight, eyes wide, mouth falls open looking past the most beautiful being in your world and see his…scarred wings. Wings that used to be so lush and full, a pride of his. He places two fingers upon the vampire’s forehead and smites the creature behind you. He looks at your arm and fails healing you. You place your hand on his cheek with a soft smile trying to show that it’s ok. That you’ll be ok but before words can be exchanged, the angel collapses.

You catch him and call the brothers who help wrap your arm and get the surprisingly heavy angel into the impala. You sit in the back with his head in your lap, carding your fingers through his hair, and a a double crease between your furrowed brow, worried.

++++

In the bunker, you sit by his side in his room as he lays on his bed unconscious. His body is still warm at his usual temperature, toasty. Your mind dwells on his wings and wonder how that works. You know this body, a vessel, is more like a puppet he uses to communicate with the human world. It makes you chuckle at the thought of a giant Castiel with a hand puppet interact with walking puppets. Your chuckle turns into a giggle as the thought remains in your head, holding your abdomen.

Not realizing you closed your eyes, you open them and suddenly feel homesick for the angel. Tears form behind your eyes, you get up and climb into bed with him. Your head on his shoulder, making that arm raised up to accommodate you burrowed into his side. If you stick your nose against his armpit and inhale his scent of petrichor and ozone deeply, it’s no one else’s business but your own.

——

You awaken later finding yourself lying across the angel’s chest, feeling fingers combing through your hair, covered with a thin comforter. You hum your approval as the fingers continue to card through your hair. You shift realizing both of Castiel’s arms are wrapped around you. Shifting your head up, you see him watching you.

“Hello, Y/N.”

You grin, voice sleep deep, replying, “Hello, Castiel.”

He returns your voice and pauses his hand.

You whine and pout at the loss.

He chuckles and continues.

“I don’t get…many chances to have someone…play with my hair.”

His face softens and nods. “Of course.”

Closing your eyes, you just breathe concentrating on his fingers on your scalp. “Thank you for saving me,” you whisper. Just stopping yourself from saying affectionately angel. “I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Me too.”

Awake enough to realize how intimate this is, you begin to get up, panicking and face hot in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Cas. I didn’t mean to invade your space without permission. I’m sorry. I—I—I…missed you.” Your brow furrowed and frown deeply moving away from him when he grabs your biceps.

“No,” he commands.

You immediately freeze at his command, looking at his face.

“Stay. Please?” He quietly says.

Your face feels warmer now and the warmth moving down your neck. You smile sheepishly and look down before looking back at him, nodding. You return to your position across his chest with your ear above his sternum, and link your fingers with his his. His quickened heartbeat begins to slow after a few minutes. A little while later, you find your heartbeats in sync and the realization makes you feel connected, more intimate. You like it…a lot.

Castiel’s Wings

[strawlessandbraless]

Destiel was so powerful by season 9 they honestly didn’t have any other choice than to force Dean to send Castiel away from both him and the bunker.

I mean, a human Cas in the bunker with Dean as his guide would have been so intimate. He’d have learned quickly from Dean how to feed his hungers, whether it was with food, a fight, or a fuck.

Cas safe and human and finally staying put. All of a sudden always within arms reach & dressed in Dean’s clothes. There’s no way they wouldn’t have gotten to know each other in the biblical sense.

[averagedenjienjoyer0290]

I appreciate the word count most of the time but I’m not gonna lie, my attention span is cooked.

sometimes yall either gotta lie or not put it down at all. LIKE I BET ALL 250K WORDS IN THIS DRABBLE IS GREAT BUT LIKE…250K?? That’s so discouraging gang just lie to me 🥀🥀

[angelickks]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. oc!max "mad max" winchester

MAX "MAD MAX" WINCHESTER is the wild card in the winchester deck: unpredictable, untraceable, and impossibly hard to kill. the only daughter in a family of soldiers and ghosts, max learned early that love doesn’t come easy—but loyalty, that’s carved into her bones. born with a null heart, she’s a myth wrapped in muscle and mystery: undetectable by angels, demons, reapers, or any force that hunts by sense or soul. possession rolls off her like water. she can’t be tracked. she can’t be touched. it makes her terrifying to enemies and priceless to her family. she walks like she’s got nothing to lose and fights like she’s already lost too much. she’s the one who keeps going when everyone else breaks—and she’ll burn the whole world down before she lets her brothers fall.

