#dean would actually have preferred if he walked in on them fucking rather than what he actually walks in on

[quietwingsinthesky]

fuck u *queerplatonics your samifer*

[justanotherinsanity]

Chapter 1

Welp, here goes a story that keeps plaguing my mind. It'll be good but it doesn't have a title yet so you can suggest something (as the story unfolds because obviously no one knows what's going on right now)

Irene would rather be anywhere but here. She preferred standing on top of a dying man with a scalpel than mingling with these investors. She didn't want to fit herself in the tight, crimson dress or come to their sophisticated ball but her hospital administrators insisted that she, they mentioned her by name, attend.

She had better things to do than laugh and shake hands. She could be using this time for sleep. Or even reading that irritating neurosurgeon's new research. Anything other than attending this glorified party. She was tired of grinning, her facial muscles ached and her social persona would not hold much longer. One would think that with years of practice, it would be more natural and less tiring.

Well, it was more natural. Irene had found that her calm smile was almost always plastered on her face but that didn't mean her brain felt like digging a hole and staying in it for the following week- or even month afterwards.

"Ah, Miss Elizah, nice to see you here," Irene turned around at the mention of her surname. She had to use all her willpower to hold in a groan; Jonathan Adam was walking her way. He was a huge, moustached man with an ego bigger than his bulging stomach- the epitome of a stereotypical businessman. He also happened to own much of the land her hospital was placed on. "How's your evening?"

"It's quite nice, the hall looks unrecognizable with all the lights and... people," the brunette cringed at her lack of a good compliment.

"Yes, Jonathan sent a lot of invites," he's about to whine about his son, "Against my better judgement," yep, there it was.

"Well, you know how the young generation is, they are quite rebellious. I'm sure he'll come to his senses as he matures." Irene wished Jonathan Junior would never come to his senses - not if it meant he'd end up like his father.

"Ah, well," he waved a huge hand, seriously huge, so much so that Irene found herself wondering if he had fluid retention, "I'm glad you and the rest of the hospital's actual staff came."

"Yes, we were informed that it's quite an important gathering," she took a huge gulp of her champagne knowing that Jonathan would not stop talking anytime soon.

"Indeed, you see, the owners of the land of Kira Medical Center and I have decided we're taking down the hospital."

"What?" Irene almost spat out her champagne, but she calmed her mind before jumping to any crazy conclusions, "For renovation?" she asked, hopeful.

"No, it will not be a hospital anymore. That land is in too good a location to be a medical clinic."

"So what happens to the hospital? What happens to the staff?"

Jonathan was about to answer when someone else called the physician, "Irene, there you are! I've been looking for you," it was Wren, one of the nurses who frequently joined Irene's operations. Any other time Irene would be grateful for a rescue from Jonathan Adam, but right now she needed answers, "Mr Adam, I hope I can steal Miss Elizah for a second."

"Of course, we were done anyway," Irene let out a soft scoff, they were not at all!

"Wren, just give me a second," she whispered, but Jonathan had already left the scene, "That little shit."

"Irene, you've gotta meet these-"

"Do you know the hospital is going to be taken down?"

"I..." he hesitated, "I heard a rumour."

"And you didn't think to tell me?!"

"You're the one who reminds me every single day that you don't do gossip!"

"Oh my God, this isn't gossip! This is our fucking future!"

"Calm down, okay, Henry won't just unleash us. Just come and meet these people and tell them about how nice the plot is and whatever and leave."

Irene couldn't believe what she was hearing. Sure, Wren wasn't her friend, but he was her closest work colleague. He should've told her about the hospital Dean's plan. She took in a breath and smiled once more.

"Fine, but you're not allowed the enter any of my next week's operations."

Wren just shook his head before guiding her to a group of younger people. Irene didn't remember anything from the blur of blondes, glimmering dresses and fancy suits. She didn't even remember their questions, let alone her responses to them.

Her career had only been stable for two years! This can't be happening now.

"Yes, it was nice to meet you too," she scrambled out of the hall.

The chilly night air was a welcome sensation. Irene didn't know what to feel. She was furious and distressed and she felt her control slipping.

"1, 2, 3, 4," she counted her breaths, using the same technique she's used since medical school to calm her racing mind. She wasn't going to have a panic attack, or whatever was coming, out in the open. She'd do it in the safety of her home.

"It's going to be fine," she thought, "I can deal with anything."

-----------

BEEP BEEP BEEP

"Ugh," Irene groaned at her obnoxious alarm. She felt like she barely slept two hours.

As she stepped out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, her phone rang again, but it wasn't an alarm this time- it was the hospital.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Elizah, Mary Sager is here with a seizure, you need to be here as quickly as possible."

Irene grimaced, Mary Sager was a sweet little girl who happened to frequent their hospital many times because of her brain tumour.

"I'm on my way," Irene ended the phone call before quickly grabbing her scrubs. She only had time to briskly brush her teeth before she rushed to her car.

By the time she was at the hospital, she was solely focused on saving the little girl's life. So much so that she forgot the very anxiety-inducing event that took place on her way to the hospital.

~997 words ♡

[samdeancass]

They Get Hit With A Spell That Turns Them Into a Cat/Dog (Supernatural Preference)

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Jack

Warnings: None.

Requested: Yes, by Anonymous.

____________________________________________

Dean

Dean had been uncharacteristically quiet on the ride home from the hunt which really concerned you. “Dean, are you sure that spell hasn’t done anything? Your really quiet, which isn’t like you.” You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and rubbed your thumb across it. “M’fine. Just tired.” You nodded your head and turned to look out of the window, slowly drifting into sleep. 

You awoke when Dean pulled into the garage. He switched the engine off and exited the car, heading straight towards your shared room. You followed him, only to be stopped by Sam in the library. “Hey, Y/N. How’d the hunt go? I tried to ask Dean but he just walked into the room.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know. The witch hit him with a spell but it doesn’t seem to have done anything.” Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound right. Let me do some research and I’ll get back to you.”

You nodded your head and made way towards your room. You lightly tapped on the door but you received no answer so you headed straight in, letting out a gasp at the sight that you saw. On the floor in front of you lay a German Shepard wearing the remnants of what seemed to be Dean’s flannel. 

“Err, Sam!” Loud footsteps sounded behind you and stopped in the doorway. “I think we’ve found out what the spell has done.” You elbowed Sam in the ribs when he began to laugh. “Oh c’mon, Y/N. You’ve got to admit, this is kinda funny.” A little smirk found its way onto your lips. “It really is, but I would much rather a human boyfriend than a dog one, thank you. So get researching!”

Sam

You were quite worried about Sam. He had been hit by a spell with unknown consequences and he was acting as if everything was normal. “Sam, are you sure you’re alright? I mean, you got blasted pretty hard with that spell.” He looked down at you and entwined his fingers with yours. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. If the spell was that serious, it would have taken effect already.” Sam brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it. You tried your best to push your worries to the back of your mind but it was proving pretty tricky. 

You and Sam were the only ones in the bunker as Dean had taken Cas and Jack to a nearby bar. Sam excused himself to take a shower so you took it upon yourself to unpack all of the weapons. After a while, you noticed that you couldn’t hear any noise coming from yours and Sam’s shared bedroom so, being the curious person you are, you decided to investigate.

“Sam?” You knocked lightly on the door and waited for an answer, but nothing came. You pushed open the door and walked into the bathroom and there you found a quite large Golden Retriever, wearing remnants of Sam’s flannel. “I knew something was going to happen! Why don’t you ever listen to me, Sammy?” Kneeling down in front of him, you began to stroke Sam’s fur whilst ringing Dean on speed dial.

“Hello?” A gruff voice answered, so you knew that Dean had been drinking. He wasn’t going to take this seriously. “D, I need your help. Me and Sam have come back from our case, but Sam got hut by a spell. At first, nothing happened but when we came back to the bunker, the spell took affect and Sam’s now sitting on the bathroom floor..... in dog form.”

Loud laughter sounded on the other end of the line. “Seriously, Sammy’s a dog?! I have to see this! We’re on our way!”

Cas

You weren’t worried at all when Cas got hit with a witches’ spell, after all he is an angel and angel’s didn’t really become affected by spells. So that’s why you found it very strange when you came back to the motel room to find a Persian cat sat on the bed, surrounded by Cas’s trenchcoat.

Slowly, you walked towards the cat. The closer you got, the more the cats head turned to the side. “Fuck.” Immediately, you got your phone out of your pocket and dialled Sam’s number. A few rings later and Sam answered the phone. “Y/N? Is everything Ok?” “Well.... not really. You wouldn’t happen to know how to turn an angel back to their true form after being turned into a cat by a witches’ spell, would you?”

Jack

Jack was a little worried when he got hit by the spell. It was his first hunt and he didn’t know how it would affect him, given that he was half-archangel and half human. You tried your best to console Jack but part of you feared that something was going to come of it.

You left him in the capable hands of the Winchesters whilst you went to get a shower. You loved the feeling of washing the grime away after a hunt, there was nothing like it. It was the only time that you actually got a minute to yourself, given that you live with two grown men, an angel and an archangel child. 

“Y/N, we think that you may want to see this!” You inwardly groaned and leant your head against the tiled wall. “Why can they never cope without me for longer than a minute?!” You got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around your body before walking towards the map table where you found Sam and Dean surrounding a Norwegien Forest Cat walking across the table.

“Er, guys. Why in the holy hell is there a cat on the map table.” Sam rubbed the back of his head with his hand. “That cat is actually Jack. Turns out that the spell did affect him.” You held your head in your hands. “Why do things like this always happen to us? Please hurry and find a cure before I go crazy!”

Supernatural Tags: 

@akshi8278 @stellastyless @deascheck 

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 1

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite, who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310, @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria. Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 1806

Additional note: I'm afraid I'll disappoint some of you. No more newspapers... The articles defined the setting of the story. From now on, it'll be a regular fic.

Hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

June 2021

Ivar yawns, rubbing his eyes, when he suddenly hears the front door open. The next moment, Ubbe shouts, "Hey baby bro, we're home!"

Slightly confused, Ivar looks at the time on his computer. Stunned, he blinks repeatedly, shakes his head and checks the time again, now looking at his watch. "Guess I lost track of time," he mumbles as he realizes it's really 5:30 pm. He clears his throat. "I'm coming!"

Yawning once more, he wheels to the kitchen. Hvitserk waves at him with one hand as Ubbe greets him with a grin and Sigurd... Well, Sigurd ignores him, as usual.

"Hello boys!" Lagertha smiles as she also enters the kitchen. "Did you go to the beach this afternoon?" It's a rethorical question, since sand can be seen on the tanned skin of his brothers, shirtless and wearing only swimming shorts.

When she looks down at him, her smile becomes softer. "Ivar, you seem tired. Did you work all day long?"

He nods, glad that for once she called him by his first name and not by one of those stupid nicknames that she likes but that make his skin crawl.

"Yep," he shrugs without smiling back, "I made good progress. The new version of your website is almost done. It could probably be online by the end of the week."

His stepmom flashes him a beaming smile. "Great, thanks!"

The conversation then moves on to the subject that everyone in Kattegat has been talking about for the last few days: the midsummer party thrown by their neighbor Harald Hårfager. Every June, it is Kattegat's not-to-be-missed event, to which every resident hopes to be invited.

Lagertha is invited every year, yet rarely attends; his brothers wouldn't miss it, not in a million years; Ivar never went.

He listens with half an ear as his brothers prattle on about the upcoming party, while taking a seat at the large, wooden kitchen table on which Lagertha has just put cakes and drinks.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Do you think Marit will attend this year?"

"Hopefully the music will be better than last year."

"Can't be as bad! What was the name of that reggae band?"

For a fleeting moment, Ivar entertains the thought of attending as well. Not that he's dying to, but… Sometimes, he feels a little bit like Cinderella in this house.

Don't get him wrong, it's not that bad.

First, his stepmom is not–

Wait, wait, wait, is Lagertha technically his stepmom? He's not sure. After all, she wasn't when his parents were alive, she was just his father's first wife. Anyway, she may be his guardian now, but he sees her as his stepmom and he honestly doesn’t give a shit if it's a little weird.

Where was he? Oh yes, Cinderella.

So obviously, Lagertha is not a wicked, haughty and abusive stepmom like this Lady Tremaine of the fairytale.

Actually, even if it pisses him off to admit it, she's pretty nice, patient and composed. Does he love her? Let's not exaggerate – he doesn't. She may love him though, which is a little bit uncanny, if he's being honest. He was the favorite son of her nemesis. Shouldn't she hate him? He would, if the situation was reversed.

The truth is, when he was younger, he tried, he really tried to hate her, blaming her for everything and anything. When too much pain prevented him from sleeping, he let his imagination run wild. There, bound to his bed of suffering, he could see Lagertha cutting the brakes on his mother's car, causing her crash, causing her death.

Of course, even then, he knew deep down that Lagertha had not killed his mother; that the story he told himself was just the product of his endless nights of insomnia. But what can he say? He needed this. Because blaming Lagertha rather than admitting that his beloved mother was at fault – by being distracted, or by falling asleep, he'll never know – was easier for the heartbroken boy he was.

Anyway... So yes, Lagertha is definitely not an evil stepmother like Cinderella's.

Also, he doesn't sleep on a sorry garret, on a wretched straw bed either.

Actually, he has a very large room on the main floor, with a king-size memory foam bed, a walk-in – well, a wheel-in for his case – closet and his own, huge bathroom, fully equipped for his special needs.

Sure, the bathroom and the dressing room were already there when his parents were alive; however, the memory foam mattress had been Lagertha's idea.

Anyway... So yes, he can't exactly complain about his sleeping conditions, unlike Cinderella.

And obviously, he's not forced into servitude.

Actually, one might think so, but no, he's not. Sure, sometimes he works for his stepmom, like today. But so do his brothers. When she had taken them in, she was a powerful businesswoman, working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Once she had become their guardian, she had rearranged her working time and learned to delegate; but even so, she had often run out of time. Therefore, it had seemed normal to them – yes, even to him – to help her out, each of them according to their skills and abilities.

So, while Hvitserk almost always does the grocery shopping, while Sigurd vacuums and does the laundry, while Ubbe mows the lawn and trim the bushes, he, Ivar, runs her company's website and sometimes even does the accounting. And since he loves computers and numbers, it's not exactly a problem.

Anyway... So yes, he's not a slave in this house. Unlike Cinderella.

So, yes, to sum it up, he can't really complain and he's by far not Cinderella. And he knows it.

But... Yes, there's a but...

Sometimes, he feels trapped, as poor Cinderella must have felt.

Sometimes he feels like a spectator of a life he doesn't belong to.

Sure, he doesn't have to be homeschooled – but gods, he's glad he is. The reasons for him to be continuously bullied by classmates are endless. The simplest ones being: he is a cripple, an orphan, the son of a dead mob boss, the smartest one in the whole damn school, let alone his class. Take your pick. It's no fun, no fun at all. Being home alone is preferable to that alternative.

Therefore, barely leaving the house except for medical appointments, he has no friends. He doesn't do sports either – obviously – and yeah, he lives a lonely life, filled with video games and Netflix series. And he's okay with that. Well, most of the time.

Sure, his brothers, or at least Ubbe and Hvitserk, always try to include him as much as possible. But the truth is that because of his legs, there are many, many things he just can't do.

And the other truth, the less pleasant one, is that he partially did that to himself. He cut himself off from a world that hurt him, yet he still misses this world sometimes. At times, he blames himself. Because his life, honestly, is hardly what you would call a life, is it? Not when you're sixteen.

That's why sometimes, like now, he feels this longing, almost a need, to live. To really, truly, fully live. And that's why, for a brief moment, lulled by the light chitchat of his brothers, he considers attending Harald's midsummer party.

But he knows better. This life is not for him, never has been, never will be.

And so, shaking his head, he chases the thought away and, placing his hands on his push rims, he's about to leave the kitchen while the incessant babbling of his brothers goes on.

"I can't wait."

"Don't tell me! As every year, the most beautiful girls of Kattegat will be there."

"Remember that burger food truck? Best burgers ever!"

"I've heard Y/N would be attending this year."

"There'll be booze and girls! Sounds like Valh–"

Wait. His mind goes blank.

Fuck.

What? Did he hear right?

As he replays his brother's words in his head, it's like there's an earthquake happening inside of him.

Fuck.

He stops breathing. Blinks, then clamps his eyes shut.

Fuck.

When he finally manages to draw air into his lungs, he swallows loudly before asking in a weird, high-pitched voice, his heart pounding in his chest, "What– What did you say, brother?"

Hvitserk turns his head toward him and shrugs. "I just said there'll be boo–"

"No, not you!" Ivar snaps at his brother, pointing his pointer finger at Ubbe. "You, what did you fucking say?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lagertha frowning – 'no curse words in this house, boys'– and even if he barely contains an eye roll, he still mouths a quick 'sorry' at her before rewording his question, impatience coursing through him. "What did you say, dear brother? Who did you say would attend?"

Stunned, Ubbe looks at him with wide eyes. "Y/N? I said Y/N would come. That's what I heard anyway. She's Harald's niece. She was here once, right? Remember her, baby bro, huh?"

But Ivar is no longer listening, the blood draining from his face. Y/N... Y/N... Fuck. Finally. Fucking finally. After so long... He may see you again. Wow.

I'll go! I'll fucking go!

He barely contains the words, suddenly acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room, his brothers shamelessly staring at him.

With her brows furrowed and her lips turned downward in a slight frown, Lagertha takes two steps forwards before crouching down in front of him. "Are you all right, sweetie? You're a little pale."

He barely hears when Sigurd giggles, "A little pale? He's greener than an alien!"

Lagertha shoots Sigurd a dirty look and then gently cups Ivar's cheek. "Do you know her, Ivar? Do you know Y/N?"

Overwhelmed, self-conscious, freaked out, caught off-guard, he doesn't know how to respond. Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? His brothers will mock him, for sure. What is the point of telling the truth? What good would it do? On the other hand, he could really use some advice. Yeah. Sure. Advice from Sigurd. Just the thought of it is enough to make him sick. Fuck, what is he going to do?

Rushed words are out of his mouth before he can even gather his thoughts. "No. No. I don't. I mean, yes, I think I do but–" He's being pathetic and he hates it. So after a sharp intake of breath, he shakes his head and eventually replies in a flat, calm voice, the white lie rolling off his tongue. "I know her, but I thought Ubbe was talking about someone else. Sorry."

With these words, he hastily leaves the room, his eyes riveted on his knees, his heart still drumming in his chest.

Y/N. Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings

[nyxvuxoa]

NSFW Alphabet

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

T/W: PwP. It's all smut. Detailed talk of smut. Mention of kinks.  A/N: I have never written one of these before, so I thought I’d give it a shot. Gif is made by me. Requests are open.

