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Y’all seeing this 👀

Y’all come look 👀

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Anybody else take note? Jensen’s always reading the fanfic.

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Alright, alright, alright. Y’all help me!

Does anybody know of a destiel fic that hinges on one of the boys going to the only open diner/restaurant on Christmas Day cuz… reasons and the other is working at said establishment cuz… reasons???

I’ll prolly write it myself eventually if necessary, but it’s Christmas and I’d love to just read this prompt 😩

So… let me have it 👏💙💚

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So, sobsicles (this is not directed at the author specifically, this is me screaming into the void to anybody who will listen),

I’ve suddenly felt the need to voice my opinion on these amazing fics (and they are ALL amazing).

Aching in the Absence of You is superior.

I will take no criticism. Literally, I read this fic all the time. I go back to this fic. I aspire to write something as… pure and wholesome and complete as this fic.

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So we all know this scene…

Yea, it’s hot

But I just wanna take a second to acknowledge Sam’s CONCERN. Look at him, he looks so WORRIED 😢

And then Zemo’s ass goes and says… (no hate to Zemo, love him)

And Sam’s just…

LOOK AT HIS FACE

Watching Bucky ‘fall back into form’ distressed him in the ‘is my friend going to be okay’ kind of way, and I just 😩

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Suptober 2021 - Day 26: Happy Homemaker

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Suptober Day 21: “Missing him was dark gray all alone” - Taylor Swift “Red”

Teen / Finale Fix-It / Destiel / 3,804 words

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

“Something is wrong.”

Dean could hear Sam’s heated whisper from where his brother stood just outside his bedroom door and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head. If the world was ending again then let it end. He didn’t care anymore.

“He won’t get out of bed.”

Dean pressed the pillow harder against his ears, eyes squeezing shut. A cold nose touched his wrist, the only part of him outside the covers and he peeked out, getting a lick to the face for his trouble. Dean grumbled, lifting the blanket away from his body so the small dog could hop onto the bed and burrow under with him.

“I’ve never seen him like this before. Like yeah maybe for a couple of days but never… never for this long.”

Dean snatched the covers back down, ducking his head so that his face pressed the soft fur of Miracle’s back as he rooted around, trying to find a spot to get comfortable. He could smell his own stale breath and the hint of wet dog, Miracle’s paws damp from a recent trip topside. Dean snapped his eyes shut, stomach rolling against that fresh grass smell. It was spring, this he knew, and he couldn’t stand the idea of it. He was really happy for everyone else that they’d made it so the world could make itself new again but for him it was agony.

Every new leaf, every blade of grass, every spring breeze was from a world that hadn’t been touched or experienced by Cas. Every animal and human born was going to live in a place that had never known the rumble of Cas’ voice, seen the half-smile he gave when something was sort of funny but not funny enough to laugh. Dean lived in those moments now, under dirty sheets rank with nightmare sweat and midnight tears.

“I tried that, Eileen. I don’t know what to do.”

Dean closed his eyes and blocked out the world.

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4.22 - Lucifer Rising

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Day 21 - ‘Missing him was dark grey, all alone’ - Taylor Swift

Sammy’s first night without his big brother :(

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Suptober  2021 - Day  21: “Missing him was dark, gray, all alone”

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Suptober Day 20: Library Hours

Cas from Wool Over My Eyes by MalMuses.

Been down with a wrist injury so I'm having to pull back on my suptober submissions. :(

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Day 21: Missing Him...

When Cas is taken by the Empty, Dean has... quite a few thoughts. And Jack is on board.

Rating: M || Word Count: 1454 || I don’t think this needs a character death warning, we all know what happens in Canon || That being said there is suicide ideation

Read on AO3

Dean watched with tear filled eyes as the mysterious black goo disappeared into the wall just as suddenly as it had come. Well, part of the mystery was gone. It had come to take Cas. Because apparently telling Dean how he really felt was his true happiness.

