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vaicomcas · 2 months

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Expendable from beginning to end

This is just a rehash of bitter Cas feelings that's already been discussed, but I can't help it after reading this 5x21 dialog. It's unreal if you really think about the situation.

CASTIEL: Dean? DEAN: Cas? DEAN: We all thought you were Dead. Where the hell are you, man? CASTIEL: A hospital. DEAN: Are you okay? CASTIEL: No. DEAN: You want to elaborate? CASTIEL: I just woke up here. The doctors were fairly surprised. They thought I was brain-dead. DEAN: S-so, a hospital? CASTIEL: Apparently, after Van Nuys, I suddenly appeared, bloody and unconscious, on a shrimping boat off Delacroix. I'm told it upset the sailors. DEAN: Uh, well, I got to tell you, man -- You're just in time. We figured out a way to pop Satan's box. CASTIEL: How? DEAN It's a long story, but, look --we're going after Pestilence now. So if you want to zap over here...

@lerry-hazel pointed out in a comment: "they cheerfully went with "I guess Cas is dead" instead of trying to figure out if he needs help - even though they had no reason to believe an angel can die from banishing sigil."

Yeah... If they all truly believed Cas was dead, it was pretty callous that they didn't express any sadness about his death in any way in 5x19 or 5x20 (funny though, how it would then parallel 15x19 and 15x20).

What's more, Dean banished Castiel in 5x18. If he believed angels could die from banishment, that means he meant to kill Cas just to get his way (or at least OK with the possibility).

However, and not because that would be OOC of him, I don't believe that Dean really thought Castiel was dead. It was a convenient lie the three humans told each other to justify not giving a damn about Castiel's life.

Then, when Castiel turned up alive, there was not a hint of relief, just hostility. "We all thought you were Dead. Where the hell are you, man?"

Wouldn't the normal (decent) reaction be, "We all thought you were Dead. Glad you are not, man."

No. Dean was angry that Castiel had the audacity to be alive yet not at his beck and call.

Then Castiel explained that he was basically "brain dead" since Van Nuys. Dean did not even say one word to acknowledge what Cas went through. Cas woke up "just in time" to be ordered around by Dean.

Castiel was gravely injured, comatose, powerless, stranded (from helping his friends); the sailors were upset, the doctors were surprised, but these "friends" had zero reaction to any of it.

They had less than zero reaction to it. They demanded that he immediately get out of his hospital bed and help them half way across the country. Once he did that, and saved their lives and their cause yet again, Bobby berated him for being sad over losing his powers. "Are you really going to bitch, to me? Quit pining for varsity years, load the damn truck".

We sometimes say the Winchesters used Castiel as a tool. But people show more concern and care even for their tools. Castiel didn't need to wait till season 11 for Ambriel to declare him as "expendable", or till season 15 for Belphegor to point out the same; if this scene isn't proof of that I don't know what is.

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Bonus 100% unnecessary footnote: How long was Castiel comatose for (from end of 5x18 to here, beginning of 5x21)?

I estimated 1-3 weeks. Castiel had been unconscious for 1-3 weeks.

I mapped the locations of each episode between Van Nuys and this moment: southern CA; Munice Indiana; western Nevada; sioux falls Indiana. If they drove without stopping it would take 80 hours. Considering they would need to stop even assuming they took turns driving, and also had to do a lot of things in the plot like staying a night in a hotel with all the gods of other religions and killing some of them, I very conservatively doubled the time to 160 hours, about 1 week.

If we go with episode airing dates then it's been about 3 weeks.

#castiel #Dean winchester being an asshole #dean critical #bobby critical #anti winchesters #bitter cas girl #spn 5x21 #justice for castiel

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hintsofhoney · 7 months

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Don't Forget It

Paring(s): Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: While working a case with Dean, he gets jealous of the way you interact with a suspect and decides to remind you who you belong to.

Tags: 18+, p in v, unprotected sex (be smart), rough sex, jealous dean, spanking, light dom/sub dynamics, sex in a public place, begging, voyeurism if you squint

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Just another finished work that's been sitting in my drive, collecting dust. Beta'd by my loves @makeadealwithdean and @wayward-dreamer; love you both to the moon and back 🤍 GIF is mine. Enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

You don’t miss the way Dean’s eyebrow raises when you lift one leg to sit on the man’s desk, twirling your hair and batting your eyelashes as you try to get him to confess. You’re fully aware of the way your pencil skirt is riding up, revealing more skin than you care to show to this douchebag probably-murderer, but it’s clear that he’s way more interested in speaking to you than Dean. If it helps move the case along, you can turn on the charm.

Dean’s watching you from the corner of the room as you flirt with the sleazebag, his jaw clenching as he reminds himself that you’re just doing your job, but it doesn’t make him want to remind you who you belong to any less. Especially when you look like that . Tight skirt, the top three buttons of your blouse undone, and then when you lean over pretending to laugh at something this guy had said, he catches a glimpse of your black lace bra, and he finds himself trying not to think about ripping it off of you. Not that it was working.