A = Aftercare

Dean is all about aftercare.

He will shower you with attention after.

He will get you your stuffed animal if you have one, a blanket, a snack, your favorite show.

Needless to say, you will be spoiled.

He will praise you constantly afterwords.

You'll be told what a good girl you are and how you made him feel so good.

Prepare for cuddles, because he's going to want to just hold you for a while.

B = Body part

He loves his cock. Seriously.

He believes he knows how to use it and he really does.

If there is one thing he can be really confident in, it's that.

Other than that, he loves his lips.

On you though, it's your eyes and your hands.

He loves eyes that feel like they are boring into his soul when they look at him.

And he loves how soft your hands hard.

The fact that you are good with them is just a bonus.

C = Cum

He knows you love it, so he's not shy about it.

He will cum on you and in you.

Especially in you if you beg for it.

He loves to cum in you.

He likes seeing it dribble down from your legs.

It's like a small mark of territory on your (or in you),

and especially loves seeing you collect it onto your fingers then licking it

The idea of you licking up his cum in general drives him crazy.

He wouldn't hesitate to cum onto something to watch you clean it up with your mouth.

If he cums on your face, it's always around your lips.

again, so that he can watch you lick at it.

D = Dirty secret

Outdoor sex is a favorite.

Be it in baby, on a dirt road, in a bathroom somewhere.

He likes the idea and risk of getting caught with you.

Which only makes any sort of quickie a little sexier.

He also likes listening to you.

Sometimes he will ask you to masturbate and walk out of view just because he simply wants to listen to you.

This often leads to a mutual masturbation time.

When he asks you to do this, you get extra loud for him and moan his name.

It drives him nuts.

E = Experience

When it comes to experience, Dean knows what he's doing.

Its never been difficult for him to get girls.

So getting laid was never a problem.

He knows every trick in the book and knows how to do them!

Dean is often called the "best night of someone's life" for a reason.

If you are inexperienced, that's okay, he will show you how to do it and how to please with him in mind.

And he will show you how to do it for as long as you need.

F = Favorite position

It's hard to narrow it down.

Dean likes sex in general but if he had to pick it would probably be any variation of the cow-girl position.

This type of position allows him to see all of you while still maintaining all of his control.

He can run his hands over your body and play with every inch of you all while watching.

G = Goofy

Dean's mood comes based off of you.

If you are serious, he's going to be serious.

If you are submissive, he's going to dominate you.

If you are playful and laughing, he's going to try and keep you playful and laughing.

It all depends on how you are responding to him.

H = Hair

Dean is pretty well-groomed.

He's not clean-shaven

but he does keep it cleaned and under control.

I = Intimacy

Dean can be pretty romantic at times.

He's one for wooing a girl.

For you, if he's been seeing you regularly and you aren't just a fling

it can be as simple as flowers and dinner

to the little touches and affections that he showers you with.

He's on to tell you that he loves you

and often, even during sex.

This is partly because he doesn't know if he's always coming home.

So he always wants to make sure you know.

He worships your body and often leaves love marks on it.

Be it fingertip bruises or a hickey, he wants you to know that you are his when you see it.

J = Jack off

When you aren't around, this is obvious.

But he's always thinking about you.

When he's alone in the hotel room, he will use the pictures (or video) he's taken of you on his phone.

Shower time is often spent thinking about you.

And he tries so hard to be quiet, but after some point, his grunts and groans are leaving the bathroom rather loudly.

When he grips himself, it's tightly, to try and make it feel like how tight you get around him.

He often fucks his hand hard and fast and imagines you taking in all of his length and width with such a deep need for him.

He likes to think about you worshiping his cock.

In the end, he finishes and imagines you taking all of his cum, preferably inside you.

K = Kink

Dean is actually a pretty kinky guy, but he never really viewed himself as kinky, it was pretty normal for him.

He very Dom. Loves to be in control of you. Especially in bed.

Bondage is always a bonus.

His favorite thing though, he has loves to have sex with you in front of mirrors because he loves to see every bit of you and watch his cock going in and out of you.

If you are willing to lick his cum off a mirror, he'd probably marry you.

He's got a bit of a daddy kink too. He likes the connection that comes with it and how you depend on him. Finds it actually to be pretty intimate.

L = Location

Dean actually doesn't have a favorite location.

He's constantly moving around a lot, so it never crosses his mind.

What matters is that he's with you!

That is really all he wants.

So I guess it's safe to say that you are his favorite location.

M = Motivation

Be verbal with him!

Seriously, praise him.

Tell him how good he feels, how much you love how he fills you, that you need to feel him cum.

This will drive him crazy!

Bite at your lip, he is always watching you when you do that.

Wear something just for him and something that he knows is just for him.

Be naked for him when he gets him.

Naked and kneeling for him.

This really brings out the dom in him.

He'll take control immediately.

N = No

Anything Dean does to you, has to be consensual.

Now, Demon Dean, that is a different story.

But Dean, he's not going to hurt you without consent.

He won't abuse you.

He follows the safewords.

While he will degrade you for a degradation kink, he won't degrade your body because he loves it.

He likes to hear you in pain, but only a good kind of pain. If he feels he's hurting you in a way that you don't like or didn't agree to, he will stop.

He will always stop when he needs to and take care of you!

O = Oral

If you are giving him oral sex, he loves it.

Like the man is easy to please, crawl under that table while he's doing research on a case and he will happily let you distract him.

Giving you oral sex is a little more of a treat for you.

He loves to taste you, especially if you taste like fruit or sweet.

He will take his time on you, go slow, his tongue will go over every little bit of your pussy.

He will suck on your clit.

And he will slide his fingers in while he does it.

And if you cum, he will keep going or he's going to stick his cock in you.

Either way, you won't be done.

P = Pace

His pace depends on the mood of the sex.

Sometimes he's going to be quick and rough, slamming into you until the headboard is smacking into the wall and you are screaming for him to not stop.

Other times he's going to be slow and take his time.

He's going to cherish those moments.

He wants you to feel every bit of him as slow as possible until you are begging him to fuck you harder and faster.

Q = Quickie

Quickies are never out of the question.

And they actually happen pretty often.

If Sammy goes out for food: quickie.

Before leaving for a hunt: quickie.

Shower in the morning: quickie.

Get the picture? He loves your body and wants it all the time.

R = Risk

He can be kind of experimental in general.

but with you, it's all about what you.

if you want to try something new, he will do it.

Sex in Baby? He'll drive somewhere nice.

Wanna fuck in the bar bathroom after drinks? He'll lead the way.

Wanna play with some rope and a kife? He'll make a run out to the car.

S = Stamina

This boy has all the stamina!

He can keep going and going for hours.

The only time he's going to stop is to hydrate and get a snack.

This also includes taking care of you, cause he can't keep going if you aren't taken care of.

T = Toys

Dean doesn't really own toys, mostly because he doesn't have a place to keep them.

But he will use what he has on hand if that is your thing.

Are you up for some cable ties, rope, or even some knife play?

If so, then he's your man.

If you bring toys though, he will use them on you.

Not himself, though you may be able to tie his wrists to the bed every once in a while.

If he uses a dildo or a vibrator on you, prepare to be teased about it.

“Aww, Buttercup, what's this? I bet nothing feels as good my cock.”

U = Unfair

Dean can be a bit of a tease.

He likes to get you worked up.

Especially until you are begging him to fuck you.

And trust me, he wants to hear you beg for it.

V = Volume

He's loud if you are loud.

He likes to match your volume.

Dean is a very auditory kind of guy, it's not as enjoyable for him if he can't hear you.

He wants to hear you moan and beg.

And in return, he will groan, moan, and tease you.

He doesn't care if someone is around, he wants a reason to make some noise.

W = Wild card

Katoptronophilia is a stable of sex with Dean.

It means he really likes to fuck in front of mirrors.

It's just not about seeing himself, he wants to see himself inside you.

He wants to see his cock sliding in and out of you.

He wants to see your tits when you are a reverse cowgirl on him.

He always wants a way to see your face when he's pushing his cock all the way inside you.

X = X-ray

Dean is very well endowed.

It's thick and long, and the coloring is just perfect.

The groomed hair makes it look even bigger.

I mean, it's really pleasing to the eye.

It's not often you see a photogenic cock, but he's got one and you damn well have pictures of it on your phone.

Y = Yearning

His sex drive is pretty consistent.

It's not difficult for you to turn him on, so you tend to use that to your advantage.

If you have a high sex drive, he will match that too.

He loves a woman that is crazy for him and spontaneous about their sex.

But he also likes routine with it.

Regular sex before bed? He loves it.

Z = Zzz

Falling asleep after sex also depends on the day and the type of sex.

If he's had a long day and the dom in him used you to release that stress, chances are after your aftercare, he will fall asleep with you in his arms.

On other days, he will be wide awake.

That usually means, grabbing a burger and some beer after.

Or round two, if he feels like he could keep going.

Regardless, in the end, he always takes the time to admire you.

He wants to love you and let you know that he loves you.

Even if it means just laying in bed and holding each other naked for a little bit.

[suicidalslasher]

𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒚 - 𝒋𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒅.

the one where Jason is a jealous  dumbass,  that’s it -  that’s the plot.

WARNINGS: This is a Jason Dean fanfiction, therefore, you all know what you’re signing up for. I don’t really got to tell you, twice. 

  Possessive!Jason. Jealous!Jason. Female reader, reader’s pronouns are she/her. 

Slight mention and scene of choking but it’s not graphic. A hint of NSFW but it isn’t shown. Also there’s a few mentions of blood but it’s not a lot, either. I wanted to tag that nonetheless, too. Also, Jason actually shows emotions in this which is out of character but in MY world, Jason Dean is a simp to his girlfriend and would rather die than to live a day without her. 

I may add the smut scene later on, who knows?  Not me. This is my first imagine of Jason Dean so be nice to me or I’ll be like Ghostface and gut you like a fish (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*  

If you enjoyed this story, don’t hesitate to follow and or leave me a request, as they are open. If you also like my work and or have a dollar to  spare, as it will help me write and create more stories like this one, my ko-fi is here. 

Thank you and enjoy :)

White knuckles from clenching his fists too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent, Jason bit back his words, knowing they'd be harsh and full of  poison.  He's fully aware of how much damage he'd likely cause if he spit out the words that were on his mind.  He was going to break, and he knew it wasn't going to take too long until he did so.   Yet, as the female continued to talk beside him as an attempt to grab his attention, the feelings only grew larger and he dug his teeth into his bottom lip, the metallic taste of blood trickling on the tip of his tongue.   Jason swallowed that anger when it was nothing but a fire-seed and he had forgotten to drink something cold right after, in an effort to calm himself down;   therefore, it grew in his stomach until it came out hotter than any dragon breath.... all those negative emotions that swam in his veins  and crept in the pit of his stomach exploded and all the feelings he desperately was trying to hold back came burning on the one person he loved the most, his girlfriend, (Y/N). His face was red with suppressed rage and when (Y/N)  set her finger on his shoulder, he swung around and mentally snapped, his nostrils flared  and his pupils were blown and dilated  as he snarled like an  out of control beast.  "I hate him more than I do the Heathers," spat Jason,  as he pushes his girlfriend up against the wall, the framed photograph that hung there now remained at the bottom of their feet, shattered into hundreds of pieces.   "I don't like you hanging out with him." Jason growled, his fingers curling around (Y/N)'s throat, feeling her pulse begin to quicken  as he presses his weight down onto the palm of his hand.  "Do you know how much it hurts to see you look at someone else? To see you smile at someone else? It makes me feel sick.”     "Jason... Let go of me. Let's talk. Please? You don't even know him... if you'll let me speak and tell you-"  "You love him, don't you?" Jason hisses, the sentence feeling like a slap to (Y/N)'s face as he throws out this statement.... it was a lie, that's what it was and (Y/N) desperately was trying to tell him how wrong he was but he just wouldn't listen, the arrogant  son of a bitch never listens!    "You love him more than you do me."  Before either teen realizes it, Jason is letting go of (Y/N)'s throat only for him to raise his hand up  into a fist and he's punching the only other framed photograph that was beside her, the glass shattering behind his knuckles. (Y/N) screams in horror and although she's pissed off, she - obviously - still cares about her boyfriend.  "Jason!" (Y/N) yelps, tears falling down her cheeks as she rushes to her boyfriend's side, examining his hand which was now dripping with crimson, a few drops of red landing on the now broken picture frame and the wooden floor beneath their feet. "C'mon, I've got a first aid kit around here, somewhere-" "You love him." Jason repeats, ignoring the fact she was trying to help him.  He pulls his hand back, dropping his arm by his side, not  even caring about the way the blood was falling from his knuckles and staining both his pants and shirt. The anger and venom that once coated his words were now replaced with a hint of sadness and heartbreak.  She's never seen him this upset before.... regardless, if he'd just calm down, she could explain.  "Jason, baby-" His voice broke as he looked up at (Y/N), sad eyes meeting with her confused but angry gaze. On top of those, she was sad, too.   "Go then. Go to him, if you prefer to spend your day with him rather than your own boyfriend. You don't care about me, I'm not sure you ever did."  (Y/N) sighed, shaking her head as a few more tears spill past her cheeks. "Fine. If you won't let me talk and tell you my side of the story, I'm leaving. If that's what you think and if you truly think I don't give a fuck about you, I'm gone." (Y/N) mutters, letting go of his hand as she walks back over to the door, grabbing her keys and wallet before storming out the door, slamming the door shut as she leaves.

A week passes. 

Another week following behind that.  

(Y/N) didn't bother to call or show up.

He really fucked things up, didn't he? 

Jason wasn't huge on  showcasing his feelings and putting them out on display for people to see. The only emotion he was so used to showing was anger and madness. Nothing but chaos was built and stored away in Jason Dean's body, too.  All three traits made him who he was.  People may not like him because of his temper and all the flaws he had but it was him, and he didn't plan on changing for anybody.  Expect.... of course, (Y/N). As he sat alone in his bedroom, he felt depressed. He never cried, either.  Couldn't tell you the last time he ever did cry. Did he even cry as a baby? Jason wasn't sure, nor could he tell you.  

But.... Jason cried. For the first time in forever, he broke down and cried. Couldn't help himself.  By the end of the night, there were no tears left to cry. He had run dry. His body couldn't form any more tears.   Feeling both mentally and physically drained, Jason reached over and grabbed his phone off of the night stand, dialing the one number he actually had memorized.  All he got was her voicemail.   "This is (Y/N). I can't answer the phone at the moment but  I will get back to you as soon as I can! Bye!"  Jason groaned and he was half-tempted to throw the phone out of his window but he decided against it as he left a voicemail, regardless. He wanted (Y/N) to know he was sorry. 

He wanted (Y/N) to know that despite their arguments (which weren't constant but when they did fight, it was mainly due to Jason's behavior rather than her own) he loves her.  

 (Y/N) coming into his life was the only good thing the world had offered and gave him. He wasn't going to give her up. Not that easily, anyways.  "Hey." He had forgotten he was leaving a voicemail, having zoned out for a second, the beep brought him back out of his thoughts.  "It's me. Uh.... Jason.... your boyfriend? I hope so, anyway, still.... But, yeah, it's Jason.... Jason Dean.... ha, uh.... you knew that.

  Listen, I'm sorry for everything,  (Y/N).  I'm sorry for having that temper tantrum and taking out my frustration and jealousy on you. I'm not good at this type of stuff, not so great with showing my emotions in person either, so....

 I'll talk here,  hopefully the message goes all the way through. I don't want to say this in person, again, I'm not good at the whole unraveling my feelings, especially not face to face.

 But... (Y/N), baby, you're the best thing that's ever been mine. You're my darlin', my girl, and I got jealous because I was scared, okay? 

I was scared of losing you. And I'm telling you this because it's been awhile now and I haven't seen you around or heard from you in awhile. Therefore, I may have already lost you but.... I love you, (Y/N)... and I'm sorry, okay? 

Thought you'd never hear me say that, huh? Me, apologizing? That's like... once in a blue moon. Hah.....  

But, uh... well, it's true. I'm sorry and I, Jason Dean, love you, (Y/N) (L/N). And I hope that you still love me too."   With that, Jason ends the call, hanging the phone back up on the table as he falls back onto the bed. He didn't - doesn't - know what to do if he didn't have (Y/N) by his side.   Trying to ignore these thoughts and place his attention elsewhere, he decides he needs to focus on sleeping. His body was exhausted after all that crying, plus the punch to the picture frame was still making his hand ache and throb, despite it being a few weeks since he had done it. 

He had one hell of a nasty bruise, too. He was sure it wouldn't look so ugly and scarred if he  had listened to (Y/N) and taken her up on that offer when she suggested the first aid kit...  Before he knows it, he's drifting off into a deep slumber, naturally bringing a pillow into his chest, tucking it underneath his arm as he falls asleep.   

Faint whispers of (Y/N)'s name spills pass his lips as he sleeps. He'd rather be cuddling her than a pillow but he'll take what he can get. He just hopes she'll accept his apology.  

(Y/N) gets home a little after midnight, sighing heavily and tiredly as she kicks off her shoes and strips out of her jacket, hanging the coat up first before setting her shoes under the rack. She had just finished unpacking and helping her cousin move things in his new apartment and she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed. 

 In the corner of her eye, however, she notices her answering machine is flashing red, letting her know someone had left a voicemail.  She walks over and clicks on the button, expecting it to be for  her parents but instead she's met with a shocking fate - it was Jason.  

Hearing his voice, so weak and vulnerable, brought tears to her eyes and she bit back a sob. Especially when he apologized, that was new. 

They've said those three words to each other before, of course, but it was hearing how sad he sounded that let her know he truly did love her, despite everything they've been through and all the silly arguments they've shared over the past few months; they loved each other. 

 And nothing - nobody - could ever stand in the way of that.   Jason was still a huge dumbass, however. 

And as she grabs her jacket, sliding the thick layer of clothing around herself and dips her feet into her boots, she's quick to go and tell him that, too.  

She loves him, yes, but she needs to let him know he was a  huge fucking idiot. 

Jason, for the most post, was sleeping peacefully until he heard a loud crash coming from downstairs, along with a string of curse words. 

  He was quick to get up, throwing the blanket and pillow aside as he opened his bedroom door and creeps down the hallway, wondering who the hell was in his living room.   

He was met with.... well, not a burglar  neither his father as he would have guessed the next outcome to be but rather his girlfriend.

"(Y/N)? What are you doing here?" He asks, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands as he tried to shake off the remaining sleep that had taken over him not even a few hours ago. 

"I came here to scare you, obviously." She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she scrambles up and off of the floor, brushing her knees and arms from the fall she had taken.  "Your door was locked, couldn't find the extra key anywhere so I snuck in through the window and-"

"And... you're bleeding." Jason said, gesturing to the tiny gash on her arm.   "C'mon, I've got a first aid kit around here somewhere." He mocks, giving her a playful smile as he quoted the words she had said to him the day they got into that fight. 