Dean would huff a sarcastic laugh if he had the energy. It’s not in the having. Cas had said. Bullshit. Having Cas was everything to Dean. And now he wouldn’t have Cas in any capacity. Dean had always been more into the whole ‘actions speak louder than words.' Because sure, Cas saying it had gotten some weird ass reaction, but it didn’t account for Dean’s feelings.

Distantly, he hears his phone go off. He absently pulls it out. Sam his phone lights up with his brothers name. But Dean didn’t have anything to say. Not even to Sam. Truth be told, he just wanted to crawl through the wall and follow Cas to wherever he was.

Because Dean had been here before. Honestly, too many times. And each time it happened, he got worse than the last. This time was going to be no different. Accentuated by the idea that Cas was really gone this time. Dean had thought that before, but each time, Cas had made his way back to Dean. But it seemed even more unlikely now. This death was caused by a deal. A deal with a powerful entity that Dean couldn’t even fathom. It would have to be powerful to swallow up Death as well.

Dean couldn’t think about the specifics right now. Angels, Death, black goo, it was all too much to conceive right now.

He thought about Cas instead. And how he hadn’t gotten a chance to say… goodbye… something back… hell, anything. Cas had poured his entire heart out, told him things Dean didn’t think were possible. Dean hadn’t known what to say. How did you follow that? It was like saying your vows and your partner just…  flat out outdoing you. Except Cas wasn’t his partner—not in that sense—and they hadn’t been getting married. Instead, he’d been rooted to the spot as Cas poured out the words that would guarantee his death, to save Dean.

Dean had lived a long time thinking and believing Cas wasn’t capable of the emotions he expressed tonight. That there was no way Cas could truly feel human emotions. Sure, Cas cared about Sam and Dean, probably even understood the depth of love family has each other and even felt strongly enough to have some semblance of it. But to not only feel a protective nature, but to actually feel love. For Dean specifically. His mind was still whirling with the implication. Cas had loved Dean so much it had been his trigger, regarding his true happiness.

Aside from all that, the worst part was that Cas didn’t know how Dean felt. It’s in just saying it. Not for Dean. It was in the having for Dean. Being able to have a tangible hold on the things and people he loved. It made it possible for Dean to show his love.

He and Sam never sat around the campfire telling each other they loved one another, but they knew. Because of past actions, current actions, little things like Dean picking up those nasty ass green things at the store or Sam eating Dean’s cooking even when it doesn’t go as planned.

But Dean had been chickenshit for years when it came to Cas. He couldn’t even admit to himself what Cas truly meant to him. It wasn’t a brotherly bond like he and Sam had, and it sure as shit had grown—blown—past best friends.

Dean wasn’t sure what all Cas’ want encompassed, but Dean wanted it all. Anything and everything Cas wanted, Dean would give it. Cas could have it all. He can’t help but think too little, too late though.

Cas was gone. Getting him back seemed downright impossible. Was there even a way to break a deal with an an ancient cosmic entity? Dean knew exactly jackshit about it. Jack. God, what was he gonna tell the kid? He considered Jack his own, despite their complicated history, but Jack was undoubtedly Cas’ kid. Cas and Jack had a good relationship, unlike Dean’s own relationship with his father. Dean had no idea how he was going to face the kid.

This isn’t fucking fair, Cas! He thinks it directly to Cas. But what did it do? Could Cas even hear him? Wherever he was. Did dead angels hear prayers? It seemed unlikely. It didn’t feel like it had worked last time. They ceased to be, right?

Dean sharply averts his mind from that thought. That’s hyperventilation territory. The thought of Cas not being anymore was way too much for Dean’s brain to accept. Cas was somewhere, even if Dean couldn’t get to him. It was the only acceptable answer. He takes a different route.

Cas, if you can hear me, I’m gonna do everything I can buddy. I love you too. And I’m gonna find you. I don’t know how, but I will.

It’s the best he can do. He’s not even sure if or how he’ll ever be able to follow through, but it won’t be from lack of trying, dammit. Dean would devote his life to it, if that’s what it took. Because dammit, happiness was in the having.