“You know, you’re a pretty little thing, Agent,” the man smirks, and then he’s reaching for the exposed part of your thigh and you’re wishing he wouldn’t , and Dean clears his throat so loudly it startles the both of you. You hop off the desk as the suspect turns around to look at him.

“I think we’re done here,” Dean says, walking over to the desk and pulling a fake business card with his real phone number on it out of his inner suit jacket pocket. “If you remember anything, Mr. McAnn, give me a call.” He tosses the card carelessly onto his desk.

Mr. McAnn huffs. “Yeah, alright, Agent.”

You and Dean both know the phone call isn’t coming; you’re going to need to find another way to prove the dickhead sitting in front of you murdered his wife — possessed or not.

“Let’s go, Y/N,” Dean grits out, his eyes not leaving Mr. McAnn’s as he walks to the door. You follow suit, and the anger in your boyfriend’s voice doesn’t go unnoticed. Dean’s already ten steps ahead of you by the time you’re fully out of the office.

“Dean!” you call after him, speed-walking to match his brisk pace down whatever corporate building hallway you were in. “Slow down, I’m in heels!”

You catch up to him and grab his wrist, spinning him around.

“The hell’s gotten into you?”

He huffs in disbelief, his hands coming to rest on his hips as he tongues the inside of his cheek, thinking of how to answer that question.

“You can’t be serious,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest and raising your eyebrows, realizing what’s gotten his panties in a twist. “I was trying to get him to confess , Dean.”

“I’m not — I know. Okay? But —” he pauses, beginning to stalk towards you, a hunger in his eyes that tells you exactly where this interaction is heading. You nearly trip over yourself as you walk backwards, a soft gasp leaving your lips when your back hits the wall. “Doesn’t mean I like watching you slutting it up for the asshole.”

He’s got you fully caged in between his arms now, one hand on either side of your shoulders, his face inches away from yours.

“You’re mine .”

You roll your eyes. As hot as he is when he’s jealous and possessive, it’s not like he can fuck you in this hallway. Plus, he’s being ridiculous anyway.

“Your point ?” you prod, probably further than you should.

“My —” he huffs again, his hands back on his hips, shaking his head before looking around. “Oh, I’ll show you my fucking point, sweetheart.”

He grabs your wrist, ignoring your squeal, and drags you a few feet down the hall, turning into the women’s bathroom and locking the door behind him. His eyes quickly scan underneath the three stalls before he determines the two of you are alone.

“Dean —”

He cuts off your protest with his hands on your waist, walking you back into the nearby sinks before hoisting you up onto the counter.

“Dean!” you yelp in surprise.

He pays it no mind as he reaches for your blouse, tearing it open in one quick motion, plastic buttons clattering to the floor.

“Dean!” you scold, and Jesus, how many times can you say his name in different ways in one minute?

He remains unphased, focused on two things and two things only, both of which he reveals as he pulls down the cups of your bra.

“Christ, Y/N,” he breathes, cupping your breasts in his hands as he stares at them like it’s his first time ever seeing boobs. His thumbs flick over both of your nipples at the same time, and you arch your back as a moan escapes you.

“Mm, fuck.”

He leans in, his breath fanning over your earlobe as he continues tweaking your nipples. “Might as well have shown that dickhead in there these fuckin’ tits, the way your shirt was hanging open. Left really fuckin’ little to the imagination, Y/N,” he whispers, drawing more sounds from your throat. “He was probably sitting there thinking about doing all the things I’m doing to you right now. And I don’t like that. That’s my fuckin’ point.” He pinches one of your nipples, a yelp leaving your lips. “Understand?”

You nod, unable to form words.

“I can’t hear you.” He pinches the other peak and pulls a little.

“Oh — fuck! Yes, I understand,” you answer. “I’m yours, I’m yours.”

“And don’t forget it.”

His lips find your breasts, and soon he’s sucking bruises into your skin and teasing your nipples with his tongue. He’s everywhere at once, everywhere but where you really need him, and you’re not sure how much more of this torture you can take.

“Dean, please,” you gasp, and he lets out an irritated grunt as he pulls his mouth off one of your breasts, seeming annoyed that you had interrupted his fun with your begging. You can’t blame him – he’s a boob guy. Especially if they’re your boobs.

“I’m not done yet,” he states, before resuming his attack – for lack of a better word – on your breasts.

You groan in protest, the heat between your thighs building, and you spread your legs as far as your skirt will allow. The cool air that hits your core reminds you that you had chosen to forego underwear today, and you reach down to shimmy your skirt up to your hips while Dean’s still focused on your breasts. You’re able to spread your legs a bit further now, and you can’t help but chuckle at the fact that your boyfriend still hasn’t noticed you fully on display.

He pulls away an inch or so when he hears your giggling. “Somethin’ funny?”

“You really are a boob guy, huh?” You shake your head in disbelief, biting back a smile. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, and you use the opportunity to lean forward, simultaneously pulling him towards you by his shoulders so you can whisper in his ear. “You’ve been so focused on them you haven’t taken the time to look down yet, have you?”