she’s a little sister, rebellious daughter, best friend, and loose cannon.

she wears dark, musky perfume that lingers like a ghost - sandalwood, tobacco flower, vanilla. she picked it not from trends, but because it masked the scent of gun oil and sulfur. castiel once said she “smells like war and cake.” she took it as a compliment. she carries the perfume in her go-bag because "smelling like sulfur and grave dirt isn't hot, dean."

sam once admitted it smells like home to him now. the smell has immortalized itself in the impala. all of the boys jackets or flannels have traces of it. when cas came along, the more time he spent around her, he started to have the smell linger on him as well.

in the beginning, the fact that cas had the smell on him as well sorta pissed dean off but he grew to secretly enjoy that traces of max were always still with them.

laundry day is sort of a funny thing because the boys have grown so used to the smell of it being on their clothes that the detergent smell kinda irritates them.

her jewelry is a collection of mismatched tokens and quiet sentimentality: a rusted bullet casing on a chain from dean (her first salt-round)— when dean went to hell, his ring stayed on that same chain until he got back home. on the inside she etched three notches, a failsafe the siblings had from when they were young, always the same meaning: three, still standing. a tiny quartz stone sam gave her when they were kids ("for luck," he’d said, dead serious), and a bent spoon bracelet she swiped from a diner in spokane during a hunt they barely survived. she wears them like armor, never flashy, but always there. quiet relics. proof she’s survived this long. her fingers are always stacked with rings - some stolen, some gifted, one possibly cursed - from a vegas exorcism. a simple band one that she wears on her left middle finger that dean stole as a gift for her seventeenth birthday. one of them doubles as brass knuckles. a few knuckle tattoos she did herself in a motel bathroom at seventeen.

known to be terribly blunt but very empathetic – max doesn’t sugarcoat things. she says it like it is—but when it counts, she understands people in a terrifyingly accurate way.

dry-humored as fuck – her sarcasm could slice through kevlar. she uses humor as both a defense mechanism and a test. this definitely stems from dean.

silent caretaker – she won’t tell anyone she’s worried. the boys have both learned to recognize that care in silence. she’ll fix their gear, stash their favorite snacks in the Impala, and stay awake until she hears them come back from a hunt.

she had to learn emotions on her own - how to cry without breaking, how to love without trusting, and how to build a self out of broken pieces no one helped her pick up.

keeps three knives on her person at all times: one silver, one iron, one sentimental. the last is rusted and cursed and belonged to john.

max doesn’t flinch from pain, but she hates watching others get hurt - her breaking point is watching dean bleed. while sam is also her older brother, dean was and always has been her protector and caretaker. in silence, max and sam look up to dean, would follow him to hell and back (again and again) if he simply asked.

stitches herself up with better precision than any ER nurse - once did it in a truck bed with a cracked mirror and dental floss. dean threw up.

talks to the Impala like it’s a person - leaves her favorite rings in the glovebox when she’s scared - “listen, sweetheart,” she says to the Impala, lovingly wiping down the dash. then stomps inside: “freakin' haunted-ass concrete bunker. smells like old men and disappointment.”

has a ritual of spitting salt over her left shoulder before a hunt - dean rolls his eyes. sam copies her when he thinks no one’s looking.

refuses to say goodbye - says “see you later” instead. says it like a prayer.

the tether of the family – she’s the one who silently ties sam and dean together when they start drifting. she talks them both down, even when she’s breaking inside.

dean’s co-pilot in grief – when things get too heavy for him to carry, she picks up the slack, sometimes without him noticing.

sam’s secret keeper – he tells her things he doesn’t even say out loud to himself. she sees his softness and protects it.

she’s the chaos between sam’s logic and dean’s instinct.

she borrows (steals) dean’s old shirts constantly—oversized flannel that smells like motor oil, leather jackets with burn holes, a metallica hoodie she swore she gave back but never did. sam’s sweaters, though? only when she’s sick. or homesick. she’ll deny it, but they’re comfort, pure and simple.

best mechanic of the siblings – dean’s good, but max feels engines. she talks to the Impala like it’s a breathing thing. she can fix a carburetor by sound alone.