He still wished he could crawl through the wall and just go with Cas. Being with Cas seemed like a better option, wherever he was, than being here without him. He should have said something, done something. He should have grabbed onto Cas with every ounce of strength he’d had. At least then, he would have been swallowed up too.

Because despite his silent promise, Dean wasn’t sure he was going to survive this time, losing Cas. He’d drank himself silly plenty of times before, became a danger to himself, and by extension, Sam. He’d almost succeeded in offing himself the last time Cas had left him. He just couldn’t take losing him again.

The hurt and the pain and the missing was already setting in. Dean missed Cas deeply. He always did when Cas was gone. Whether that was in death or Cas was just away. Missing Cas felt like a dark gray had descended over his world. He felt alone. Sure, he had Sam, or at least he thinks he still does, and Jack. But if he was being honest, he knew Sam could survive without him. Dean wasn’t sure he could survive in a world without Sam—definitely not with Cas gone as well—but his younger brother had always been stronger.

Jack would have Sam. If Dean knew Sam at all, he thinks Sam would take Jack and run. Run as fast and as far as he could. They would settle down in some no name town and try to lead relatively normal lives. Jack could go to school, and Sam get a regular job. Or maybe go back to Law School. Maybe Eileen would be there too. Regardless, they would make it work. And Dean would be happy for them.

The thought of following Cas sounded better and better.

But he had a promise to at least try and uphold.

With great effort, Dean ground those thoughts to halt. He had to stay alive. Otherwise Cas’ sacrifice would be in vein. Cas would kill him if he learned of Dean trying to off himself after Cas had given everything to save him. Who else was going to try and figure out a way to get Cas back? Dean had no doubt Sam would miss Cas, but he wouldn’t go so far as to resurrect him.

Dean’s resolve solidified as he grew tired against the wall. He cried, he prayed, and he thought some more, he missed his angel. But he didn’t waver and eventually he fell asleep.

When he found Sam and Jack the next day, it took everything in him not to break down again right in front of them as they exchanged their events of the last twenty-four hours. Sam was remorseful, just like Dean figured he would be. He held off on telling Sam his plan, they needed to survive the day first.

But when Sam had pulled ahead on their walk to the Impala, Jack leaned in close, and Dean put an arm around him. They walked together. They didn’t need words. Until, Jack thought they did. His voice was low and dangerous, and Dean was instantly reminded of what his adopted son could do.

“I promise you, Dean. If we survive what’s coming, we will get him back.”

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Day 20: Library Hours

Castiel approaches the man slumped over one of the study desks with a small amount of trepidation. With finals week upon them, the students are all on edge. True, this man looks more the age of a young graduate student, like Castiel, but he can’t be too careful at this time in the quarter - summer quarter or no.

Especially this year, when three students have drowned themselves in Lake Michigan, apparently due to the stress.

“Hello?” Castiel tries, poking him in the arm. “The library is closing soon.”

“Wha-?” the man wakes with a start, looking around wildly.

“The library,” Castiel says, stepping back, “it’s closing soon.”

“Shit,” the man says. He rubs a weary hand down his face and scowls at the old newspapers that had been serving as his pillow. “Goddammit,” he mutters.

“Everything will be here tomorrow,” Castiel says testily, crossing his arms over his chest. He always takes the last shift in the library because the foot traffic is lower and he’s less run into hormonal first years having sex in the bookstacks at eleven at night. But that means, in addition to his shelving duties, it also falls to him to kick everyone out at closing.

He scans the newspapers. The man couldn’t have picked a less desirable primary source for his paper. In all his time at the library, he’s never seen anyone check out The Chicago Daily News, circa 1977.

“Right, right,” the man grumbles as he attempts to haphazardly gather the editions into some semblance of order. “Such a fucking waste of time. It’s not like this shit can tell me what drowns people every fucking Thursday since midsummer’s night-”

Castiel pauses, intrigued. “A Nøkk?”