 (Y/N) said nothing but she follows when Jason offers his hand out to her, anyway.   He was surprised when he did find the small box up in a cabinet.   

"It's fine. I'm fine. Nothing  a bandage won't fix, right?" 

"(Y/N). Why are you here? You never did answer me." Jason said, getting out the tiny box of band-aids, ripping one open as he presses the item down onto her arm. She was right, it wasn't a big cut, a few drops of blood, sure, but it wasn't one that'd get infected.  

"I got your voice message." She said with a shrug of her shoulders. "And I came to talk to you about it."

He wasn't sure whether or not that was a good or bad thing.

 "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You're a dumbass." 

Oh. 

 It was bad. 

He felt his heart drop down to his stomach. He really let his jealousy get the best of him and now he was going to lose the one good thing he had in his life. 

"I love you but you didn't let me speak," She continued.  "That guy you saw... first of all, you have no right to judge him or say you hate him when you have no idea who he is. That dude I was seen with was my cousin, who, may I add, is gay.” 

“I’ve been helping him move which is why you saw me in town with him. We were getting a few supplies and picking up his furniture.” She continues.

“You got jealous over a guy who is far from being attracted to  females. And you know... he's related to me as well, so, that also plays a huge part in it. And if you didn't notice either, the picture you broke was actually a portrait of my family and his together at a family reunion. Of course, you didn't see that, though or probably even noticed but.... yeah, you're a dumbass. I love you, J.D, but you're an idiot for thinking I'd ever love someone more than I love you." 

Jason says nothing, he feels embarrassed, ashamed, but overall; he feels happy, knowing she still loves him, even if he was a total moron.  "I'm sorry, baby, I got jealous and I shouldn't jump so quickly to conclusions  and-"

"And you need to make up for it." She said, pressing her chest up against his, resting her hand on the palm of his cheek, brushing a few stray hairs out from his face as she gives him a seductive look. "And how.... exactly, are you going to make up for it, baby?" She purred. 

"I think I've an idea." He said with a smirk.

"Oh, yeah? While you're at it, can you choke me like you did, too?" 

"I'll do more than just choke you with my hand, darling." 

"To be suffocated and to choke on either your cock and hand would be a blessing, my dear." 

"Then let's go upstairs, shall we?"

(Y/N) smiled and took Jason's hand with her own, giggling as if she wasn't just talking about getting choked by her boyfriend, as if she was some saint rather than a sinner. Fuck... Jason loves how dirty she was. "We shall." He replies, nearly dragging her up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

"Going to show you how much I love you, going to treat you so good, so well, baby girl... missed you so much, love you so much..." 

[incarnateirony]

An anti dressed up as a shipper, an idiot, and a terf all walk into the same bar.

It’s the same picture person.

A lesson.

Warning: if the title doesn’t give it away, queerphobic content comes up in this from the other party being documented.

So, some of you may have watched a twitter exercise yesterday.

It started simple: concern trolling white knight “for the writers” comes in to angrily declare fans doing something tagged in support of them about Destiel was “out of line.” She claimed things like “Misha was gaslit into supporting Destiel”, and pulled all kinds of stunts.

She immediately got on a soap box yelling “I HAVE A LIT CRIT DEGREE, I KNOW AUTHOR INTENT” of course implying she knew better than EVERYONE around her how to read text. She then pulled, of all things, @chill-legilimens​​ ‘ article about the network gods gutting the show out of the internet, and somehow misread it SO FUCKING BADLY -- SO FUCKING BADLY -- she thought it aligned with HER. She argued that fans influenced the writers, essentially, and basically pulled the exact opposite of the very clearly delivered message there out. When it was pointed out we know this author and even sometimes help edit their pieces, and she was, flat out misreading it while bragging about how good she is at deciphering text, it turned into a SHITSHOW.

I had watched her give a large group of queer people 2 days of runaround, while they tried to be polite, and similarly tried to prove everything while she proved nothing. Just preached. After 2 days of them exhausting themselves on her, I came in doing my blunt & savage thing, because fuck civility culture when it’s used by oppressors. Of course, she immediately started tone policing, while herself being an arrogant shitbrick the whole way.

She continued to preach author intent and talk down about “headcanons.” You see, she knew the authors very well. Berens’ name was mentioned in passing, and she came back with. “Who’s Berens? Is that the author of the article?” after Deirdre’s name had been directly cited in associated with it about 15 times.

(credit: @judgehangman​ )

But it gets better. She started pulling the “authors have said Dean is straight.” line. Now, at this point, we had already sourced her at least four pieces of information (quite formally too: SPN Official DVD Collection Season 8 episode 13 creative commentary, Edlund and Sgriccia; Dissent Magazine The Attack Queers Bob Berens review; the books in the office with screenshots, and more.) So we issued one simple request: Okay. Source.

For the next-- I shit you not-- 10 hours she bricked the thread to death, finding any and EVERY rabbit hole she could try to venture down. For the first hour or two a few of us tried to actually debate her newly raised points, but still gave reminder that we were waiting for her source. Every tweet was an opportunity for her to drop a 15 tweet thread trying to derail onto a new topic, and often clarifying she had no idea about any of it (Edlund, Sgriccia, Berens, Dabb--who she couldn’t spell the name of--and Deirdre all became an amorpheous blob in her retelling that she swore she looked at sources and wasn’t convinced, while she crossed all the data and comments about the sources). She tried to challenge that anyone could know all the writers and episodes just because she proved she couldn’t, even when multiple people expressed it to her extremely rapidly with not just author and director listings, but cross references on when they overlapped and major elements (like the 15.20 shot 19 tree being the Kim Manners memorial tree). She randomly babbled about Kripke once. Lied her way through and claimed those sources were vague. Etc.

But at some point, I decided, we’re not playing this distraction game. You wanted a debate, you claim you have a lit crit degree, and thus know the entire art is Argumentation. A source, if you’re declaring knowing author intent. One source. Any time she dropped a distraction tweet, I replied to her thread with things like a list of our sources vs her lack of any and a reminder. I installed a counter ticker. How many times had she been asked to either recant her point or give a single source?

Someone made a list of the logical fallacies she used in the argument. It was two tweets long and still missed several obvious ones. That didn’t stop her. Neither did the dozens of requests for a source or a recant. Onwards, she marched, derailing time and again. She brought in a buddy to try to distract, but he fell out real quick when he realized “the burden of proof lies on the arguer” shot him and her both in the feet in record time and he ducked out. 

Other greatest hits came out like “Dubs (Dabb’s) fanfic books”, and calling the ability to list authors and episodes “headcanons.”

Over time, the dialogue shifted: see, she came in trying the snide “enjoy your headcanons” downtalk, but as time and time again she was pulverized on every point about the show, or the authors, or anything else while STILL never even giving a single source to even her FIRST POINT and running distractions, it became a reality-- she was told, “We’ll enjoy our canon and author intent. You can enjoy your headcanon of... Dabb’s fanfic books and Lord Barons and the writers being collective hallucinations and whatever else in your hot takes about the show content itself” and she FLIPPED SHIT. 

As the ticker for sources approached 100, she started becoming flustered. Before that, even, she started repetitively misgendering Ezra (no tumblr to link in), and Ezra screenshot their bio of they/them and asked them to adjust. Ignored. Ezra linked this request and asked it to be addressed again, and again, and again. 13 times. Ezra linked it 13 times. She even replied to several of them. No avail. No change. Not until literally any and every tweet in her vicinity either had “source?” or “address gender?” for her to reply to did she flee there, and write some giant write-around of “oh, I didn’t see this, sorry” but still refused to actually use it. Or “I’ll use the right one now.” No, just completely strickened pronouns from her vocabulary with Ezra moving forward, after not one mistake, not two, not five, but 13 answers.

At this point, I notice a trend: throughout the entire conversation, she had flip flopped on my pronouns, clearly confused as to what to call me. As I generally don’t care (honestly I prefer he but meh), it didn’t ping me as something to react to while she switched religiously between “he” and “she”. But I realized now, despite all of that confusion: she never once thought to use “they.” Also earlier we found tweets of hers that, while now declaring herself bisexual, she used troublesome wording in the past to blur the line on if she was an ally or, as she phrased it “maybe less than 100% straight in the bell curve” in other conversations.

I mutter about this on the side to Ezra and some friends, but continue on towards the 100 ticker that was the goal to show people in this digital terrarium how disingenuous most people you argue with are -- an exhibit for the class. They know they’re lying and have been caught, but will not cede to admit “oops, I guess I was wrong.” but rather stick, unironically, to their own headcanons about things. After all, they vaguely sorta apologized even if suddenly just refusing to use any pronouns at all on Ezra after that. And she’s so quick to disappear into 15 tweet bombs of distraction trying to play victim for being held accountable at this point, we just didn’t jump to a conclusion on that, alarming as it is.

So. You know. Source.

At this point, she RANDOMLY starts evoking the fact that like, How Dare, She Watched Gay Men Die To AIDS, She Is A Great Philanthropist How Dare How Dare. 

I’m sorry, did you just evoke the blood of our dead to run away from the most basic scrap of accountability in what is literally the first wave of a lit debate because for the last 10 hours you have refused to take the necessary steps to move on to the next point? Did you... just... evoke the ghosts of gay men that were genocided to, essentially, pull up a smokescreen and run away from being party to queer erasure? Or even just? Giving a source? or admitting you were wrong on one point in a debate? Wow, you really just did that. 

Naturally, people involved got pissed. Her Sources ticker hit 100, but at this point, all that haunted her was how completely fucking vile and inappropriate that was in this discussion. 

She got blocked. She then tried to glom onto anyone that hadn’t blocked or muted her and run the same argumentation points she had earlier been decimated in the argument with, while yelling “I ship Destiel too! I wanted them to have sex too! Why does this make me the bad guy?” around the block and hoping nobody actually read the thread. She tried to pitch the “headcanons” point of view again, hoping a new audience would lick her boots. She was, largely, ignored; given a few more comments about her leaving the conversation losing all points and only covered in the blood of our dead she was so proud of; blocked by a few more. (unsurprisingly, if you check her actual tweet history, she seems more invested in Megstiel but)

This is when CommaSameleon -- a professor with two lit degrees and a primary focus in teaching the art of Argumentation -- literally -- stepped in. She initially tried to engage the fact that, well, this woman not only can’t argue out of a paper sack but wasn’t even arguing, she was just running in circles and distracting from all the points and hadn’t addressed a single lit point directly while preaching down at people. But Sam, also, noticed something. This woman kept changing things like “queerphobia” to “homophobia.” Sam mentioned this kinda puts off TERF vibes (I think Sam picked up on the gendering thing herself too.)

Her response? Which she deleted since? But Discord’s embed helpfully saved?

Her inacted non-apologies remain weak, especially in any form of debate be it lit or now queer topics.

Oh I’m sorry, let’s recap her viewpoints: TERF is a slur. “They” is made up and should be avoided at all costs. The blood of dead gay men are a token to use in a lit debate you’re avoiding responsibility in. After this, “authors are headcanons” is suddenly not your worst take, but fascinating that you 13 times didn’t even read the blatant ass screenshot. And I mean, these weren’t subtle or easy to miss these 13 times.

100. She had 100 chances, literally, on a timer, to give a source or shut up with her platforming until she had one. Instead, she chose every rabbit hole she could manifest to disappear into, only to be met by another request for a source, and not moving on until we address the first points. We’ve given ours, now you give yours. Instead, you choose this. This is the hill you choose to die on, rather than admitting, “Sorry, I guess I was wrong” or “I guess I heard that somewhere, my bad.” 100 chances. 13 direct QT requests to address gender which she replied to but didn’t reply to until cornered (and still didn’t, truly, reply to), and “TERF is a slur.” Oh, and after waving around the dead men’s blood she also suddenly Can’t Be A Terf Because She Adopted Two Trans Kids. Lord help those children. Or, you know, the more realistic thing is she’s just manifesting all kinds of bullshit at this point to save face, which is probably why she deleted all the related tweets that show she’s a giant-ass TERF.

So anyway, this is very much a lesson on:

Paying attention to how people manipulate conversation to erase genuine discussion and debate.

Paying attention to WHY they do it. Motivation on methods and tactics will clear up a lot.

Figuring out HOW they try to sound woke about shit and when it’s entirely fucking vile and inappropriate to pull

And by all above points, figuring out that these people are among us, and how NOT to let them influence your conversations.

I don’t care if it’s about a discussion on a ship or show or anything else. People do this. A lot. Extremely dedicatedly, if the 100 asks doesn’t make that clear. 

Stop letting people railroad your conversations with disingenuous bullshit.

So anyway in honor of this I made everyone a gif

Use at will. It’s tagged anti-terf if you want to use the search feature on it.

UPDATE: 

Just went and checked. She went and deleted literally her entire side of the conversation, hundreds if not thousands of tweets. Luckily, Ezra mentioned repeatedly -- and I do trust them inherently -- that they were saving the entire conversation, so that zip file exists somewhere. How fascinating, after she accused us that we would want to delete tweets. Someone realized they had a bad look and giant failure all around.

Also, a related anon that links to an earlier part of this conversation I didn’t even document where she was crying about “cis erasure” [x] This shit went on so long I legit forgot about that.

[thefanficmonster]

Never Satisfied [Teaser]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language (possibly more?)

Collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“this criminal is stealing my fires, what the fuck?!“

Life is a rollercoaster, it always has been. One moment he feels at the top of the world and the very next he’s upside down at the bottom, wishing the ride would come to a stop as soon as possible. Things that shouldn’t be difficult, things average people would consider the norm to him were the equivalent of walking on glass, each step sending shocks of pain throughout his body, anxiety pumping his blood with adrenaline that provoked his fight or flight response. And after choosing ‘fight’ so many times, he’s more than prepared to choose ‘flight’.

But as he sits in the Walmart parking lot, he’s talking himself out of that habit of running from discomfort. He doesn’t want to battle it either, he just wants to face it and prove he’s strong enough to defeat it if he tried. Well, anxiety is laughing in his face right now, mocking him by the shaking of his hands and the tight sensation in his gut and throat. He’s here for what’s supposed to be just a quick shopping trip. Just to buy a few things! That’s all he has to do. However, he can’t bring himself to get out of his beige Subaru and walk into the store. 

I’m just hungry, right? Or maybe tired, he thought to himself.

That’s what everyone told him - that anxiety was caused by something simple to solve but hard to realize when your mind is in a frenzy. He’s planning on getting something to eat to calm his nerves. If that doesn’t work, to hell with it. He has been improvising plan B’s all his life, this wouldn’t be anything new. 

With a shaky sigh Corpse looks at his radio, switching stations until his luck smiles at him when he comes across a BONES song and turns it up just enough to not overwhelm his senses. He has been needing some kind of a distraction all day, why not gravitate to the one thing that felt real, as if sent to save him from the mess within his head. Putting the car into drive, he pulls out of the parking lot and into the nearest fast food drive thru. A plain burger with cheese so his stomach doesn’t act up, fries and an unsweetened tea. 

This will have to do.  He isn’t even hungry, and the thought of the greasy food only made his stomach churn worse but he knew he needed to eat something in hopes of it having the effects he was told it would have - magically cure his overwhelmingly hard to handle anxiety.

Once he got his food, he returned to the department store lot and parked in a far back spot. He has opened the paper bag to dig his food out, grimacing at all the grease and the smell of the cheap meal that wasted no time invading his car. He really isn’t hungry, but he hasn’t eaten all day and he’s aware of the toll the lack of food is taking on his system. He knows better than to work against himself in a moment like this when his mind is already working against him.

Chomping down on a fry, Corpse savors the salt as it hits his tongue and takes a moment to let his shoulders loosen and hang low. Something about the salt and fat seemed to make his body feel better. He tosses his head back slightly as he flicks a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes, reaching into the bag and grabbing another fry.

He’s been content with sitting in his car, eating and trying to quell the anxiety bubbling up under his ribs and in his throat. There’s a sense of peace to it and to the loneliness of it. He doesn’t mind being alone, though. That’s how he prefers to be actually. Dwelling on that thought too long has had the tendency to kill even the smallest spec of a positive energy he possessed in the past so he avoids it for his own peace of mind. The feeling of his heart thundering in his chest to nothing more than his own unconscious is being muffled by the soft rap music coming from the car speakers, him having chosen to pay attention to that instead.

Corpse is so engrossed in his attempts of maintaining this peace that he fails to notice the person approaching his car at a rapid pace. He’s left completely unbothered until one of the backseat doors is yanked open and someone is diving inside, shaking the vehicle. 

“What th-..” He shouts, startled out of the peaceful bubble he had created around himself. 

“Hey, how's it going? Sorry to interrupt your dinner. I'm just avoiding somebody, so don’t mind me!” A slightly out of breath female voice answers from the backseat. But before he could bring himself to turn around and demand this girl get out of his car, fear takes hold of him, closing his throat and drowning his words in the sea of questions and anxiety rising from deep within his chest. 

Ok, breathe. This is weird. There’s a stranger in my car, but she doesn’t appear harmful. Just breathe, stay calm. Fuck, is that a fucking cop car?! 

His shaky hand is barely capable of holding the burger as his wide eyes follow the movements of the vehicle. The patrol car in question slowly drives through each aisle of the parking lot, seemingly searching for something. Or someone. He feels himself unable to blink nor breath as the car creeps closer and closer. He has already broken into a nervous sweat, head spinning with all the possible outcomes - none of which bode well for him.

How am I gonna explain this shit?! There’s no way they’ll believe that she just dove into my car. They’ll think I’m an accomplice. I’ll go to jail. God knows if I’ll get out. I’ll die in there. Oh fuck, I’ll die in there.

He inhales sharply, trying not to hyperventilate, all his muscles tensing before a slap to his arm shook him out of it, “Could you look any more suspicious?! Fuckin’ act cool!”

He nods automatically and looks down at his lap, like he’s trying to find a napkin before taking a quick sip of his tea in attempts to look natural. The liquid promptly went down the wrong pipe, causing him to choke and go in a fit of coughs which he suppressed with his baggy hoodie sleeve. 

The cop passed by, eyeing the man in the car before making a turn to go down another row of parking spots, allowing Corpse to finally peek his gaze upwards to check if the guy was finally gone when the voice in the back seat spoke up again. “Thanks dude, you saved my ass.” 

He hadn’t noticed at first but as he turned to look behind him he saw a bare arm reaching from the back seat, dipping into the paper bag and taking one of his fries. Before he could comprehend it, the girl had climbed up over the center console as the police car pulled out of the parking lot and left. 