her and dean used to get into a lot of petty fights about who can fix certain things faster.

a lot of the skills she honed was from bobby and john, in order to keep her out of trouble at school she was found under the hood of the impala or the odd stolen car on off days.

occult specialist – she’s the one who dives into the dark texts. latin, enochian, arcane rituals—she remembers the weird things others skim over.

this is sam and max's bonding time. being able to put everything aside and put their brains to work. they feed off each other perfectly, if sam doesn't know, max probably does and vice versa.

has a weird superstition about red thread – she always keeps some in her pack. ties it to trees. says it "keeps the soul tethered."

believes any cup of coffee over $2.50 is “a scam against humanity.” - she will rant about starbucks like it personally insulted her ancestors. meanwhile, her YETI mug says: “world’s okayest sister.”

there’s a duct tape label on one of the drawers in the bunker kitchen that says: “MAX’S DRAWER. DO NOT TOUCH. EVER.” it contains: hot sauce packets, gummy worms, three bullets, a lipstick, a sachet of salt, and an unopened red bull from 2014. dean tries to replace the red bull but the same one is constantly put back. - “it’s a relic. ain’t bothering nobody”

believes in fate but hates it – she’s convinced she’s part of something bigger, and it both comforts and infuriates her.

max didn't learn jackshit from john other than to survive, load a gun, protect her brothers, and throw punches like the ones she was aiming for owed her goddamn money- she learned about makeup and how to be anything but a hunter from drugstore aisles, grimy motel mirrors, and half-torn cosmo pages

max is the type of girl who sharpens her eyeliner with the same blade she uses to clean her gun. always picked up things from TV screens flickering in motel rooms, from other girls in bar bathrooms.

funnily enough max enjoys nail polish. she had a nail biting problem and has been putting on nail polish to counteract it because the sight of chipped nails irritates the actual fuck out of her, so it def helped there.

its always black and redone in gas station bathrooms using cheap polish and hunting knife tips as cuticle pushers. when she discovered chrome nail power, she likes the black polish + chrome look.

that said, she likes to experiment from time to time, once showed up to a hunt with blood-red polish, nails grown out (dean says they look like claws) with rhinestones on her ring fingers, and not a damn apology in sight. dean didn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.

carries a flask labeled “holy water” that definitely isn’t holy water. (it’s fireball. dean’s tried it. regrets ensued.)

her room is somehow the cleanest and messiest at the same time - the bed’s always made. weapons are lined up by type. but the desk? it’s a chaos altar. books, coffee mugs, crushed salt packets, little bones, polaroids, expired motel keys, a crowbar, her earrings, one of sam’s hoodies.

writes little half-poems in the margins of her research journals - always half-finished. always a little sad. she pretends they don’t exist. - her handwriting is borderline illegible. sam told her to translate her notes once and she couldn't

has a list in her journal titled: “people I’d fistfight again”. it's alphabetized.

texts like a goblin: no punctuation, all caps, uses 🧍 constantly, ends most convos with “ok cool die”

she makes their coffee too strong. she leaves knives in weird places. she’s the one who always has a plan B...and C… and burn it all down.

supernatural mlist!

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐒: i love her so obvi had to give her some headcanons. check out my spn mlist for more of my beloved oc. iʻm so happy that this oc has been recieving lots of love from u guys. my inbox is always open for suggestions, requests, and general thots. muah muah <33

[wendichester]

SCREAMED WHEN I SAW YOUR DRABBLE FOR JENSEN ACKLES.

Can you write about Misha x actress!reader filming a makeout scene that's lowkey escalating into something more primal, and I mean primal. I'm speaking about dry humping, sloppy but feverish kisses, hair tugging, hands wandering and groping any silver of flesh, moaning and groaning, heavy breathing and so on and so forth.

And a tiny detail I would L O V E to read is the fact that they don't hear the director saying cut. They just keep going and create such an intense scene that makes them question things.👁👄👁

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 still rolling,

summary. drawing a line between character's chemistry and real life is so so hard. but you can't deny this is far from fictional.

pairing. misha collins x actress!reader genre. steamy / almost-smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 838

notes / warnings. dry humping, feverish makeout session, breathy moans, groping, hair pulling, handsy chaos, on-set intimacy that spirals, acting that’s way too real, no concept of personal space, unspoken mutual pining, and yes—they absolutely don’t hear the director say cut.