The man freezes. “A what?”

“It’s a Scandinavian water spirit that lures children to drown in lakes and rivers.”

The man gapes at him. “How the hell do you know that?”

Castiel shrugs as he gathers the papers in his arms. “I’m a graduate student specializing in Western folklore.” To his extreme consternation, the man follows him to reshelve the whole pile.

“Do you know how to kill it?” he asks, quick on Castiel’s heels.

Castiel throws him a look. “How to kill a mythical creature?”

“Yeah,” the man says, like it’s the most normal thing to ask, and that Castiel is the crazy one for questioning it. “There’s gotta be a way, right?”

Castiel frowns, his finger skimming along the ‘C’s. Why this particular paper isn’t on microfiche baffles him. “I’ve read that if a victim says its name, it will die.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Castiel pulls down the correct box and rifles through the other editions from the 1970s for the tab with the right year. “Other lore suggests steel can kill it.”

The man grins. “Steel, got it.” He bends down to pick up the now complete box of The Chicago Daily News and heaves it back on the shelf. “Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome?” Castiel says, nonplussed. “Will you leave the library now?”

“On one condition.”

Castiel crosses his arms over his chest. “I have office hours starting at nine in the morning tomorrow and a meeting with my advisor before noon. What do you want?”

The man holds up his hands in a supplicating gesture. “Nothing bad! Just your name.”

After a beat, he huffs, “Castiel Milton.”

“I’m Dean Winchester.”

“Good for you. Now, will you leave?”

Dean smirks. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” He turns to go, giving Castiel a jaunty wave as he spins on his heel.

Castiel honestly forgets about him until Thursday evening and his phone rings. He mutes the television and gets up to pick up the handset from the cradle on the wall. He nearly drops it as gunshots echo through the other end of the line.

“Hello?” he says quickly.

Harsh breathing. “Castiel?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“Dean - from the library,” Dean puffs above the sound of splashing. “We talked about the nookie whatever? I got your number from the yellow pages. Look, I put a dozen steel bullets in it, and it’s not dead yet. What else?”

Castiel frowns. “Are you seriously asking me how to kill a supernatural water horse?”

“I’ll explain later,” Dean says hurriedly. “But I need an answer, like, five minutes ago.”

Castiel rubs his forehead, not quite believing he’s indulging the man. “Did any of the steel go in the lake?”

“What? No, I’m a fucking ace shot - shit.”

“Dean?” Castiel tries, alarmed.

“Still here,” Dean huffs. “Damn rocks are slippery. How a fucking horse doesn’t eat it, I have no idea.”

“Drop the steel in the water. Don’t shoot the horse.”

“What the fuck?”

“Ideally with three drops of your blood on it.”

“Great,” Dean says sourly. “Good thing I tripped.”

There’s two almighty bangs on the other end of the line, and Castiel waits with bated breath until he hears Dean say, “Holy shit, I think it worked. I shot the horse again, just in case.”

Castiel laughs weakly, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “Of course.”

“Look, I can’t thank you enough,” Dean says, breathing heavily. “I’ll let you go. Get back to your professoring, and all that jazz.”

Before Dean hangs up, Castiel asks, “But you’re okay now?”

Dean chuckles, the sound warm and just a bit manic. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He hangs up.

Castiel flips to the local news, but there’s no mention of a Nøkk running wild along the shores of Lake Michigan. Because that would be ridiculous.

He’d been ready to put Dean and his probable horse-related delusions entirely out of his mind, but Dean strolls into the library cafe halfway through Castiel’s office hours the next morning.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says as Dean sheepishly shuffles towards his table. “How can I help you?”

“More than you already have, Indy?” Dean asks, laughing lightly. “Are you in the middle of something?”

Castiel glances around, but he doesn’t spy any of his students lurking at the entrance or nearby tables. “I don’t think so,” he says, gesturing to his seat.