Only now is he able to get a real look at the woman who is a potential criminal and went into his car. She isn’t tall but not short either. She’s wearing a pair of jeans that are ripped around her knees and upper thighs and have little occult symbols drawn on them, peace signs and even an occasional tiny dinosaur - the majority, if not all, probably a DIY project of hers by the looks of it. She’s also sporting a sleeveless top with the sides cut open to show most of her waist. Under that, a black sports bra and a tattoo are visible - the tattoo extending from her back to her ribs just slightly. Her dark brown hair is pulled into a loose and rather messy hairdo, every strand going in its own direction as if she couldn’t be bothered by it. Looking down he sees the pair of black combat boots she has on. They look to be well taken care of and loved. A glint of a septum piercing attracts his attention when he notices it reflecting the ugly yellow light of the parking lot street lamps. 

She’s pretty. 

His cheeks flush a little in the darkness as he dumps the remainder of his food back into the bag, noting she was taking another one of his fries before he looked away, swallowing nervously when he feels her gaze on him. 

Before he could speak, however, she had already taken another one of his fries, leaning back in the passenger seat.

“W-why...are you in my car?” His voice showed off his confusion as well as the rising levels of his anxiety, his brow furrowed as he tries to remain cool and calm. 

“Hiding from the police...obviously.” She responds in a ‘duh’ tone as if she were pointing out something very simple and ordinary.

“Bu-...Alright...I guess. You should stop stealing my food though.” He finally mumbles, putting the paper bag into the back seat and catching a brief whiff of the perfume she has on as he turns to do so. 

He’s been alone so long, people have grown to terrify him. Public places terrify him, so it’s no surprise he stays inside for as long as he can. He hasn’t been this close to someone in months. Not since his ex left. She was just...another human being. Another one to leave. Nothing new to him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise nor a disappointment to him but he couldn’t not feel distraught over it for a while after it happened. He couldn’t help but hope she would….nevermind.

She grins - her smile a little spark of light in this lonely little world that is his life. Everyone around him always looked so damn happy. How come he never felt the happiness for himself?

He shifts back into his seat, fingers fiddling with the zipper on his black hoodie, avoiding her gaze as much as possible while still trying to take subtle glances at her. He feels uncomfortably like a teenager at that moment, stumbling his way through a conversation with a girl way too pretty to be talking to him.

“I bet you hear this all the time, but you should do like, audio books or voice acting or somethin’. You’ve got a rad voice to narrate some Steven King or Dean Koontz. Bram Stoker's Dracula would be sick, or some kind of devil or demon character.” She offers, grinning again as she steals another fry despite the bag now being in the back and shifts to reach into her back pocket, the sound of her wallet chain hitting the side of his car door echoes throughout the enclosed space of the car. She pulls out a couple dollars and slaps them onto his dashboard, “anyway, for the fries. Annnd for letting me hide in your car. Don’t go spending it all in one place.” She pushes the door of the Subaru open, winking at him and sliding one leg out. “Thanks for keepin’ the fuzz off of me, see ya Hades!” She jokes teasingly, slapping the roof of his car before closing the door and practically skipping off in the opposite direction of the one the cop went in. 

Corpse parts his lips, blinking slowly before looking at the department store and back towards the slowly shrinking figure of the girl. His head is spinning again, for different reasons now.

“What the hell just happened....?” He pauses for a lingering second before his voice turns sharp and a distressed look crosses his face, “Fuck, what did I need from the store?!”

[notfunnydean]

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel Warnings/Tags: Dean in panties, nsfw pictures, Dean takes nudes, onlyfans account, coming in panties, no actually sex between Dean and Cas, stalker!Cas, mutual pining Word Count: 4.246 Challenge: None Summary: Dean is working two jobs which is why he never has time to study for his classes. When he fails another test Bobby and Ellen tell him he should focus on his studies and not his jobs. But Dean needs money and then Charlie has a brilliant idea. He makes an onlyfans account, only for his roommate and secret crush Castiel to find him in an explicit situation. Link to fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31053908 ---

“Dean?”

Castiel isn’t sure why Dean is asleep in the middle of their living room, but that position can’t be very comfortable. Dean sighs in his sleep, but doesn’t make any move to sit up again.

His nose twitches a bit and Castiel smiles down at him. He can feel the blush creeping up on his cheeks, but at least he can admit to himself, that he loves to watch Dean sleep. He looks peaceful like that.

Adorable, maybe. Surely.

“Dean you have to wake up.” Castiel says and this time he shakes softly at his shoulder. Dean whines quietly, not fully awake yet, but at least he opens his eyes. Dean always wakes up startled and alerted, Castiel had learned that the first year they had been roommates.

These days he seems to feel better.

“Cas?”

“Yeah, sorry. You fell asleep over your book in the living room and it didn’t look very comfortable.” Castiel apologizes and Dean sits slowly up. His bones crack and he groans, Castiel tries to ignore the warm feeling in his stomach.

He knows Dean is straight and they’re friends, there is no place for his feelings.

“Aw fuck. Yeah I got a test tomorrow and wanted to learn for a bit, since I didn’t really have time the last few days.” Dean says and he sounds as if he wants to apologize for that. Castiel smiles fondly.

He knows that Dean’s father doesn’t believe in Dean’s choice to study and won’t pay for any loans or basically anything Dean needs. So Dean works at the roadhouse on the weekends and twice a week at the garage of his Uncle Bobby.

Well not “real” Uncle, but close enough.

“It’s okay. I would help you study but… we both know that’s not a good idea.” Castiel says and at least he got a smile out of Dean. It’s a really stunning smile.

“Nah that’s fine. I… I don’t feel like I’m gonna pass anyway.” Dean admits and Castiel knows how much that it had cost him to admit that. Dean always feels like he’s not allowed to show any weakness.

Castiel had never met John Winchester and he’s rather glad for it, because he sounds like an asshole.

“Dean, you know that Naomi and my father pay for my classes, so I don’t really need the extra money right now from my job at the library. You could cut work a bit and study more if it would make you feel better.” Castiel says, when he sits down next to Dean.

“Yeah. We talked about this, I know you want this new camera Cas and I would never take money from you.” Dean says and there is that soft smile again.

Dean doesn’t even know he’s too good for the world.

Castiel is studying photography, even though his parents would kill him if they’d know. They still think one day he is going to lead the family company and Castiel hopes that talk can wait a few more years.

Dean’s father at least knows that Dean is studying to get a degree in automotive technology, but he still hates the idea. It’s pretty similar, John wants Dean to do what he thinks is good.

“But Dean…” Castiel starts. Dean holds his hand up and this time his smile looks so tired. Castiel’s heart squeezes.

“I’ll find a solution.” Dean says but it sounds more like he already gave up on his studying.

“I could make us some tea.” Castiel offers because he doesn’t know what else he could do to help Dean.

Castiel doesn’t even own a car, so he surely wouldn’t be any help with studying.

“Thank you.“ Dean says with another smile even though he prefers coffee.

*

“Son of a bitch.“

“That bad?“ Charlie asks and Dean doesn’t even answer at first, instead he lets his head fall on his table.

“Failed.“ Dean mutters into the table and he can hear how Charlie swallows loudly. It’s the second class he failed in one month.

“Shit.“ Charlie answers and Dean sighs.

He is so fucked. Dean loves what he studies but often enough he is too tired to actually sit down and learn about it.

“One more fail and they’ll kick me out.” Dean says and his stomach squirms uncomfortable at the thought. He had really thought he would be smart enough for classes like this, but apparently he was wrong.

“What did Ellen and Bobby say?” Charlie asks carefully and Dean groans, before he bangs his head on the table again. Not like it helps, but it does hurt.

“That if I fail this one, they’ll fire me.” Dean says and he feels so ashamed. He knows they’re not firing him, because they’re angry or disappointed. No, they care. They want him to be able to study what he wants, but both know he often doesn’t have any time to study.

“And if you talk to them again?” Charlie asks and she sounds so sad herself. Dean knows that she’s the smarter one out of them and he tried to study with her together, but his schedule had been so tight.

“Nah. They’re right. They’d support me without me working, but money is tight for them as well. It’s just that I really need the money. Sam’s the best of his classes and I want him to stay in Stanford. He can’t know about this.” Dean says and Charlie nods. It’s not the first time he had told her this.

“Failed uh Winchester?”

Dean looks up, when he hears that voice and growls quietly. Seems like Alastair has way too much fun with this.

“Shut your damn mouth!” Dean says and he’s glad that their professor left already or he would be in so much more trouble. Stupid university.

“If you would only be as smart as you are pretty.” Alastair says then and his smile is so creepy again. Dean visibly shudders, but Alastair is already gone before he can say anything.

“That damn asshole.” Dean says, but Charlie is grinning at him.

“Well he’s right. Uh kinda.” Charlie says and Dean flips her off. What the hell, he had thought that they were friends.

“What?”

“I mean you are smart, dumbass. That’s not the point, but you are damn pretty. Even I can see that and I play for a different team.” Charlie says and Dean frowns, he is not really sure what she’s hinting at.

“What are you talking about?” Dean asks, but Charlie is already searching for something in her bag. Dean sees how she holds her phone up and then types something in it, before she holds it out for him.

“You could make an account on onlyfans.” Charlie says and Dean blushes at the pictures he can already see on Charlie’s phone. It’s not her, but Dean knows it’s Charlie’s favorite porn star. (And no he doesn’t want to explain how he knows that.)

“Hm.” Dean says, because that’s kinda risky isn’t it? But he heard before that some people made some good money there and he could easily do the photos at home and in less time than he has to work at the garage or the bar.

“I mean think about it.” Charlie says and she then switches the topic to the weekend, where they would meet up for some ‘epic’ games. Dean nods and shakes his head, whenever she looks at him, but he can’t concentrate.

Onlyfans. It’s all he can think about.'

*

“Hello Garth.” Castiel says and he waves at their neighbour, who smiles back at him.

It has just stopped raining and Castiel is glad for it. He’d been out for some classes and went grocery shopping after. It’s the least he can do when Dean is the one who is always cooking for them.

Castiel opens the door and is surprised that Dean isn’t sitting in their living room learning for his tests. Castiel knows next week there are at least two tests that Dean has to pass or they’ll kick him out.

The books are still all over their small table and Castiel smiles at the chaos. Before he had met Dean, he had lived alone and at first the chaos had really bothered him, but now he likes it.

It finally looks like someone lives here.

“Dean?”

There is no answer, so Castiel goes into the kitchen first and puts the groceries away. He hopes Dean would make them his special pasta tonight again, so he already puts those ingredients on the stove.

He calls out for Dean again, but it seems like he isn’t home. Castiel shrugs. Maybe he went out to get something for his studies? Castiel knows Dean doesn’t really like the library, but sometimes he went there for new books.

At least Dean had stopped working at the roadhouse, even though he had been in a sour mood about it, but Castiel smiles when he thinks back how Ellen had used a newspaper to get it into Dean’s head.

He does still work at Bobby’s garage for one or two days a week, but that’s it. Castiel had thought he’d put up more of a fight, but Dean had agreed in the end. Castiel is not sure how he does get by without earning the money at the roadhouse.

Maybe Sam had gotten himself a job to support himself.

Just then Castiel hears a noise back from where their rooms are and he walks towards it. Maybe Dean fell asleep again. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

Dean’s door is closed and Castiel knocks on it. He can hear music from inside and then opens the door when he hears Dean say something.

Just as Castiel wants to ask Dean for dinner, his mouth snaps shut and his eyes grow big. There is Dean, on his bed, spreading his legs and taking pictures of himself in bright purple panties.

Dean doesn’t seem to realize that Castiel is in the room with him, but then his eyes snap up and his face flushes.

Castiel is sure that he just died.

“Sorry, I uh… sorry.” Castiel says and then hastily closes the door. He is in full panic and actually stumbles on his way out. This is the most humiliating thing ever and Castiel’s heart almost falls out of his chest, with the way he runs back into their living room.

He has no idea what to do now.

Should he leave? Should he stay and talk to Dean about it? Oh god maybe Dean would move out now and Castiel would lose his best friend.

He hears Dean swearing and blushes himself now. He had seen Dean almost naked, writhing in his bed, in fucking panties and taking pictures of himself. Castiel is mortified when he feels himself growing hard at that picture in his head.

There is also the jealousy that makes itself room in his chest. Dean is taking pictures of himself for someone and… it’s not Castiel.

Dean’s door opens, just as Castiel is sure that he will pass out. Dean is wearing grey sweatpants and an old dark shirt, that looks like at one point it could’ve been Castiel’s, but all Castiel can think about is, if he’s wearing the panties underneath.

“So eh… can we maybe talk about this?” Dean asks and his voice is so soft. He’s obviously embarrassed, but he also seems kinda afraid. Castiel swallows.

“Yeah uh sure.” Castiel at least sits down on the armchair and he’s not even sure if he is ready for a conversation himself, but Dean sits down on the couch, his face bright red and Castiel knows he has to assure Dean that everything is okay.

“Well as you know I kinda lost my second job, so Charlie had this idea where I would make money with pictures of myself and… yeah that’s what that was.” Dean rambles and Castiel needs a moment to understand what Dean is telling him.

He wants to tell Dean that he doesn’t have to justify himself to Castiel. Dean can do what he wants. Castiel opens his mouth but something different comes out.

“You get paid for that?” Castiel hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s judging Dean or anything.

“Have you ever heard of this site called onlyfans?” Dean asks and he is looking down at his hands. Castiel swallows dryly, because of course he had heard about that. Hell he had an account on that site.

Not because he takes pictures of himself, but he likes to look at other people, okay? He's a photographer, but he could still learn a thing or two.

“Yeah. Sounds cool. I mean if you like that and it pays well. I’m not judging you. It sounds fun.” Castiel almost cringes at his own words, but Dean seems a bit relieved, at least he is looking up again.

Castiel licks his lips.

“It does pay pretty well.” Dean says and they both have to smile at that. It is certainly no secret that Dean is absolutely stunning and Castiel knows he will never forget that picture about Dean in those panties.

“And you still got time to study.” Castiel says, because it does make sense. Posting a few pictures certainly doesn’t take as much time as working six to eight hours at the roadhouse a day.

“Yeah, so uh are we cool?” Dean asks and he’s so nervous again. He’s even putting his hand in his neck, which tells Castiel that Dean would rather end this conversation now. Castiel feels himself nodding.

“We are.” Castiel agrees and Dean sighs so relieved. Castiel gets up again, because he would really distract himself now and he kinda hopes Dean would start with their dinner.

“Good.” Dean nods to himself and he actually walks towards their kitchen.

Castiel isn’t sure what triggers it, but he opens his stupid mouth another time.

“Next time maybe hold your camera a little bit lower, it will capture the view on your panties a lot nicer.” Castiel says and Dean stops. For a moment it’s way too quiet in their apartment and Castiel feels like he should apologize.

Dean doesn’t turn around though.

“Maybe you should show me a few tricks next time.” Dean says and with that he’s already out of the door and a minute later Castiel can hear how he’s already starting to cook dinner.

Castiel swallows.

“I’d love to.”

*

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Dean says, even though he is alone in his room in front of his mirror. He’s wearing his grey robe, but that isn’t what makes him feel ridiculous.

Underneath he’s wearing dark green panties, which show off his ass and he can’t even hide his bulge in them. He’s even wearing a matching garter belt and stockings. He’d never worn something like that before.

Sure a few panties, because of his old high school girlfriend, who showed him how pretty they make him feel.

But this is more.

Dean had learned soon enough that his account got pretty popular and that mostly guys love to watch his short videos or dozen pictures. The comments are full of dirty lines and Dean has to say he likes the attention.

Today it’s different.

Today Castiel will take his pictures and to say that he is nervous, would be an understatement. His heart feels like it wants to jump out of his chest.

It’s even more embarrassing that he bought this outfit especially for Castiel. He doesn’t know they ended up here but Castiel will come inside any second by now and shoot Dean in this outfit.

“Dammit.” Dean mutters, because he would love for Castiel to find him beautiful in this. He’s pining for such a long time for Castiel by now and while he had understood that apparently Dean isn’t what Castiel wants, maybe today he can feel at least a bit wanted by him.

“Dean?”

Castiel knocks on his door and Dean nods to himself in the mirror before he tells Castiel that he can come in. Dean had even changed his bedsheet and put a few candles around the bed.

“Oh wow.” Castiel says when he sees the candles and Dean feels a bit proud. Castiel has his huge camera with him and Dean knows the quality of the photos will be so much better than anything his phone could produce.

“Yeah thought it would be a nice touch.” Dean says and he can see that Castiel is nodding. Dean chuckles a bit, because the whole situation is weird and embarrassing, but it’s also the hottest thing he’s ever done.

“Are you ready?” Castiel asks then and he is already checking a bunch of stuff on the camera. Dean schools his facial features and relaxes his shoulders.

“Yeah. Where do you want me?” Dean asks and only then realizes how that sounds. He can see that Castiel swallows and licks his lips and Dean’s dick - the damn traitor - jumps at that. Luckily he’s still in his robe.

“On the bed first.” Castiel answers and Dean can’t help but shudder at those words. Fuck, this sounds like they both mean something interely different. Something Dean would enjoy a lot more.

Dean lets the robe fall to his feet and Castiel’s eyes snap towards him. Dean almost wants to hide behind his hands, but instead he walks over to his bed and sinks down on the sheets.

“Fuck.” Castiel mutters under his breath, but Dean hears him anyway and he can’t help but smirk at that. Seems like Castiel does like his appearance at least. Dean doesn’t want to think about what that means.

So it’s what, Dean’s soul, that he hates?

Dean knows he’s not exactly relationship material with all his daddy issues and anger problems, but he tries. God, he would try so hard for Castiel.

“Maybe just start a few poses and I will see what I can do with those. After that I can give you a few directions, but I feel like you know exactly how you look good.” Castiel says and did his voice always sound so deep?

Dean tries to relax on the bed and spreads his legs a bit. He closes his eyes, because it’s easier. In most pictures his face isn’t seen and he wants this to stay that way. If it is in the picture, Dean is wearing a silky mask over half his face.

He puts the mask on now and then puts one hand on his cock, feeling already that he’s growing hard, just from Castiel watching.

“That’s good.” Castiel says quietly and starts to take a few pictures. Sometimes just of Dean’s lower part, how he’s touching himself so featherlight, sometimes from above him while Dean looks into the camera.

There is quiet music playing in Dean’s room, but all he can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears. Castiel looks like he wants to eat him alive and Dean can’t help the moan that escapes his lips.

Of course Castiel captures that moment.

“So fucking hot.” Castiel says and Dean arches his back a bit more, while Castiel kneels down at the side of the bed, to get a picture.

It doesn’t take long, before they both seem to relax and forgotten is all the shame and discomfort. Dean enjoys this a lot more than he should and he sucks lazily on his fingers, while Castiel groans.