You’re not even thinking when he crashes into you.

Well—Misha crashes into you. His character is supposed to kiss yours against the wall with a little roughness, a little heat. One take, easy enough. You’ve done spicier stuff on screen before. You even practiced the damn blocking last night, just to make sure there’d be no awkward bumps or bruises.

But this isn’t the kiss you rehearsed.

This is—God. This is Misha pressing you against the set wall like the air between you two is toxic and his body is the antidote. It’s his hand fisting in your hair, the other slipping under the hem of your costume jacket, calloused fingertips dragging over bare skin like he's been waiting all season for an excuse.

Your mouth opens for him like it’s a reflex. There’s no pause, no break, no breath. Just tongue and teeth, spit-slick lips, and a groan so guttural it vibrates straight through your sternum. You’re not acting anymore. Not really. The moan that leaves your throat is yours. And so is the way your hips roll into his like you need something. Like you’ve been starved for it.

And Misha—oh, he feels that.

He shudders, lips slipping down to your neck, biting where the mic won’t pick it up. His breath is hot and ragged against your skin, nose nudging your jaw, and he’s gripping your waist now, grinding into you with slow, heavy friction that makes your knees wobble. One of his thighs wedges between your legs and you don’t stop it—you press down, gasping, chasing the pressure with a subtle desperation you hope the cameras can’t catch.

(They can. And they are.)

You don’t hear anyone yelling cut. You don’t hear anything. The lights are sweltering, your pulse is sprinting, and Misha’s hand is halfway up your back now, fingers sliding beneath your bra strap like he’s going to pull it off if you give him a single ounce of encouragement.

Your fingers tangle in his hair. Tug. You feel the growl in his throat more than you hear it.

“Misha,” you gasp—and that isn’t a line. That’s you. That’s your voice, airy and needy and so not scripted.

He pulls back a fraction of an inch. His pupils are blown. Lips pink and slick. His chest heaves as he searches your eyes like he’s checking in, but he doesn’t move away. Doesn’t drop character. Doesn’t even blink.

A second later, he’s on you again. Harder this time. Messier. His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip before his mouth devours it again, and this time your leg lifts—hooked around his hip like your body’s just done this before. Like it remembers something your brain hasn’t let you admit.

You rub against him shamelessly, the drag of his jeans against your clothed center making your thighs tremble. He grunts, a sound low and filthy, like he’s seconds from forgetting where he is.

Your back hits the wall again with a soft thud. Your hips stutter, chasing his. His teeth scrape your collarbone. Your fingers clutch at the waistband of his jeans, greedy and blind.

And then—

“Cut!”

The room snaps into focus like you’ve both been dunked in cold water.

You blink.

Misha blinks.

You slowly, very slowly, look past his shoulder.

The set is quiet.

Too quiet.

The crew is silent, watching. Some look stunned. A few look like they just saw something private—like they weren’t supposed to still be rolling, like they just accidentally witnessed the scene of the century.

The director clears his throat. “That was… uh. We’re gonna go again, but—maybe tone it down from NC-17 to cable TV?”

Jared snorts. Jensen mutters “Jesus Christ,” and Misha hasn’t moved. His hand is still on your waist. His chest is still pressed against yours. You can feel him breathing, fast and hot and barely keeping it together.

You don’t say anything for a second. Neither does he.

Then—

“That was your fault,” you murmur, lips still practically grazing his.

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, not backing up an inch. “I think we both deserve the blame. Or the award.”

You huff a breathy laugh, and it hits him in the mouth. His eyes darken again.

“Wanna talk about it later?” he asks, voice low and even, like he’s asking if you want dinner—not if you want to finish dry humping him in his trailer.

You nod once, dizzy.

And even as he pulls away (slowly, reluctantly, like his body wants to stay pressed to yours), his hand finds yours for a beat. Squeezes. Something passes between you—something unspoken, but not fictional.

Definitely not acting.

You hear the director again, clapping once to reset.

“Okay! Reset for take three—this time, let’s remember there’s a crew in the room!”