He pulls away, still confused, until his eyes dart down to your core. “Jesus – wait – did you –”

“Was debating between those panties you really like or just foregoing them altogether,” you shrug.

“Fuck,” he breathes, staring at your dripping core for a few moments before a second wave of feral hunger hits him. “ Fuck .”

Before you can even process his movements, you’re bent over the counter instead of sitting on it, your legs kicked apart with two fingers plunging into your heat.

“Oh my – Dean !” you squeal at both the abruptness and the roughness of it all.

“Don’t know what you expected, sweetheart, walking around with everything on fuckin’ display.” He crooks his fingers at just the right angle, and you bite back a scream.

“I – fuck – nothing w-was on display – oh God !”

“Might as well have been. This tight little skirt of yours doesn’t leave much to the imagination, either. And then to find out there’s been nothing underneath it this whole time?”

“Ow!” you exclaim, as a loud smack fills the air, courtesy of Dean’s hand landing on your bare ass.

“ Louder ,” he growls. “I want the whole fuckin’ building to know they can imagine whatever they want, but I’m the only one who gets to act on it.” He pulls his fingers out of you and spanks you again.

“De – oh, fuck !” you choke out. “Please, Dean.”

“Please what?” he asks nonchalantly, and you can hear his belt buckle clinking behind you.

“Fuck me. Please, I need you to fuck me.”

“ Need me to, huh?” You hear the zipper of his slacks, and you shift your weight in anticipation, your ass squirming. He lands another smack on your left cheek – the hardest one yet.

“DEAN!” you yelp, and you’re certain the entire building heard that one.

“There you go. Now beg that loud and I may just give you what you want,” he chuckles, grabbing a fistful of your hair and bringing your face up from the counter while he runs his cock through your soaked folds.

“Please!” you groan.

“Mm-mm, not hearin’ you, sweetheart.”

“Deaaaan!” you whine, pushing your hips back, trying to force him inside you.

“You know what to do, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath – there’s only so much of this you can take. You focus on his cock teasing your folds for a few moments, and that’s all the encouragement you need.

“Please, Dean! Please, fuck me!”

“That’s better. Louder.”

“Jesus fucking – FUCK ME, NOW!”

You’re rewarded immediately, and he bottoms out inside you with ease.

“Was that so hard?”

“Fuck me,” you reply through gritted teeth, “or I’m gonna go get Mr. McAnn to do it.”

That is both the very wrong and very right thing to say.

You yelp as he yanks up harder on your hair, your chest leaving the counter. His hand moves to rest on your neck – not choking you, simply holding you in place – and then he pounds into you harder than he ever has before.

“You are something else, you know that?” he hisses, his thrusts hard and fast. “I know you were only acting like a slut for Mr. Douchebag back there, but it just comes so – fucking – easy – to you, doesn’t it?” He punctuates his words with more thrusts. “And not wearin’ any underwear – that wasn’t for the act, hm? That was because you were hopin’ to end up like this, yeah?” His hand moves from your throat to grip underneath your jaw when you fail to answer. “ Yeah ?”

“Yeah – oh m-my God – fuck , D-Deaaan.”

He smirks, watching you in the mirror above the counter as you slowly come apart on his cock. “No, you don’t have to act like a slut for me, sweetheart. You just are one, hm?”

You nod to the best of your ability.

“Open your eyes, look at yourself,” he orders, his grip on your jaw tightening as his thrusts speed up. You do as you’re told, meeting your reflection in the mirror. You’re not sure if your mascara is smudged because of sweat or tears, your hair looks like a bird has made its home in it, and you can’t remember a time that you’ve looked this fucked out. “See what I mean?” Dean questions. “Sluttiest you’ve ever fuckin’ looked. Not that I’m complaining.”

You feel the dam inside you about to break, and you let out a whimper in warning.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, almost out of breath, his tone laced with pity. “Are you gonna cum?”

“Mm-hm,” you nod, whimpering again.

“You like being my slut that much, hm?”

“Dean, please,” you beg, squeezing your eyes shut, stalling your release as much as you can. You’re not sure why – it’s not like you have to wait for his permission – but you find yourself wanting it.

“Christ, Y/N,” he breathes, quickly realizing what you’re asking for. His thrusts are becoming erratic, and you know he’s close too. “Hold it, baby. Can you do that?”

“I don’t –”

“Mmm, I think you can. I’m – fuck – I’m close. Be a good little slut and hold it. Want you – shit – want you to cum with me, sweetheart.”

You find yourself nodding, focusing on Dean’s pants in your ear instead of the precipice of your release, and a few seconds go by before expletives are falling from his lips and you know it’s safe for you to let go.

Your dam breaks. “Oh, God – fuck – Dean!”

“Fuuuuuck,” he moans, filling you up. He lets his forehead fall to your shoulder as he catches his breath, post-orgasmic shivers running through him as you ride out your high, your walls clenching around his cock. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he pants, lifting his head to press a kiss behind your ear. “Such a perfect fuckin’ slut.”

You manage a soft giggle as your body settles. “Only for you, babe.”

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder as he stares at your reflection in the mirror.

“And don’t you forget it.”

#dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader

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