Dean grins. Yeah he could get used to this. Before that it had been so awkward to take the pictures but this is fun.

“Spread your legs a bit more.” Castiel whispers and Dean obey happily. He’s fully hard by now, but those pictures always get him the most money anyway, so he wouldn’t complain.

It should be weird that Castiel sees him like this, but somehow it isn’t.

Dean rubs himself a bit and he can’t help but throw his head back, when precum leaks over his fingers and panties. He can see that Castiel is leaning over his hips now to capture that exact moment.

Probably doing a close-up of his dick. Dean groans.

Just then Castiel puts his own hand on Dean’s thigh. He squeezes and then takes a picture of that, Dean’s dick jerks and just like that he’s already coming.

Castiel doesn’t even bat an eyelash, he just continues to take a few pictures, his left hand still on Dean’s thigh.

“You look so gorgeous.” Castiel says and Dean’s face flushes from shame and excitement at the same time. Maybe even from the praise. Dean is breathing hard and he doesn’t really know what to answer.

He just came because his best friend had touched him. It’s not even an excuse that he’d been rubbing himself close to orgasm before. Shit.

“This better gets me a lot of money.” Dean says and Castiel nods slowly. He finally takes his hand away and looks through the pictures on his camera. Dean can’t really see if Castiel is hard himself, but it doesn’t look like it. He tries not to feel disappointed.

“I mean the pictures are amazing.” Castiel says and he doesn’t look up from his camera.

“Yeah perfect job for me, huh? I’ve always been sure that I’m good looking and that’s it.” Dean says and Castiel doesn’t seem to find that funny. No, he’s actually frowning at Dean. The head tilt will kill Dean one day.

“Don’t talk to yourself like that.” Castiel says and he’s actually angry. Now it’s Dean’s turn to frown back at him.

“We both know it’s true. Spare me the humiliation.” Dean says and he carefully gets up. He makes a face, because he hates the feeling of his wet panties sticking to his dick.

Castiel stops him though and Dean sits down on his bed once again. Castiel turns his camera around and shows Dean a picture of himself. It is pretty hot, but Dean doesn’t know what Castiel wants from him.

“What do you see?” Castiel asks and he shows him another picture. This one is just Dean’s face. His green eyes wide and he looks almost sweet. Had probably looked at Castiel while that had been taken.

Charlie always tells him how lovestruck he looks when Castiel is near.

“A hot guy?” Dean says slowly, because is that a trap?

Castiel’s frown grows heavier and Dean isn’t sure what he had said wrong. Castiel takes the camera back and then scrolls a bit longer through his pictures, before he shows it to Dean again.

This time it shows Dean studying at their couch table. Dean looks concentrated, biting down on his pencil. Castiel shows him the next picture. Dean obviously laughs at something in the picture and Dean shudders. That’s how he looks while laughing?

The next one is Dean eating and wow okay that’s even worse. Dean gets to know why Sammy complains about his table manners.

“Why are you showing me this? I know that on some days I’m not even hot.” Dean says, but Castiel shakes his head and his blue eyes look so sad.

“I wish you could see yourself like I’m seeing you.” Castiel says and Dean isn’t sure what he means by that. Dean at least puts his blanket over his lap, because he feels uncomfortable now.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean feels himself getting kinda angry.

“Dean, you are so much more than hot. Of course you are incredibly handsome and I know exactly while you got so many fans on your site. But to me you are everything. You are so hardworking and I don’t know anyone else who cares so much as you do. Nobody has a heart that big and it’s the reason why I fell so hard for you.” Castiel rambles and Dean can feel himself tearing up.

“What?”

“I love you, you damn idiot!” Castiel says and Dean is speechless, that is what he always wanted and now he doesn’t know what to answer.

“Sorry.” Castiel says and he packs his things. Dean finally gets up himself and takes the camera out of Castiel’s hand. They should probably talk about Castiel’s stalking in the last months, but Dean wants something different.

“Cas, I love you too. It’s… Cas it’s always been you. I thought I wasn’t worth enough, because I don’t have money and nor am I as smart as you are…” Dean starts but Castiel doesn’t want to hear it.

Castiel kisses him like he’s a starving man and Dean relaxes into his arms. This is what he had always wanted. Castiel tilts his head a bit and just like that the kiss gets even better. Dean whines quietly, when Castiel breaks it.

“Do you seriously think I care about money? Dean you are the most selfless person I’ve ever met and don’t get me started on your nerdy side. It’s adorable.” Castiel says and he’s smiling so prettily.

Dean steals another kiss.

“You’re incredible, you know that? Why did you never say something?” Dean asks and Castiel shrugs a bit embarrassed.

“I was also very sure that you don’t like me. You kinda killed me with your outfit today.” Castiel admits and Dean gives him his camera back.

“Wanna take some more pictures?” Dean asks and he smirks at Castiel, who actually pushes him on the bed. Dean grins up at Castiel anway.

“Oh sweetheart. I got other plans.”

Dean doesn’t mind.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Let Jack do some biting and exploding as a little treat. He needs it for enrichment in his environment! Alternatively this is his “hormone driven teen age rebellion/angst” phase. Or he’s threatening to run away and live with Sam.

Assuming you’re referencing my anti-domestic destiel au: yeah 🥰 jack is in just the worst situation here, and he put himself there, sure, he agreed to it, thought it would be okay. but crucially, to me, he also thought it was temporary. and that the love he would experience as Dean & Cas’s actual baby wouldn’t differ that much from what he gets as himself. And when it actually is different, when they treat him different, (maybe there’s more kindness in Dean when he’s holding someone that looks more like a child, maybe Castiel’s more attentive and knows how to handle him better because after all, he planned, he took classes, for a baby) that’s rough! horrible and frustrating!

and since they’re all pretending this is fine and makes them happy, he spends more time than he should playing along and feeling worse and worse about himself. I think things should start breaking around him. His toys all crack and twist into terrible shapes. Blood stains show up on his baby blankets. He cries and glass shatters. (He’s trying so hard to keep it in, but it’s not working, he’s upset and he doesn’t even have an outlet to talk about it or anything because Dean and Cas are fully treating him like the toddler he’s taken the shape of.)

I really think Sam would be his saving grace here because Sam is a reprieve from having to keep up that appearance and act. Sam treats Jack as his son, yes, but also as an adult, because that is what Jack is, fast growth cycle and odd birthday count or not. He doesn’t want to be a child. The window for that has passed. He’s grown up.

(I swear that Jack’s part in this isn’t just me being frustrated with his literal infantilization in popular fanon as a character who’s very obviously (to me, anyway) coded as autistic. I swear. It’s not all that. Just. Most of it.)

Jack running away with Sam would be such a way to kick off the falling apart of this “perfect” life that Dean and Castiel have constructed. Their son up and fucking leaves, goes to live with Sam because he can’t stand how neither of them look at him and actually see who he is rather than who they’d prefer him to be. Maybe jumpstarts a few realizations about the fact that they aren’t seeing each other truthfully either, that they’re both miserable and need to split up before they lose their friendship that’s so important to them as well.

(and of course, for extra drama, Jack should burn their house down. What better way to signify that the Normal Apple Pie Life is coming to an end then a housefire. Dean walks in to check on Jack during the night and instead of a baby, there’s Jack standing there next to his small bed, eyes burning gold and neither of them can say anything before the whole room explodes into flame. (Which Jack is very upset about. He didn’t mean that to happen. (He’s glad that it did.) He just lost control.)

but also just in general even outside of this au, jack should be allowed to bite people <3 it’s good for him <3 he gets his bloodthirsty urges to tear out people’s throats from his dad! (sam)

[pallasperilous]

Occursus

Castiel/Dean Winchester Gen/Teen, 4341 words 15x20 coda  AO3 version “The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” 

Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

It’s half past midnight by the time Dean gets another run at Cas.

Granted, what the fuck does half past midnight even mean here, where time is as free as tap water? Why does anybody even bother? For all it matters, Dean could set his watch to eleventy minutes past twenty o’ nope and still never miss last call.

Then again, somebody felt it necessary to invent the idea of Tuesday in the first place, and Dean’s not gonna volunteer himself for the task of replacing it with something better. What’s important is that he’s survived (or rather, he hasn’t survived) a battery of poignant moments and tearful reunions. He and Sam hugged out burdens registering in the triple digits. They even had a little fight, pretty much for the fun of it, while Ellen fucking Harvelle watched them over the bar with her eyes shining. She still charged them, though.

Right at the beginning of the party Dean and Castiel had their eyes-across-the-room thing, followed by the same magnetic, exhausted embrace they’ve shared on just about every plane of reality now. Dean supposes he could ask Cas for a nickel tour of the Empty just so they could hit for the cycle, but he’d really rather not. Sam let them eke out a few gruff, tear-choked monosyllables before diving in, sweeping Cas up in a bear hug and laughing like a fucking kid. Dean doesn’t push it, because it’s been longer for Sam, after all. Or something.

 And now it’s quiet, just the jukebox and the clink of glasses back in the kitchen, a few folks murmuring in booths. It might be dark outside, it might not; it’s waiting on Dean’s opinion before it commits to anything. And so is Cas, who is standing in the warm glow of the jukebox, hands in his pockets.

 Dean walks up, leans against it, bottle still dangling from one hand.

“C’mon, sunshine. I’ll show you yours, you show me mine.”

Cas looks up and into Dean’s eyes with the wary, elegant patience of a deer. “What is it that you would be showing me, Dean?”

Dean gives him a long, languid blink and bites his lip, and Castiel lags for half a second before rolling his own eyes. “I see death hasn’t refined your sense of humor.”

“Nope. Guess the billionth time aint the charm.”

Cas remains stonefaced, which means a corresponding you dumbass blush starts crawling up the sides of Dean’s neck. The jukebox switches records like it’s making a suggestion.

“I’m gonna sit down outside,” Dean says. “C’mon and sit down with me. There’s a patio somewhere, right? Ellen was always talking about adding one out back. No way she hasn’t bossed somebody into buildin’ it.”

“There’s a patio,” Cas says, taking his hands out of his pockets.

 Heaven’s patio is pretty nice; twenty square feet, some scattered picnic tables, fences covered in ivy and string lights. It still smells like fresh pine boards. There’s even a fire pit, which seems kinda bougie for the Roadhouse, but hell with it, it’s warm and pretty, and since when did pretentious people get to lay claim to “a hole with a fire in it”? There’s no moon overhead, and so the Milky Way is giving them the full monty — the runnelled spine of it, the ribcage packed with galaxies.

“Are they all alive?” Dean asks. The warmth from inside leaks out of his collar, wisps away.

“Who?”

Dean points up. “The stars. They always make a big deal about how most of the stars you can see from Earth have been dead for millions of years by the time we get the light from ‘em. That still true here? Or is everything on auto-renewal?”

“That’s a very complicated question,” Cas says, not looking up, only at Dean. He does that a lot, Dean knows, but it turns out to mean something different than what Dean had always assumed, which was ironically pretty similar to what it actually meant, but was reassuringly unactionable and therefore unfuckupable.

“I’m a very complicated guy,” Dean says.

Castiel smiles at that. “I don’t actually know the answer,” he admits. “And it would take an extremely long time to investigate. There are some other things I’d rather do first.”

“What, you can’t just call the kid for directory assistance?”

Castiel lets a good-humored sigh. “Like many young people these days, Jack prefers to avoid the phone.”

This is a solid riff, and Dean respects it. He picks the table closest to the fire and takes a bench and Cas sits next to him, instead of opposite. Dean thought he managed to break him of this habit a few years ago, but here all things are made whole again.

“So what,” Cas says, without a single molecule of playfulness or seduction, “is it that you want us to show each other?”

“Yeah, I was…it was a dumb joke. But I mean it, just not in a ‘playing doctor’ way.”

Castiel frowns, tightens his lips; the firelight throws a fluttering shadow across his face.

“I mean…Christ.” Dean takes a medicinal slug of his dwindling beer. “I don’t really look like this anymore either, right?” And he gestures at his usual shitshow personal presentation, which death has also noticeably failed to refine.

Castiel frowns, smoothes his hand across the surface of the table. “This is a corporeal world, Dean. It operates on a different set of rules, but your body here is no more of an illusion than it was on earth.”

“Seriously?” Dean ponders a second, squints through the dim light at his fingernails, at the high-resolution grime contained therein. “Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work. At least compared to Holodeck Heaven.”

“It is. But we didn’t build this place to be a...a…doorprize. It’s a real world,” Castiel enthuses, looming forward. “It’s the one that should have been created for all of you in the first place.” He pauses, glances down. “For all of us.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay, so no holograms. I’ll keep all that in mind next time Charlie tries to convince me to go skydiving.”

Castiel snorts, but not in pure aggravation, so Dean feels like he’s finally got a point on the board. “What I’m sayin’ is…physical or not, this place has different rules, right? So could I look at you without my eyeballs exploding? The…you know, the angel parts of you. Not just your vessel,” and Dean fwippies his hand at Cas to indicate that true beauty is contained within and Dean is completely indifferent to the fact this dork-ass alien managed to bodysnatch a guy who’s never dipped below an 8.5.

“It isn’t a vessel anymore. We can create our own bodies, now.”

“Peachy,” Dean clips, because that shit is a little late coming off the line.

Castiel sighs. “You could see me in that form without coming to harm. But you should know that I don’t consider it any more a reflection who I am than this form. Not anymore.”

Dean rolls the bottle towards him, nudges a knuckle. “You’re a real boy now, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Castiel says, and smiles a smile so small that Dean would need a microscope to figure out if it’s pleased or pained.

So Dean thwacks the bottle down on the totally-real table and claps his totally-real hands. “Well then let’s go. Hit me with that angel weirdness. If we’re gonna do this, I gotta taste all thirty-one flavors.”

Castiel smiles a little more convincingly, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are really only the two,” he says, and holds his palms out to the warmth of the fire.

“Great, then we’ll be done in time to catch Letterman. Then if you’re good maybe you can help me shimmy out of this thing.”

Cas cocks his head. “Out of which thing?”

“This super real heavenly meat-suit, dude. It’s not fair if only one of us gets naked. Peep show has to go both ways. I see your angel-face, you see my soul.”

Cas looks stricken, like Dean is asking to suck on his toes next to a playground. “I mean, unless that’d fuck you up,” Dean adds.

“No,” Castiel replies, a little absently. “It wouldn’t fuck me up. But it…wouldn’t really accomplish anything, either.”

“What, no soul kink? That’s bullshit and you know it. You love this crap.”

Castiel replies, “Your soul is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” with the easy confidence of a regular latte order. With the same uncanny, 2 Blessed 2 B Stressed face he had when Dean plowed Ruby’s knife hilt-deep into Jimmy Novak’s sternum, that he had when the Empty collapsed him  like a carcass in an acid bath.

That face shuts Dean right the fuck up, because it sends him skipping backwards into that fucking basement, where his phone is buzzing and the gritty concrete chill of the floor is seeping through his jeans into the useless meat of his legs and leeching into the hot, wet channels of his piece of shit heart.

Turns out you can work up a good little panic attack in heaven, which seems like a significant oversight.

From a million miles away he feels Cas’s warm, dry palm slide over the back of his hand –– there’s a ring there now that Dean lost down a motel sink drain ages ago, is nobody spotting continuity errors here?—then Cas’s hand tightens on his and it feels like a Xanax kicking in. (The good kind, direct from the hot nurse with the little paper cup, not the kind you get in a from a shady burnout at a truckstop, that’s been ground up with baking soda or benadryl and carefully remolded, as if you could possibly give that much of a shit when you’re freaking out bad enough to buy Xanax at a truckstop.)

Point being, he calms the fuck down.

Cas has good hands. They can do a lot of impressive shit, and they look nice doing it. They don’t look like –– they’ve never looked like –– they belong to somebody whose main job is destroying people, places, or things. They’re hands that how to play the cello, or make tables from reclaimed wood, or give soapy, encompassing handjobs in the shower on cold evenings.

“It’s been years, though,” Dean rasps, not looking up yet. “I was a kid when you got me out of Hell, Cas. I’ve done a lot of shit since then. Maybe souls get stretch marks.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on his, clamps it down on the table. “I’ve always been able to see it.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but Cas keeps on going –

“The only time I couldn’t see any part of your soul was when I was without grace, and I promise you that was one of the greatest deprivations imaginable.”

Dean snorts, looks away, but his hand is still on lockdown. “Worse than going hungry, huh?”

“Much.”

“Hey, what about Sam? Or, hell, fucking Donatello. They both were both walking around minus their creamy filling, and you didn’t say boo.”

Cas shrugs. “I can’t see their souls under ordinary circumstances.”

“So what, mine’s just extra loud, or day-glo, or what?”

“It’s both of those things, but that isn’t why,” Cas answers, and the boy is downright wry.

Dean tugs his hand out, raps his knuckles against the wood. “Okay, so stop bein’ coy and tell me before I get a complex. And if you say it’s because of love or some shit, I’m bailing to Rowena’s.”

“You infected me,” Cas says.

“Uh,” says Dean.

The fire pops and a log shifts; Cas glances over at the kerfuffle, absently lifts his fingers to his chin like he’s looking for an old scar. “In Hell, when I retrieved you…I had to grip your raw soul. I was meant to wear a gauntlet, so I wouldn’t be burned.”

Dean snickers. “You’re telling me you were supposed to be wearing a soul condom. What happened, you get too excited and forget to suit up? It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to take in.”

Castiel purses his lips. “No, I was properly armored. But my arm was torn off in combat shortly before I reached you.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Cas agrees. “I didn’t have time to retrieve the arm or its protection from the pit, so I had to grow a new one very quickly.”

Dean really should’ve switched to whiskey before starting this. “What, you didn’t pack a spare?” He wheezes.

“Ordinarily, yes, I would have had the resources, but I was equipped very lightly for that mission. It was a raid, not a siege. You understand the difference.”

“Sure, yeah, you left your emergency arms in the trunk. So you just popped out a new one. No big.”

“It was a big. Your soul was close enough that it forced me to grow a human arm, instead of a much quicker and more powerful extensor.”

“Okay, uh,” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose, “there’s a lot to unpack there.”

“What part of it confuses you?”

“I dunno, the bit where apparently angels are I guess heavenly octopuses,”

“The plural in the Greek is octopodes,” Cas interjects, not without pleasure.

Dean glowers. “Or the part where you can apparently swap in different drill bits,” Dean continues,

“Mm,” Cas notes, careful not to open his mouth,

“Or that I, like, accidentally bullied you into growing a person arm,” and Dean pauses for breath here, which Cas evidently takes as permission to dive in with more Planet Earth commentary.

“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” he says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two.

“Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes.

“It was a poor analogy. I apologize.”

“So what’s a better one?”

Castiel drums his fingers for a second, listens to the fire pop in its little cage. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.”

“Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

“What I’m trying to avoid saying,” Castiel sighs, “is that you rubbed off on me.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say that around me, either.”  He lays a couple little pats on Cas’s hand. “Lookit you, though, seeing around that corner. I’m proud of you, man. That would’ve totally flipped your breaker back in the day.”

“Just one of the many ways you have reshaped me, Dean,” Cas says, with warm sarcasm.

“Alright, so you rawdogged me, I whammied you. Chocolate, peanut butter, peanut butter, chocolate.”

Cas’s forehead wrinkles in skepticism. “I still prefer the cockroach. But some part of your soul injected itself into one of my more exposed frequencies. Under different circumstances, I would’ve stopped and excised the affected area before it spread, but. I was being pursued, and the mission had taken much longer than any of us anticipated.”

“Us? Thought it was just you down there.”

Cas looks vaguely offended, straightens and folds his arms like he just remembered he’s giving a deposition. “No, of course not. Michael assigned sixty-six angels in eleven groups of six, each escorted to the field by a seraph. We struck simultaneously at six different areas in perdition. From there we dispersed to individual targets –– to cause as much chaos as possible in order to help obscure the object of our mission, and to increase the odds that one of us would actually find you.”

“And you were the lucky winner.” Dean pushes down a touch of sick shame at the thought of it — he’d been coiled up like a snake around somebody else’s torment, anesthetized by it. It was one of the random rags of infernal time where his own pain decreased in proportion to how much he dealt out, and that was the closest thing Hell had to a Friday night.

“I was,” Castiel nods. “I took some liberties with my assignment,” he adds, squinting. “I flattered myself that I shared a special affinity with The Righteous Man.”

“That guy always sounded like kind of a cunt to me,” Dean notes. “You know, not withstanding the fact that I’m him.”

Castiel shrugs. “I found you, and I did what was necessary to save you, and my siblings did what was necessary to save me.” A little falter enters his voice. “Only twelve of us returned from that mission.” Cas looks up, out, away. A dove coos somewhere nearby of the Roadhouse; did it have a run-in with the windshield of an eighteen wheeler one day and show up here, Dean wonders, or does heaven make its own birds from scratch? That’s gotta be a softball compared to whether Betelgeuse is still open for business.

Castiel waits until the bird shuts up, then says, “Of those twelve surviving angels, I personally murdered nine, in everything that followed.”

After a moment Dean says “Yeah,” with practiced neutrality. He’s got some similar tallies, written in Sharpie on the back of his eyelids.

Cas sighs and his attention comes back down to the table. “By the time I received the authority to restore your soul to your body, the infection had spread almost past the point of containment. That’s why I resisted taking a vessel at first. I worried that occupying a human form would speed up the process.”

“Hey now. I thought you showed up naked because you thought I’d be one of those special people,” Dean quips, “Who can handle angel stuff without going all kibbles ’n bits.”

“That was only a partial truth.”

Dean tips the beer bottle in salute. “You’re a real special flavor of asshole, Cas.”

“So I’ve been told. I was right, though. When I took Jimmy as a vessel, I contracted — condensed — myself very severely. The infection had a much shorter distance to travel to reach all of my extremities, and a human form was the most hospitable environment possible.”

“You got a raging case of the Deans.”

Cas’s head kicks back in a laugh that kinda surprises them both. “Yes,” he says, grinning. “I did. I was very displeased, and very concerned I’d be found out and judged unfit for duty. And I very much was. Unfit, that is. Though I was not found out.”

“C’mon, never? You went rogue on the company.”

“Uriel suspected. Naomi certainly detected it later, as did Metatron. But in the moment, no. The Host’s attention was focused on the Apocalypse ahead, not on debriefing a mission that was considered a success. After the Cage was closed, I had too much influence to come under that level of scrutiny.”

“Hmh.” Dean realizes he’s been systematically picking down the label on the beer bottle, so he sets it on the ground before he gets sticky little shreds everywhere. “So I gotta ask. My little souvenir, the handprint. That’s where you grabbed me, with your lil…Mister Potato Head human arm?”

“It is.”

“If I’m the one who infected you, how come I’m the one who got burned?”

“My hand didn’t burn you.”

“Well, it ain’t fingerpaint.”

“Your own soul burned it, as it flowed out of your flesh and into mine. It burned until the moment when I finally released you from my grip. My hand healed itself; your arm did not.” Castiel gives a thin scoff. “I hadn’t planned to leave you interred.”

“Oh, no? Well that’s nice to hear, you know, a decade after the fact. I still have nightmares about that shit.”

Castiel winces. “It’s no excuse, but I was in a great deal of…the equivalent of pain. It took an immense effort to break off the inflow of your soul, and when I did manage it, I was thrown quite a ways by the recoil. By the time I recovered enough to return, you were already looting a gas station,” He finishes, dryly.

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think much of leisure as a virtue. Also I was thirsty, because I’d just crawled out of my own grave.”

“And I was distracted, because I’d just fought my way out of the inferno while being digested by a demented human soul.”

“You wanna call it even?”

Cas lifts his brows. “If you don’t mind.”

 There is a long, dark breath, during which their little smiles fade. 

 “So, all that,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking coward.

“All that,” says Cas, because he isn’t.

 Dean clears his throat. “That means you can see my soul-stuff 24/7, huh?”

Castiel slides one leg up onto the bench, shifts to sit astride it, like he’s maybe about to deliver an after-school PSA on the Real Deal About Drugs. “I can always see myself, and extensions of my self. And since your soul made itself into an integral part of me…I can see you.”

“I take it that’s not exactly in the manual.”

“No. I didn’t entirely understand it at first — for a long time, I convinced myself it was because you were designed to be a celestial vessel, and that I had been destined to save you from Hell.”

That thin, acidic feelings starts to rise up in Dean’s chest again. “Do you…” A dry swallow reflex grabs his throat. “Hm. Fuck.”

“What?” Cas asks, scooting forward. An angel. Scooting. What a world. “You can ask me anything, Dean. I hope we’re both past being offended.”

“Have you ever thought that. This whole deal. Our…thing.” Dean lets out a breath. “The way you feel about me. The way I feel about you.”

“Do I worry that its only basis is our shared material?”

Dean licks his lips, works a jaw muscle, forces out a nod. 

Cas frowns, sets one elbow up against the table, then lets his head tip to the side. “Why do you love Sam?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, he’s my brother. We got shared material, too. But we’re not talking genetics.”

“Genes were the initial basis of your love for Sam. But you share half as much material with Adam. Do you love him fifty percent as much as you do Sam?”

“One, love doesn’t work that way and you know it, and two, fucking of course not. I barely know the guy, and what I’ve seen didn’t exactly blow me away.” Not that the poor dumb kid ever really had a chance. “Sam’s Sam, he’s earned it a million times over just by bein’ him.”

“Then you understand.”

“But Cas, man…I…” Dean laughs, which is an abbreviated form of screaming, “I treated you like shit.”

Cas nods. “You did.”

“Okay, the rules say you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“But the balance remains in your favor. Dean, are you genuinely afraid that you — care for me…”  and Dean can hear the FCC live-bleep in that one, like does his total cowardice have a special color Cas can see with his soul-o-vision? “Only out of some compulsion?”

“No,” Dean says, to the great surprise of his frontal cortex, which was busy kicking the shit out of itself. “No,” he says again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that that answer actually came out of him and entered the living air between them.

Then the wave is rolling towards him and he enters that slim moment of body-physics where you either take a lungful and commit to diving under the break, or you kick out against the undertow, arch your back to meet the blow, and let yourself be flown all the way up to the waiting shore––

“No,” Dean says, “I love you.” And he chokes up a little, first at the release of saying it, then at how much of exactly jack-shit it changes anything so what was he even scared of, and then at the look on Cas’s face: how he’s frozen. Like that dog from that video, the one that loved tennis balls so goddamn much that his owner bought him a thousand fucking tennis balls and dumps them out all at once and the dog absolutely stalls the fuck out, just seconds on end of underspecced dog-brain hang time before he finally snaps back to reality and loses his absolute shit scrabbling all over the porch.

Castiel comes back online with a little choking noise of his own, and a kind of awkward scrabble for Dean’s hand.

“I have for a long time,” Dean continues, because apparently he’s continuing, “I’ve loved you for fucking ages, Cas. In people years, anyway, I’m sure that mean’s fuckall to somebody who’s a zillion––”

“I don’t,” Cas says thickly, “really give a damn about the age difference, Dean,” and cracks into a chuckle.

“So how come you never knew it?” Dean asks, feeling freedom turn into a hunger or something like vertigo. “If you can see my soul, how could you not know?”

Cas shrugs, a bit helplessly.

“Seriously,” Dean laughs, “how did I manage to hide that shit so well? Sammy found every nudie mag I ever shoplifted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’ve never actually been able to hide anything from me.”

Dean scoffs. “C’mon, man. I snowed you plenty, or else we woulda had this conversation dirtside a long time ago.”

“Whatever I missed, Dean…it wasn’t because you succeeded at hiding it,” Castiel says, softly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smile. He lifts a hand to Dean’s face, bone and flesh on flesh and bone. “I just loved you enough to look away.”

 It’s a long time before they go back inside. By any measure. {AO3}

[elduwrites]

Reminders That I Love You - Chapter 3

“Don’t be a brat.” Cas tugged his hair again. It was harder this time and lasted until a small moan escaped Dean’s lips. Then the contact was gone. Damn. He usually had more control than that. But they had been very busy, and angry with each other, lately. This was a welcome change of pace.

“Anyway, I believe in you.” Cas grinned. “Now be quiet, I need to concentrate on my work.”    

Also available on AO3

Word count: 4916 (story total: 7603)

Chapter 3/3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 

When Cas returned, Dean laid naked in the middle of the bed, legs spread and hands beneath his head. He grinned up at his boyfriend who stopped in the doorway for a while, just starring at him.

“See something you like?” Dean asked, letting his tongue dart over his bottom lip for good measure.

“Yes, you’re very beautiful Dean,” Cas replied matter-of-factly. Then he walked closer, keeping his eyes plastered to the man on the bed the entire time. “And you’re being very good for me.”    

“Not like you asked me to do anything complicated.” Dean looked away, lightly biting his lip. He wanted to be good, especially after the evening they had, but he had to earn it.

“The complexity of the task does not dictate how pleased I am when you succeed,” Cas said sternly as he sat down on the bed, leaning over the other man. “Some days I want you to prove just how good you can be for me. Today is not about that. For now, I want to remind you how wonderful you always are to me Dean. Even when you don’t see your own worth.”  

“What if I want, or need, to prove that I can be good for you?” His voice was small even to his own ears, but it needed to be said.

“Then that’s for another day.”

“But-”

“No,” Cas said firmly. “On Saturday I will have you collared on your knees with my cock in your mouth while I research my next paper, but I have a different plan for tonight. Are you going to be a brat and question my decisions, or will you be still and obedient like my good boy ought to?”

Dean swallowed hard, but kept his lips closed. Saturday could not come soon enough. But Cas knew what he needed, and what he could take. If he said that this wasn’t the day for proper play, then he was right. Of course he was. Dean looked up, meeting the others gaze and held it until his boyfriend smiled.

“Good,” Cas said. He ran one hand through Dean’s hair, tugging slightly before letting go. Dean leaned into the touch, whimpering slightly as it disappeared. “Remember these?” Cas pulled a bunch of pens out of his pocket. Except, these weren’t normal pens. They were the temporary tattoo markers they had bought for when Claire was desperate to draw on them. Cas had insisted that they were better for their skin than regular pens, and their niece was overjoyed with the vibrant colors that were much easier to cover their arms with.

“I remember,” Dean replied. How could he not? The guys at work always commented on his wonderful new tattoos whenever Claire had spent an artistic weekend at their place. They were rather hard to wash off too. Not that he really minded that part, it was usually a nice reminder of a good family weekend.

“I presumed you would. Now you’re going to lay back, relax, and stay as still as possible, while I cover your skin in all the reasons I love you.”

“Kinda hard both to relax and stay still,” Dean said. Mostly just to say something back to that declaration.

“Don’t be a brat.” Cas tugged his hair again. It was harder this time and lasted until a small moan escaped Dean’s lips. Then the contact was gone. Damn. He usually had more control than that. But they had been very busy, and angry with each other, lately. This was a welcome change of pace.

“Anyway, I believe in you.” Cas grinned. “Now be quiet, I need to concentrate on my work.”    

Dean took a few deep breaths, relaxing into the mattress as well as he could. Meanwhile, his boyfriend’s big hands ran down his chest, barely grazing his nipples, down his stomach and up his sides. He whimpered again, pushing up into the touch. Why had he denied himself this closeness for so long? Those hands on him were better than almost any sensations. Perhaps except for those fingers in him.

“So beautiful,” Cas said, leaving a small kiss slightly under his left nipple. It was followed by the familiar sensation of the marker on Dean’s skin. Familiar, but still different than when their niece was ‘making him pretty’ as she liked to call it. Cas’ hand seemed surer and less hesitant than Claire often was. And the skin of his sides and stomach was more sensitive than his arms and calves, which were usually the body parts decorated. As the pen stopped its motion, Dean looked down his body. Sure enough, the word beautiful was written in red over one of his ribs.

“Incredibly kind.” Cas left a kiss under the first word, then wrote with a new pen over that same spot. Soon the word kind shone out in orange letters.

“You’re so good with Claire, Madison and little Bobby. The best uncle and godfather anyone could wish for.” Another scribble over his skin. Dean focused on keeping his breathing even so as not to disrupt the others work. When he looked down again, amazing uncle, was written in bright yellow.

Another kiss, halfway down his side, then. “You’re so open and accepting of everyone who need it. I’ve never seen you judge anyone for anything other than being hateful assholes. And those people always deserve it.” The pen moved over his skin once more. As it stopped, Cas moved his hand to squeeze his hip lightly. Dean squinted at the newest word. It looked like it said accepting in deep green letters.

“Dude, are you making my stomach into a fucking rainbow?” Dean asked incredulously, while his boyfriend put down the green marker in favor of a blue one.

“Why are you surprised by this? I make everything into rainbows.” That much was true. After years of hiding his sexuality from overly religious parents, Cas had put all that repressed energy into buying and creating rainbow colored-everything. There were at least seven different flags, and far too many t-shirts. They had rainbow-colored throw pillows in many different designs, and a shower curtain decorated with a tree with rainbow leaves. There were rainbow coasters, cups, water bottles, and at least fifty different buttons and stickers. Everything Cas painted these days were either rainbow inspired, bees, flowers, or, somehow, all of the above. Dean had barely kept him from hanging up rainbow curtains in their living room. That shit was just tacky, and therefore banished to Cas’ office. The office that contained a stuffed rainbow unicorn next to the stuffed bee on top of the bookshelf. Not to mention the queer section of that bookshelf that had the books sorted by rainbow colors. So okay, this was not actually surprising. Still though…

“Don’t mean you have to make me into one.”

“Why does it bother you more that I’m writing in color that that I’m doing it in the first place? You seem to have your priorities mixed up sweetheart.”

“I dunno… It’s just real obvious is all.” That was a bad excuse. He was aware of that. It just felt different in all these colors than it would have otherwise. Even so, his boyfriend was right. It didn’t actually matter. So why’d it feel like a big deal?

“It’s not like anyone else is going to see you this way. Right Dean?”

“Of course not.” It was far too cold for him to go shirtless anywhere other than inside their house. And even during summer, he preferred to wear at least a t-shirt. Only Cas got to see him shirtless for long periods of time.

“Then why does it matter? I like you like this.”

“I dunno.” Dean looked away, biting lightly at his lip. It was hard to argue his point when he didn’t actually have any reasoning, and Cas was all cold logic. The rainbow thing wasn’t a problem either. Not really. He was just caught off guard was all. But there was no way he could admit that now.

“Do you know what I think?” Cas moved so his knees where on the other side of the other’s hips, rested his hands next to Dean’s head, and leant down so their faces were mere inches apart. “I think you’re trying to rile me up. I think you’re being difficult on purpose. This,” he ran his right hand down Dean’s side, stroking over the words, “doesn’t actually bother you. You’re just clinging to the only argument you could find because affectionate words make you uncomfortable. Perhaps you’re even angling for a punishment?”

Dean whimpered lightly at that. Trust his boyfriend to psychoanalyze him in a situation like this. As if they didn’t have better things to do than trying to get to the bottom of his issues. His fear of intimacy as both Cas and Charlie was so fond of calling it. This was not the time.

“Is that it Dean? Are you trying to make me be rough with you because that’s easier to deal with? Would you rather have me spank you till you’re a writhing mess or perhaps slap you hard enough that you’ll feel it for days?”

“Please.” He wasn’t sure what he was asking for, but his boyfriend seemed to have enough ideas of his own. As long as Cas gave him something.

“Too bad really, that I already told you we’re not doing that tonight.”

“Cas. Please.”

“I’m not changing my plans just because you’re being a brat,” Cas almost growled. “However, I can’t let that kind of behavior go completely unchecked either.”

“Please.” Dean repeated. By now it could be called pleading, almost begging. His boyfriend usually liked that, was more likely to fulfill his wishes when he asked nicely. But it didn’t seem like he was budging this time. His expression was blank, not betraying any of his thoughts. Would whatever he was planning be good or bad? Well, it was always good with Cas, but sometimes that also meant torturous. Then again, that was often the best of all.  

Cas suddenly sat up until he was kneeling over him. Then he ran his hands slowly down the other’s shoulders and chest, stopping to pay extra attention to his nipples. Dean swallowed the groan that wanted to erupt as both his nipples were pinched hard.

“Don’t be quiet on my account,” Cas said, pinching even harder. Then he let go off the left one, only to bend down and bite it. Dean moaned, arching his back into the pleasure-pain sensation.

“There you go. Keep making those pretty sounds for me,” Cas grinned down at him before leaning in to capture his lips in a rough kiss. Dean quickly opened up for him, allowing his boyfriend to dominate his mouth completely. As the kiss broke off, Cas moved so sit next to him on the bed again, one hand resting comfortingly on his stomach. Dean put weight on his elbows, wanting to follow, but one sharp look from the other man made him rest back onto the bed. That earned him a soft smile and a gentle hand playing with his hair.

“Touch yourself for me,” Cas said, giving a significant gaze down to the others cock, then back up to his eyes. Dean starred at him for a moment before he followed the order, slowly jacking himself off. This seemed too simple. Was this evening really all about pleasure? And affection or whatever?

“Faster. Put some effort into it.”

Dean fastened his grip and speed his movement to a pace that would have him desperate in no time.

“Good boy,” Cas murmured into his ear. “Tell me when you’re close.”