You and Misha glance at each other, and he raises an eyebrow, smirking just a little.

You grin back, cheeks flushed, thighs still trembling.

Take three’s about to look suspiciously like take two.

But hey—if they want chemistry, they’re gonna get it.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[impala-dreamer]

Excuse me...

Have I acquired your attention? Good. Ok -

So, I don't know how many of you remember my Tell Me About drabbles, or who would care anymore, but...

Let's bring them back!

Now, you may say, "but, Beka- you never answered my original one... did you keep them all?" Yes. Yes I did. And.... Some of them got full fics that are on my Patreon and will someday appear here lol So, yeah, I may answer one from 2 years ago, but new ones are so much more fun, aren't they? Also, there's new characters to choose from! "Like who? and what? and how? and huh?" Well, keep on reading and all will be revealed!

So, you may know I've been working like 5608308 hours a week now that I have a new WFH job, which is great, but I'm burning out fast and I need some writing back in my life.

Send me an ASK that starts with "Tell Me About... " and then fill in the rest with whatever prompt you'd like. It can be angst, smut, fluff, crack, hardcore porn, a mix of all. You can also choose a character from the list below and I shall do an ___ x Reader. or a ship, if you'd prefer. or a mix. it's all good! Keep the prompt short and open. Ie: do not write me a fic and ask me to write you a fic of the fic. so.. more like..

"Tell Me About... Jensen and me in a submarine with cheese wiz and a porn mag"

But not that, bc why. I may just do that one on my own bc Why. Anyway- Send it in. And if it sparks a drabble, I shall give it to you. (please do not send gifs with it. they clog things up) You may also get a full fic if you're lucky ;)

Characters and Ships I will write with:

Jensen Ackles / Dean Winchester, Soldier Boy, Tom Hanniger

Misha Collins / Castiel

Jeffrey Dean Morgan / John Winchester, Negan

TWD- Rick Grimes, Daryl

Chris Evans / Steve Rogers

Sebastian Stan / Bucky, Sebastian Stan, Sebastian Stan

Joe Goldberg - YOU (tv)

The Magicians- Quentin, Eliot, Penny, The whole gang. All of them.

Criminal Minds - Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner

SHIPS: Cockles/Destiel, StuckyxReader (who am I?), Queliot

I can't remember who I write for omg. just ask... you know what I'm into.

If you're unsure of a character or just wanna ask - send me a DM. I'm always around :)

LET'S DO THIS!

[imaginesupernaturalig]

Sitting by the window with a cup in your hand. Sipping on your favorite drink as you wait. You think of the last song he sang around you, then started humming it t yourself. A silly comfort but it was better than listening to the ticking clock. Smiling a bit as you think of his smile then it fades when you flash to when he left. “I’ll be back,” he said.

“When?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” You look at the pain in his eyes and realize he might be lying but he’d be lying for your benefit. He meant well but you worried and most of all that it was over. Then you got texts from him and all seemed fine. Some wouldn’t make sense at all and some you waited days for a reply. When it came, was a day of rejoicing.

When your cup was empty you got up to refill it. Still humming as you could no longer see the bottom you move back to take your place. Your heart skipped a bit when you heard it go off. Sitting down and picking it up you unlock it. “Delayed, won’t get in until night but will come your way.” You press the phone to your chest.

“He’s coming,” you whisper contently.

After all this time you remembered things and they came back to you so naturally. Not missing a beat or a sound, just peace in the little things. Little reminders lay all around and you quit paying attention to the calendar. Stealing moments from the world seemed normal, especially with the line of work your guy’s in. Dealing with death is his job, not by your choice but you can’t stop him. “Clouds looking a little dark,” you whisper under your breath.

You take another sip then your eyes get heavy. You did have a late conversation with him. So understandable why your eyes are so heavy now. Giggling a little at your awkward exchanges, he’s used to it. Well, you think he is. Not the point. Thinking of better things, like his assets make you drool. Makes you go to your happy place where he is everywhere. Thinking of his lips and how his hands make you feel. The way he moves when he’s around you. The way your heart flutters when he’s around and your stomach knots up. The way his *knock knock*

[amemipiacitu]

The story developed so naturally, I don't even know how the writers failed to see it.

i’m 🥰🥺😭😭😭