But Dean doesn’t sit down. “I have something to show you.”

Castiel’s eyebrows rise. “What?”

“Come on, you know that ruins the surprise,” Dean says, jerking his head towards the door.

Castiel sighs but gets up from his chair. He’s already indulged Dean this far; he might as well see it through.

Dean leads him out the library doors and into the muggy Chicago summer heat. They cross the small lawn separating the library from the street, where a big black car is gleaming. Dean pats her hood affectionately as he walks around to the back. He glances around for any curious eyes, but it’s too hot for students to linger anywhere without copious air conditioning. He pops the trunk, and Castiel peers inside.

He jumps back, nearly falling on his ass.

Dean, at least, isn’t smiling. He says quietly, “Just wanted to show I’m not as cuckoo for cocoa puffs as you thought.”

Castiel leans forward again, his mouth agape. “Is that,” he asks faintly, staring at the moon-white horse’s head, its mouth open in a snarl, a viscous black grime coating its bared teeth. Its eyes are bright neon green, even in death.

“Yeah,” Dean says, slamming the trunk closed. “Wouldn’t want to wake up with that in your bed, huh?”

“What?”

Dean throws him a look. “The Godfather?”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“You haven’t seen-?” Dean breaks off, shaking his head. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “I just stopped by to say thank you. If you didn’t pick up the phone, I would’ve been Seabiscuit chow.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say. “I - I’m glad I could help.” He stares down at the closed trunk, and he can almost imagine the dead Nøkk’s eyes staring up at him.

“Hey,” Dean says, diverting his attention, “I want you to have my number too.” He roots around in the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a business card.

“John Bohham, FBI?” Castiel reads out loud, brow furrowing.

“Not my real name,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “real number, though.” He waits until Castiel meets his gaze before saying, “Let me know if you run into anything… weird.”

“How weird?”

Dean’s face breaks out into a smile. “You’re the folklore expert. I’m sure you’ll recognize the signs. I already have yours,” he says. “I hope it’s okay if I call you when I get stumped with a hunt like yesterday.”

“A hunt - oh, of course,” Castiel says quickly.

“Great,” Dean says as he bypasses Castiel to pull open the car door. “I’ve gotta go. I heard there’s a vamp nest in Tucson.” He climbs in, staring up at Castiel, one corner of his mouth raised into a rakish grin. “You take care of yourself, sweetheart, you hear?”

Struck dumb, Castiel can only nod as Dean starts the engine and drives off.

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Day 20: Library Hours

Sam sends Cas and Dean on an errand to the library for a specific book. Dean has some ideas about what else they can get up to.

Rating: Explicit || Word Count: 1830 || Dean’s old leather jacket makes a tiny kinky appearance || PWP/Smut

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Dean and Cas ascend the weird slanted steps between the large columns of the Kansas City Public library. On the way in, they passed the little sign that told guests the Library Hours.  Sam had sent them here to retrieve a very specific copy of some occult book none of the small town libraries in or around Lebanon had.

This monumental building was huge compared to the tiny one in Lebanon. That one was in a small tin like building that had a few childrens books, some nonfiction stuff and mostly shit nobody cared about. Dean had never heard Sam refer to a library as useless until he’d made a trip to the Lebanon library.

He’d heard there was an old bank vault in this library. Apparently it had been turned into some theatre for stuffy guys in suits to give business presentations. What a waste. He’d still like to see it, but that wasn’t what they were here for. In fact they needed to hurry it up since they only had about thirty minutes before the library closed at nine.

It was pretty empty, only a few guests sitting at tables and browsing shelves. It was Wednesday after all. Nothing happens on Wednesdays.

“This way.” Cas says suddenly, pointing to the steps for the second level. Dean frowns.

“How do you know?” Cas side eyes him.

“Sam made sure to check they had the copy on hand and then located what section it would be in. It would be easier than searching… this.” And he gestures to the entirety of the enormous library.