Oh. Of course. Dean closed his eyes, jerking himself in all the ways he enjoyed the most. Firm grip. Fast movements. A twist of his wrist on every third or fourth upstroke. Pausing for a moment to run his thumb over the slit, coaxing more pre-cum to ease his movements. He was hurdling steadily towards an orgasm, feeling his boyfriend’s heavy gaze on him the entire time.

“’M close,” he moaned out.

“Stop. Hands on the bed.”

Dean quickly followed the order, breathing hard as he tried to calm down. He whimpered sightly at the receding orgasm. It was so close, but far out of his grasp.

“So good for me,” Cas murmured, then leaned down to kiss his stomach. “I love seeing you like this. So desperate to please.”

Dean smiled, relaxing further into the bed. He was still on edge, desperate for release, but it seemed somehow less important. He was pleasing Cas, and his boyfriend would surely take care of him.

A sudden feeling of a marker over his skin almost made him flinch, but he managed to stay still as not to mess up the other man’s work. Peering down, he saw his boyfriend with a blue marker in hand, obviously continuing where he had left off earlier.

“Cas? What?”

“You didn’t think I was done, did you? I already told you I wasn’t changing my plans. I don’t like leaving my projects half-finished.”

“I guess not.” It certainly had seemed like he’d changed his plans. Dean really should have known better. When Cas first made up his mind, he stuck to it. He peered down at his stomach, seeing desperate to please written under the green accepting.

“Dean. Look at me.” Cas laid a hand on his cheek and starred intently at him as their eyes met. “Indulge me in this. Let me show you affection. You deserve to be loved.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean tried to look away, but the other’s eyes were captivating, holding his gaze steady. “Indulge yourself or whatever.”

“Imprudent boy,” Cas smacked his hip lightly. “I want to worship you, just let yourself enjoy it.” With that he picked up a purple marker, putting the tip of it against the skin right above Dean’s hipbone.

“You deserve to be loved,” Cas repeated while writing what was probably the same words into the other’s skin. Dean barely suppressed a shiver as those words finally washed over him. How many times had Cas told him that by now? And how many more times had he found himself doubting it?

“Now continue touching yourself.”

Dean’s hand moved almost on autopilot, wrapping around his cock and jacking it with sure movements. He kept his eyes open this time, taking in all the emotion in his boyfriend’s eyes. No one could convey emotion through a look quite like Cas. And he was using that ability now to express all the love he insisted that Dean deserved. It was enough to make a guy believe him.

Pleasure built up within him even faster this time around. He jerked off until he was moments away from orgasm before he moaned out that he was close.

“Stop.”

His movement stilled immediately, but he clutched the base of his cock for a few deep breaths before he was calm enough to place his hand back on the bed. Perhaps even closer than Cas would have taken him if the former had been doing the touching.    

“You’re doing remarkably well.” Cas left a kiss to each of his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Dean whimpered in return, struggling to keep himself from pleading for release. He really needed to come. Preferable five minutes ago. Instead, his boyfriend took up the red marker again, and started writing on the right side of his stomach. Dean couldn’t find the energy to read the words anymore, but it was impossible to ignore the several times Cas murmured “good boy” into his skin while he kissed around the new words. In return, Dean let out an undignified sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan. He was being good.

“Yes. Good boy with his pleasing sounds.” Cas smiled down at him, while stroking over his stomach in small circles. “And you are so good to everyone Dean. You care so much. I’m in awe of the love you show to all the people around you. Such a wonderful, caring man.” There were more pen scratches and kisses against Dean’s stomach. This time he simply breathed through it, letting the words and affectionate touches wash over him.

“Not to mention the love you put into your food. Before you, I mostly ate just to sustain myself. Now I do it for pleasure as well. You taught me that through your food, you’re such an amazing cook Dean.” More writing on his skin. More fingers tracing patterns on his stomach. More kisses to his side and chest, followed by a sharp bite to one nipple. He arched into it, chasing the mouth as it moved away. His boyfriend chuckled and pushed him back down with a flat hand on the middle of his stomach.

“Touch yourself again.”

He did. With fast strokes, spurred on by the hands exploring his body. Every time Cas pinched his skin or twisted a nipple, he moaned loudly. All the touches went straight to his dick, and within a couple of minutes he was writhing on the bed, barely able to contain the orgasm.

“’M so close. Please Cas.”

“Stop. Now.”

His movements stopped, but he looked pleadingly up at the other man. “Please Cas. I can’t… I need to come.”

“Patience sweetheart. You can wait. And you will.”

Dean whimpered again, but kept his mouth shut. There was no use arguing with Cas’ decisions. He had made that mistake in a similar position once before. That night he was not allowed to come at all. Taking several deep breaths calmed him enough to remove his hand, and finally look up at his boyfriend once more.

“Good boy. Now, where were we?” Cas looked down at his writing, tracing the words with a gentle finger. At that point, even the small gesture was enough to push Dean towards the edge. He shook with self-restraint, clutching the sheets hard and focusing on his breathing.

“Oh yes,” Cas continued in an even voice. “You, Dean Winchester, is one of the most selfless people I have ever met. You give so much of yourself to others. You say yes to helping out whenever the chance occurs, with no regard for how it will affect you. Every fiber of your being seems determined to change the world for the better. Your selflessness was one of the first things I noticed about you.”

“You’re way too articulate,” Dean half-moaned, earning him another chuckle. Then the pen was back, tracing over his skin. Followed by warm lips, copying the pattern of the letters. Every point of contact sent tingles through his already over-sensitive body, forcing small sounds of out him.

“You keep me grounded and sane. I’ve spent so much of my life with my head in the clouds, not really wanting to partake in the world around me. You changed that by showing me how good reality can be. I want to experience real life with you Dean.”

The statement was followed by more pen scratches, then kisses to his stomach, up his chest, and then peppering his face. Dean whimpered, lifting one hand to clutch at the others arm. A tear found his its way down his cheek, but was soon kissed away. It was all too much.

“Shhhh, just one more thing now,” Cas murmured into his skin. “You are doing so well for me.” Their lips met in a long, soft kiss that swallowed all the sounds coming out of Dean’s throat. Then Cas moved to write a last word on his stomach with slow, steady movement. As the pen disappeared, one hand traced all the words on his torso while his boyfriend left three small kisses to his stomach, chest, and forehead.

“Do you want to know what it says?” Cas asked, his lips curling into a smirk. Dean inclined his head in a way that was meant to be a nod. Apparently it was enough, as his boyfriend continued. “It says excellent cocksucker. The things you do with your mouth are downright sinful.” Dean almost chocked on air at those words, and his lips fell open of their own accord. Cas took the opportunity to push two long fingers into his mouth.

“Suck.” That was a command he didn’t really need. Closing his lips around anything Cas put between them was second nature by now. His boyfriend had a borderline obsession with that part of his body. Not that Dean would ever complain. It fit perfectly with his own love of having his mouth filled. Oral fixation Cas sometimes called it, his voice always filled with awe or deep pleasure. “Now touch yourself.”

He was slower to follow the command this time, more focused on the fingers pushing slowly in and out of his mouth. Even so, his entire body lit up with pleasure as his hand wrapped around his dick. It only took a few pumps before he was back on edge again. Cas was tugging at his hair and moving his fingers steadily faster and harder into his mouth. Dean almost gagged a few times, but forced himself to relax. The pleased expression on his boyfriend’s face was more than worth it. Pleasure built with every jerk of his hand, and every movement of Cas’ fingers. He was hurdling towards an orgasm, and this time it didn’t feel like he could stop. Moaning around the fingers, he tried to say that he was close, but it came out as a garbled mess. Fuck. He was so close, but he didn’t have permission to come. And he didn’t have permission to stop jerking off. Starring up, he tried to convey his desperation, tried to plead with his eyes. It was hard to focus on anything else than delaying his orgasm, the world seeming hazy around him. As such, he didn’t notice Cas’ face coming closer until a dark voice whispered into his ear.

“Come for me Dean.”

Two more jerks of his hand and he did just that. The orgasm tore through him, almost making him black out. His whole body convulsed in pleasure as cum coated his stomach. It was so good. Cas always made it better than he managed by himself. Even when he technically was doing all the work himself. He kept jerking in slow movements, drawing out the orgasm while he slowly came back to himself. Soon he grew oversensitive, but kept up the movement until strong fingers wrapped around his own and dragged his hand away. He sighed in relief and pure exhaustion, blinking up at the man above him.

“Hello Dean,” Cas murmured with a pleased smile. “You did perfectly for me.” Dean blushed at that, looking away. That only earned him slightly annoyed sound from the man above him before his face was peppered with kisses. “One day you will believe my praise.”

“One day yeah. Maybe.”

“You will. I intend to remind you of it as often as necessary until you do.” The statement was followed up with more soft kisses to Dean’s face, and a hand carting through his hair. Sighing contently, he leaned into that touch. This was, possibly, his favorite part. Cas was always so affectionate after sex. All soft touches and endless skin-to-skin contact. And like this, during the afterglow, Dean allowed himself to drown in it. Except, they weren’t both basking in the afterglow. With more effort than he was ready to admit, he lifted a hand up to Cas’ hip, squeezing lightly.

“Want me to get you off too?” He asked with a grin, eyes slowly drifting down the others body.

“Not tonight. I already got all I wanted.” He did this every once in a while. Actually, he did it rather often. As if he got more pleasure from getting Dean off than actually having an orgasm of his own. It wasn’t anything Dean could pretend like he understood, but Cas surely knew his own wants best. He was certainly direct enough about shoving his cock down the others throat when he felt like it.

“You’re sure?” Dean met the other’s gaze again, searching for any shred of indecision there.

“Yes Dean. I just wanted to watch you come apart. I might, however, fuck you in the morning.”

“Yeah. Okay. Awesome.” He grinned again, probably looking dopey as hell, as he relaxed back into the bed again. This time determined to stay put. Everything was right with the world again. Well, except for the rapidly drying pool of cum on his stomach, but that was a problem for future-Dean. That guy had energy for all sorts of things.

“I’ll get a washcloth,” Cas said as he stood up from the bed. Because he was freaking perfect. Dean told him as much, causing a fond smile to appear on his boyfriend’s face. Cas’ hand found his, giving one last squeeze as he started to turn away. Pain flared from Dean’s knuckles at the contact, making him flinch. His boyfriend froze at that, starring down at him.

“Dean? What?” Cas dragged his hand close, inspecting the tender area closely. His face turned from confused to worried, eyes scrunching up in familiar fashion. Dean looked at the hand as well. Now that they gave it attention, it was obvious that it was red and slightly swollen. A miracle that it hadn’t been noticed before. “Dean what happened?”

“Umm… I got into a fight with the shower wall.” The last thing he needed was for his boyfriend to blame this on himself. Sure, it happened because Dean was angry about their fight, but that was on him. Neither of them needed Cas to deal with any misplaced guilt over that.

“You got into a fight with the shower wall,” Cas repeated slowly.

“Not my finest moment.”

“Dean,” Cas sighed. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I know.”

“You can’t hurt yourself just because we fight.”

“I know.”

“Next time you decided to fight an inanimate object, please make it a verbal match. That one you at least have a chance to win.”

“That’s uncalled for.” Dean tried to scold his face into annoyed, but couldn’t keep a smile from breaking out. Apparently Cas was not in a lecturing, or self-hating, mood. This was going much better than expected.

“You know I’m right.” Cas smiled lightly, then looked more serious again. “Does it hurt?”

“Nothing I can’t handle man.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah. A bit.”

“Okay.” Cas nodded solemnly, then put his hand down and turned towards the door. “Wait here.” With that, he left the room, leaving Dean to study his knuckles. They didn’t look that bad really. He’d damaged them much worse on several occasions, but he’d mostly outgrown that part of his life. That was a teenage and early-to-mid-twenties thing. Which was probably why they looked more painful than they really should, they were no longer hardened by abuse. Or maybe he’d just hit that wall harder than intended. He shook his head lightly and laid the hands back on the bed. It didn’t matter now anyway. With a yawn, he closed his eyes, making himself more comfortable.

He was almost asleep when Cas returned, so he just grunted noncommittedly as a greeting. Sleep seemed more important than anything. Until a bag of freaking ice was dropped on his knuckle. His eyes flew open, and he starred down at the offending item. His boyfriend gave him an amused glance as he placed an ice bag on his other knuckle as well. Okay, they weren’t actually ice bags. When Dean looked closer, he saw they it was frozen peas partly packed into a dish towel. That didn’t change the fact that they felt like big bags of ice.

“Why?” He grunted, giving the pea bags a dirty look.

“Because you refuse to take care of yourself, so someone has to.” He couldn’t exactly argue with that. Instead he sighed, watching as Cas took a warm washcloth to his stomach, wiping off all the dried cum.

“You’re really confusing my senses here.”

“Sorry sweetheart.” Cas gave him a quick kiss to his forehead, before throwing the washcloth towards a corner, turning off the light, and getting into bed. Moving around with the freaking pea bags was complicated, but his boyfriend was efficient as always when cuddling was involved. Soon their legs were tangled, a comforter pulled over them, and Cas had an arm around his waist and head resting between his chest and shoulder.

“I’m glad you came back,” Dean murmured into the darkness, half-hoping the other wouldn’t hear him. Of course, he had no such luck.

“Me too. And Dean?”

He hummed lightly in response.

“I promise to be better at reminding you how much I love you. Maybe even stop walking out every time our fights get too intense. But you have to stop pushing me away.”

“Yeah I…. Fuck, I’m sorry Cas. I’ll do my best.” He took a deep breath, starring into the darkness of the room. “And I love you too. You know that, right?”

“I do. Most of the time.”

“Well I love you all the time,” Dean insisted, then gave his boyfriend an awkwardly placed kiss on his forehead. It seemed like he had to get better at those reminders too. He looked into nothing for several long minutes while Cas’ breathing turned heavy, soon making way for soft snores. Shaking off one of the pea bags, Dean circled an arm around his boyfriend, holding him close as sleep finally took him as well.

[to-many-towered-camelot]

book notes

for anyone who is interested in a nuanced take on fairy beliefs vs the Christian Church in the Middle Ages, this book by Richard Firth Green was actually so good, if your library has it:

[Image: Front cover of the book ‘Elf Queens and Holy Friars: Fairy Beliefs and the Medieval Church’ by Richard Firth Green]

like, obvs it’s just one person’s take on a very complex topic, but it’s well-written, well-researched, and it uses a bunch of Arthurian examples throughout to explore this dynamic (see under cut)

really interesting exploration of how the Church’s response evolved from the early-High Middle Ages (”dude, you believe in fairies? hhhmmm, do penance for 10 days”) to the Late Middle Ages/Early Modern Period (”kill them for heresy and witchcraft!”) 

and how it enfolded vernacular/fairy beliefs into Christian doctrine as fairies being either a) demons or b) the illusions of demons (and how dangerous/bad these demons were depended on the time/location/cleric in question - some packaged fairies as “neutral” demons who fell when the rebel angels did, and who must be punished on Earth but will return to Heaven on Doomsday - potentially doing this to soften things for their parishioners, who often held these fairy beliefs and reconciled them with Christianity, uh, differently than the Church officially would prefer)

and enduring belief in fairies existed in both common and aristocratic circles (can see this in medieval romances, although they’re not the only source of evidence), rather than just being used as cultural “decoration” by a more sceptical upperclass

aaaaand because of this conflation of fairy = demon, you get a really interesting blend/overlap with medieval demonology and enduring “folk” beliefs (obvs not all of medieval demonology was just rebranded fairies, but some of it defs was - you see stories being retold with “devil” instead of “elf”, for example)

INCLUDING in Arthuriana - how you get Morgan the Fairy (”le Fay”) vs Morgan who was raised in a nunnery and learned dark magic there, the Lady of the Lake as a (largely) positive force, Merlin inexplicably as a (perceived to be...) Good Guy despite being the literal antichrist, the Green Knight and all the overlap with Christian symbolism in that story, etc, etc. and they all just either??? co-exist in the same stories or appear through either more fay or more ~Christian lenses depending on the version

and it creates a very interesting and very confusing soup of Stuff stemming from a very confusing - and sometimes dangerous - soup of official and unofficial beliefs evolving over hundreds of years

anyway, WRT Arthuriana it’s got (and ymmv on these, but they’re all interesting thoughts):

(i think in Gottfried’s Tristan???) apparently Tristan has a rainbow fairy dog called Petitcriu...name a knight less deserving of such a Good Boy smh

Chretien’s Yvain flooding out Laudine at the fountain (...jerk) as a continuation of the beliefs surrounding a magical Spring at Barenton 

Gingalain moving from being the son of Gawain and the fairy Blanchemal (and having a fairy love interest, Pucelle) in the French OG version (~1200-ish) to being the son of Gawain and his human mistress (with Pucelle also being human) in a later 15th-C Middle English version)

AJDKN UJ IOE E Merlin’s conception, that one’s a wild ride - theologians REALLY didn’t like the idea of demons being fertile, and the work-arounds they came up with were...incredible. but skipping over that sheer comedy, the author draws links between Merlin’s conception and the general trend of claiming a fairy lover/whatever when a difficult-to-explain pregnancy arose. He also theorises that Geoffrey’s idea for Merlin’s father being a demon/fairy may have come from Nennius saying that Merlin/Ambrosius’ mother “never knew a man”. Later adaptations of this storyline made it even more fay-like (when they weren’t, like Robert de Boron, making it more fucked-up) by making Merlin’s father invisible (Wace) or a super attractive guy in swanky gold clothes (Layamon) - and Vortigern’s advisor explaining the creatures that lived between the earth and the moon until doomsday, etc, etc (walking that line between fairy and incubi, whichhhhhh was not clearly delineated in the Middle Ages the way it is now). also there’s one 13th-C Anglo-Norman poem where Merlin’s father is a bird that transforms into a dashing young squire, which isn’t terribly demon-y. So even though most versions of this story describe Merlin’s dad as an incubi-demon, what people understood this to mean may have been more fay-ish that we’d expect nowadays (depending on the reader, and also on authorial intention - some are pretty explicit that he’s a demon [many clerics keen to push this as the main narrative], while others refer to him as an elf or fairy). some contemporary scepticism during this time about Merlin having any sort of supernatural parentage as well

[none of the same Church anxieties about explaining away how the Plantagenets and other aristocratic families claim a female fairy ancestress - maybe bc there’s none of the stress about patrilineal bloodlines??? who knows! but yeah, much less thought given to those stories in ecclesiastical circles, and they were very popular in vernacular romances (male aristocratic wish fulfilment?). also, fairy enchantments =/= necromancy, so there are stories like the non-cyclic Lancelot where the Lady of the Lake is found out to be “a fairy by education, not by nature or heredity” (Elspeth Kennedy), with the spirits used in necromancy being demons, not fairies. also potential trend of female-associated magic becoming more passive and book-learned, gradually demonising it leading up to early-modern witch hunts.]