“Right. Well good thinking.” He follows Cas up the stairs, subtly and not so subtly checking his boyfriend's ass out. Not that he needs to, he’s seen it plenty of times, clothed and sans. It had been quite the fight to convince Cas to ditch the suit and trench coat look every now and then.

“Come on, Cas, you look good in a little less clothes.” Dean had told him cheekily a few months ago. It’s not like it was a lie. And slowly, very slowly, Cas had started borrowing some of Dean’s clothes. This was both good and dangerous. Good because, well, Cas looked fuckin hot in jeans and a band t shirt. And dangerous, because, well, Cas looked fuckin hot in jeans and a band t shirt.

The real danger came when Cas had donned his Dad’s old leather jacket. Dean never wore it— not since the first apocalypse—so that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that when Dean realized what he was wearing he had had the immediate urge to tell him to take it off, that it was a sentimental thing and also a little weird. But for whatever reason, he’d bit his tongue, gauging the look a little more. The longer he looked, the more the blood started to rush south.

Dean has daddy issues, he knows. He didn’t know how bad they could be until that day. The jacket admittedly inspired quite the attractive fantasy for Dean. Not for his dad obviously, for Cas. Which was oddly… rewarding. Both sexually and mentally. The jacket had a different space in his heart now, the stipulation being Cas wasn’t allowed to wear it in public. Dean feared for his sanity.

Currently, Cas was naked compared to previous standards, dressed in just worn jeans and a navy henley shirt with the sleeves pushed to elbows. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Once they’d located the book—rather quickly thanks to Sam planning ahead, they still had about twenty minutes until closing and Cas decided he wanted to roam the shelves and see what humans had come up with over the years. Dean had shrugged, following along behind him, always willing to indulge his angel.

He wouldn’t lie though, it was pretty fucking boring. There weren’t other people around, most if not all of them on the first level and he had yet to actually to see a staff member. It was this train of thinking that got his mind wandering in a… certain direction.

He saddled up to Cas, knocking into him lightly to get his attention. “Pretty empty up here.”

Cas barely gave him a glance, clearly not understanding where Dean’s mind was. It was endearing. “I… suppose.” He goes back to gazing over the books, but Dean can feel him tense when he wraps an arm around him, placing his mouth next to  Cas’ ear.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck in a library.” He adds emphasis on the word merely to get to Cas.

Read the smut

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Day 19: Eighty-Sixed

Mature | Mobster!castiel/waiter!dean | Destiel | 2,720

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

Dean had a standing date every Thursday night with an incredibly attractive Russian businessman. Well, “date” may have been a little misleading, given that Dean was at work and the Russian businessman was someone Dean waited on. Whatever Dean could think what he wanted about it in the privacy of his own head. 

The truth was, though Dean had his share of regulars who requested him and tipped very well, this guy was different. Maybe it was in the way the man called him meelyi, what Dead had been told was a Russian term of endearment in response to Dean teasingly calling him “sweetheart.” Maybe it was the way the man’s eyes followed him around the restaurant, eying him over the rim of a wineglass or as he chewed slowly, Dean feeling the attention like a caress. Maybe it was the sinister-looking men that always accompanied him but didn’t always share a table with him. Dean knew what a gun looked like under a suit coat and these guys were definitely not feds. It gave the Russian an air of danger and Dean was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. 

So Thursdays, yeah, Dean looked forward to them and it was on just such a Thursday that Dean was covering two sections, one of the other waitresses calling in sick so he was running a bit behind. He hadn’t even noticed that Castiel had been seated until he felt the brush of fingertips against his arm as he passed and looked down into deep sea-colored eyes.

“Oh, hey Cas!” Dean grinned and his eyes fell to his water glass, nearly half empty. “Shit have you been waiting long? I’m sorry-“

“Do not worry. I can see you’re busy.” He gave Dean a small smile and Dean smiled back, ears turning pink. 

“Yeah, one of the girls called in. I’ll grab you a glass of wine and be right back.”

“Take your time, meelyi.”

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