Geoffrey of Monmouth in his Historia and in the Vita Merlini being actually pretty circumspect about saying whether or not Arthur was alive/dead, returning/not returning, maybe due to his work/text being a (hypothesised) defence of the Welsh as being “civilised” (and having been so for centuries before the Normans came) - with the corollary that believing in Arthur’s return was somehow “uncivilised”. Author argues that this may be due to an association with fairy beliefs, and that Layamon is the one that makes Avalon explicitly fey. Also the author describes Arthur as living in a “feminised version of the Christian heaven” (iconic) and says that later writers and people could be very scornful of this belief held by the Britons/Welsh/etc, and that it was contrary to orthodox ways of thinking. 

Links the “discovery” of Arthur and Guinevere’s bodies in Glastonbury in the late 12th-C as similar to when individuals found the bodies of their loved ones, thus making it much harder to believe (and hope) that they were still alive in fairyland. Makes a suggestion that the monks in Glastonbury who “found” these bodies may have been trying to curry favour with the English crown (i.e. champion/hope of the Welsh isn’t coming back) but also may have been trying to “help”/”save”/correct the thoughts/ideology of the Welsh (i.e. “set them on the correct path to salvation”). Lots of medieval writers describing Arthur as living in “fairyland”. Precedent of people visiting fairyland and returning, so Avalon/fairyland =/= a place only for the dead (i.e. Arthur isn’t dead). An Arthurian example, albeit a less explicitly fay one, is Lancelot getting in and out of Gorre (with Gorre as a “typically supressed and rationalised” version of fairyland) in Chretien’s Knight of the Cart.

Some stuff about the wild horde (distinct from the wild hunt) being presented by some writers as very penitential (i.e. they are departed souls that may look like they’re bearing arms/hunting/whatever as they did in life, but really they are in agony e.g. because their weapons burn them) and tbh demonic (black armour, carrying torches, ominous aesthetic). Other writers thought maybe it was - once again! - demonic impersonators rather than actual mortal souls. (Should note also that the wild horde/wild hunt motifs were not always associated with their being dead). Relevant in the Arthurian context because Arthur and his court were sometimes associated with the idea of the wild horde (as in, sometimes the wild horde is described as Arthur’s court living it up in a cool, undying sort of way - “in the likeness of knights hunting or jousting, commonly known as the household of Hellequin or of Arthur” [Etienne de Bourbon, a medieval writer] - with Hellequin’s household often being used to encompass either the wild hunt or the wild horde). Ultimate point made by the author (props to him, he’s always like “if i’m right” lol) that for many clerical writers, it was very uncomfortable to leave people with the impression that Arthur and his court were living it up in fairyland (and similar for other figures associated with the wild hunt/horde) and this idea needed to be corrected/shaped to suit more orthodox perspectives - e.g. tying in with notions of purgatory, etc. 

Aaaand this one was exciting to me just bc i’ve vaguely heard about Arthur and his knights snoozing under a hill, but for some reason i could only remember this being in Victoria-era-and-onwards poetry. 3 versions of the same tale, where a servant looks for his master’s lost horse on a Sicilian mountain. Version 1) servant of a bishop finds his master’s horse in the beautiful palace of Arthur’s court beneath Mt Etna. Aside from the fact that the ancient wound Arthur received from Mordred opens once a year, it’s not very purgatory-like. Version 2) a dean’s servant is told by an old man that King Arthur has the horse on Mt Gyber (Mt Etna). he is told that his master must attend Arthur’s court in 14 days, but the dean laughs it off...then sickens and dies on the appointed day (whoops). Enough differences to this story compared to the first to suggest an oral circulation. Also a note in the version/text that such mountains are said to be the mouth of hell, and only the wicked are sent there, not the chosen. Version 3) Etienne again! Also likely changed with intervening oral circulation. The master is not an ecclesiastical figure, and Arthur’s palace is now a populous city - also Arthur is not referred to, just a nameless prince. There is a gatekeeper who warns the servant not to eat or drink while he’s there (that...is a very fairy-ish proscription). This mountain is apparently reputed to be the site of purgatory. The book author (Richard, i mean) ties these versions in with other stories/accounts of different entrances to purgatory (e.g. one on an island in an Irish lake) as being part of a gradual process of “rendering [...] fairyland purgatorial”. 

Finally, Gawain in Roman van Walewein: To get to an ‘earthly paradise’ [i.e. King Assentijn’s garden with its fountain of youth - side note that ‘earthly paradises’ were often popularly described to be fairyland/where fairies live, in addition to their theological functions, e.g. Avalon was sometimes described as an earthly paradise...i should also say that purgatory was frequently thought to be located beside earthly paradise, so there’s the proximity element] and the castle containing it, Gawain must cross a river (guided by a magical talking fox) that a) has waters that burn like fire, and b) can only be crossed by using a bridge sharper than a razor. His reaction? “Is it the enchantment of elves or magic / that I see?”. He is then guided by the fox underneath the river through a tunnel, and is told that the river’s source is in the depths of hell, and “[the river] is the true purgatory / All souls, having departed from the body / Must come here to bathe.” So it’s a very strong intermingling of fairy and purgatorial imagery/ideas!

I dunno, I just found this very ??? satisfying to read

it leaned towards lit-crit at times (which, considering the subject matter, is honestly fair enough), but it was more respectful of vernacular beliefs than so many other academic takes i see (ofc ymmv re: anything to do with non-Christian major religions, but i think the author’s pretty solid on this!), and it had an explanation for the survival of these beliefs that imo made a lot of sense, especially from a pan-European perspective, not just a Celtic one 

plus it explored the undeniable damage done by Christianity over history without making up some “ranged battle between paganism and the Church” that i see  e v e r y w h e r e  in casual Arthurian circles...which, like, i empathise with the vibe, but also! that’s just straight-up historical revisionism! (i blame MZB and the 80′s for that one)

(there was a fantastic post floating around a while ago about how the religious syncretism in Arthurian literature is much more interesting than peeling away all of the Catholicism in the medieval lit (...you ?? don’t end up with much left?) and saying that this is more “accurate” to some obscure original)

anyway yeah yeah ymmv but it’s v interesting 😊

[senacal]

Dr. Charles Xavier (Pt. 1)

Request: Requested by @saltysebastianstan

Pairing: Charles Xavier x Fem!Reader

Part 2

Prompt: Could you please do a Charles Xavier x female reader, where Charles has been asked to do a lecture about mutation at your non-mutant university, and let’s say he takes a liking to you due to your knowledge/interest rather than the other girls.

OH MY GOD, YOU COULD TURN THIS INTO A SERIES... IMAGINE

Warnings: None that I come to mind.

Author’s note: I am going to do my very best to fulfill this request because I love it, and I love Charles, and this is the first Charles Xavier’s request I have had, so I hope I do well. I have been thinking of this all week, and I did some research about a mutation to accurately portray a sort of understanding about the subject lol Xx.

Requests are open! 

(Gif not mine)

For a whole week, (Y/N)’s nerves were on fire. She knew she was excited, why wouldn’t she be when her dreams were about to come true? But she didn’t understand why she was so nervous. The whole week she couldn’t sit still. (Y/N) was continually shaking her leg, fiddling with whatever was in her hands, or drumming her fingers. (Y/N) just wanted to make sure that she had everything she needed before the most important day of her life happened. What day would that be? Well, her university, (Uni of your choice), had recently booked Dr. Charles Xavier, the current expert on Mutations to give a lecture, and (Y/N) was excited because she had a keen interest on the field. 

(Y/N) knew there were people out there with unique abilities, sure she wasn’t one of those people, but it was okay because she didn’t think she’d be able to handle the responsibility and stress of continually having to hide who she was. The reason she knew about these unique individuals was that she had met a mutant when she was a young girl. Instead of being afraid, she was intrigued. It was fascinating seeing the way the mutant maneuvered to keep themselves hidden from prying eyes, though it didn’t seem to work since (Y/N) caught sight of them. Regardless, ever since her encounter with that mutant, she had been obsessed with learning more about them. 

With her limited access to mutant knowledge, she was only able to find a few things out about their biology. It wasn’t too different from human biology, but the added X-Gene made a mutant, a mutant. So it was a dream come true when she learned that Dr. Charles Xavier would be giving a lecture about mutations. Perhaps her excitement was transferring into anxiety. Dr. Xavier, as the guest lecturer, was possibly her only shot at comprehending her preferred subject to the full extent. Perhaps it was the fear that she would never be able to turn her major into an actual career. Her family was always telling her to change her field of study to the point that (Y/N) had told them a little white lie. She may have added a minor in medicine, but she didn’t give up her interest in mutation. It was enough to appease her family, and she continued to learn about mutation under their noses. It was a win-win situation. 

So here she sat in the lecture hall, awaiting Dr. Xavier’s arrival. She was tapping her pen against her notebook, absentmindedly looking around the room. She made sure to get a good seat where she could both see and hear him. She also made sure she had extra pens in case her current one crapped out on her. 

The room was already starting to fill with a big crowd, and the lecture wasn’t due to begin for ten minutes. (Y/N) went from tapping her pen to shaking her leg. She bit the tip of the pen and glanced at the people around her. They were talking animatedly about their daily lives, who was screwing who, who was a bitch, or who was a total hottie. (Y/N) sometimes found herself wanting to fit in among them, but then again, most of these girls were sorority sisters who only cared about partying. Don’t get her wrong, they were beautiful girls, and they all had their strengths, but they were rather dense when it came to their social lives. 

(Y/N) huffed out a small breath as she looked down at her notebook. There were various pages filled with notes of her own, but she was opened to a blank page so she could compare her notes to the brilliant mind of Charles Xavier. (Y/N) dated the page at the top right corner to pass a fraction of the time. 

“Excuse me, may I have your attention please?” 

(Y/N) looked up to the podium to see the Dean calling everyone’s attention. She glanced at the clock to see that the lecture would begin soon. (Y/N) inhaled anxiously and exhaled softly. She faced the front, eager for the start of the speech. 

“Wonderful, wow, I wasn’t expecting such a big turn out,” The Dean spoke with a slight chuckle. “Well, as you all know, Dr. Charles Xavier will be joining us shortly to inform us all on Mutations. As usual, be respectful, no talking unless addressed, and don’t hesitate to ask questions.” The Dean looked off the side of the stage, “Very well, everybody, welcome Dr. Xavier.”

The crowd clapped as none other than Charles Xavier walked on stage. He had a broad smile plastered on his lips, and he waved to the masses.

“Wow, when Dr. Gregory said a big turn out, I believe he was downplaying it just a little. Welcome, thank you all for joining me today,” Charles cleared his throat, “Now, I know many of you are probably wondering why I’ve taken an interest in such a broad subject, mutations can be anything. From the color of your eyes to the dimples in your cheeks. And, of course, physical modifications,” Charles’ gaze scanned the crowds, “The answer to that is simple. I find it fascinating,” He smiled.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, ‘That makes two of us.’

Throughout the lecture, (Y/N) noticed that Charles was looking around the room as if he was looking for someone. It was a possibility that he was only surveying the crowd, but it was almost too constant for that. He had to be looking for someone, but who? (Y/N) shrugged off the thought and instead chose to focus on his words.

“Of course, this leads us to the homo superior, distinguished from their possession of the X-Gene. Now, this gene, placed on the twenty-third chromosome in a person’s DNA, allows for the greatest mutation experienced in reality.” 

(Y/N) scratched down notes as quickly as she could, ‘If that’s the case, would that make the father a deciding factor for its inheritance or the mother?’

“Despite the thought of the mother carrying the child with an X-Gene, the X-gene is transferred from the father. It’s almost like the father is the deciding factor in both sex and mutant status,” Charles spoke as if he heard (Y/N)’s question, which was ridiculous unless he did hear her thoughts. 

Once the lecture was over, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel accomplished. She had learned a lot more that day than any other. As a bonus, (Y/N)’s questions seemed to be answered even though she hadn’t asked any out loud. It was the best day of her life, just as she had predicted. (Y/N) stayed in her seat, scanning the notes she jotted down; she made small annotations next to the one’s that she would cross-reference with her own. Absorbed in her mind, (Y/N) didn’t notice the approaching figure or the lingering girls next to her.

‘Now that I’ve distinguished that the father is the deciding factor in passing on the X-Gene, perhaps it’d be easier to determine their birth rate. I don’t believe pregnant mutants have a reliable doctor to ease them through their pregnancy.’ (Y/N) bit the tip of her pen, ‘I think I know what I want to practice now.’ She couldn’t help but feel giddy. It turned out her added major in medicine wouldn’t be a waste after all. She’d learn all she could about practicing medicine and mutants so she could help bring them into the world. 

“Dr. Xavier! You’re British, right?” 

(Y/N) looked up from her notes and noticed the blonde girl sitting next to her became engaged in a dull conversation with Charles. She couldn’t help but raise her brows at the poor attempt at flirting. It was pretty apparent that he was British, what with the accent and all. 

“Uh, yes, I am,” Charles glanced in (Y/N)’s direction as if he were hoping she’d save him from the conversation.

“That’s so cool, I’ve always wanted to go to England, but then I thought Paris would be a better destination, you know?” The blonde girl shrugged, “Have you been to Paris?”

“I have actually. I’ve given plenty of lectures in the city quite a few times. How did you find the lecture? Did you enjoy it?” Charles asked in the hope of engaging in a conversation about his work.

“Oh, I got lost after you mentioned something about the mRNA or whatever, but I liked hearing you talk.” 

(Y/N) laughed to herself, ‘At least she admitted it.’

‘Indeed, but I’d much rather have a competent conversation about my lecture rather than the expenses of Paris.’

(Y/N) frowned and looked up when she heard Charles’ voice in her head. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to invade your mind, but I don’t think I can continue to converse with this poor girl.’ 

(Y/N) shook her head, her eyes wide. “Dr. Xavier?”

Charles looked at her, relief evident in his expression, “Yes, Ms…”

“(Your Full Name), I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”

“Of course! I’d be happy to answer any questions you have.” Charles politely excused himself from the girl with whom he’d been conversing. 

(Y/N) packed her notes and utensils, “So, you’re a telepath?”

Charles shrugged as if to say ‘guilty.’ 

“So, I have to ask, your lecture, were you basing your responses from the questions I was thinking?” (Y/N) wondered. 

“Partly, yes. It was a first that someone’s questions were loud enough for me to hear without meaning to,” Charles shoved his hands in his pockets, “I was pleasantly surprised, of course, even more now that I’ve placed a beautiful face to the beautiful voice.”

(Y?N) nodded, “Does that line work at all?” She stood from her seat so that she could look at him without tilting her head too much. 

“I beg your pardon?” Charles caught off guard, shifted where he stood. 

(Y/N) huffed an amused breath, “I appreciate the compliment, Professor Xavier, but I’m only interested in what you have to say about mutants and mutation.”

“Why is that?” Charles asked.

“Just like you said, it’s fascinating.” (Y/N) winked at him, “now that I’ve saved you from your conversation, I’ll be on my way. I’ve got a class in an hour.” (Y/N) waved and left Charles, where he stood. 

“Charles, did she just brush you off?” Raven asked from behind him. 

“I… I think so.” Instead of being offended, Charles bored a smile.

“I have to get her number because that was the best thing I have seen all week,” Raven boasted.

Charles rolled his eyes, “Oh, shut it, Raven.”

“C’mon, you can’t tell me that you don’t want her number either,” Raven stepped next to Charles and rested her arm on his shoulder.

“Of course I do. If you had heard the questions (Y/N) was asking, you’d be just as intrigued.” Charles brushed off Raven’s arm, “Let’s go now; I’m ready to head home.”

Raven raised her brows, “What, no parties?”

“No, I’m not really in the mood.” Charles shrugged.

“Wow, I have to mark this day down for the history books. Charles Xavier doesn’t want to go to a college party!” Raven clutched her heart, “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Charles rolled his eyes. He walked away from her, intending to go to his car.

“Charles, just one party, please?” Raven begged as she skipped to catch up with him.

“What for? You never want to go to parties.” Charles scoffed.

“Because, I want to get drunk,” Raven grinned.

“That makes the two of us,” He conceded, “Fine. We’ll go to a party, but then we are going home.”

“Deal,” Raven beamed. She just hoped that girl would be there and knowing Charles; he was thinking the same thing.

[whelvenwings]

I Thought You Knew

Dean’s doing great with social distancing - or not bad, anyway - and then Charlie just has to try to put him in contact again with his old crush, Castiel. But they’re going to be able to keep things strictly professional and ignore their history - right?

~5k. Content information: this fic is set right now and mentions some small difficulties with self-isolation, but contains no mention of the pandemic itself.

Read here on AO3 if you prefer!

—————————————

It was all going just fine until Castiel got involved.

Well, for a given value of ‘fine’, anyway. If Dean was honest, social distancing wasn’t proving to be a picnic. At first he’d been sure he’d have no trouble – thought he’d have time to relisten to all his favourite albums, learn to cook brisket. First figure out what exactly brisket even was, actually, and then learn to cook it. With the world in such a state, and with so many things to worry about, Dean had thought that he’d at least be able to deal with being isolated.

Dean could really, really not deal at all with being isolated.

He was climbing up the walls by day three. There was something about only having himself for company, only his own face in the mirror to see and only himself to talk to, that seemed to flick some kind of switch in his brain. When he took his one piece of exercise a day, he made it a walk instead of a run so that he could go slowly and smile at people as he went. Him. Dean. Smiling at people on the street. Exchanging small talk about the weather with them.

It was only the fact that a whole lot of other people seemed to be doing it too that gave him any reassurance he wasn’t going completely soft.

By day five, he’d messaged Charlie so many times that she’d decided he needed some kind of project.

And that was how Castiel came into it.

Because Dean and Charlie had been due to move in together, had even put a deposit down on a place. It was there, ready for them. They just had to wait until isolation wasn’t so necessary to be able to move in. And so Charlie’s project for Dean was to figure out the interior decoration of their new place.

“I’ll suck at it,” he told her over the phone.

“Right,” Charlie said disbelievingly. “You think I haven’t noticed your tasteful curtains? The counterpane on your bed?”

“The hell is a counter-pain?”

“It’s the thing on your bed,” Charlie said, with more patience than Dean would’ve expected, which made him narrow his eyes. There was some part of this that he wasn’t going to like, and she hadn’t told him yet, and she was being nice so that he would be nice.

“Right. Well, anyway, yeah,” he said, deciding to agree now while the part he wouldn’t like still hadn’t come up, so the agreement to that part would be a separate issue. After all these years of knowing each other, Dean had his tactics. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it. Consider our place’s design sorted.”

“Cool,” Charlie said quickly. “Cool, cool, cool. Um, so I’ll just let Castiel know, then, and you guys can –”

Dean, who had been walking from his kitchen to his living room, tripped over his rug. He grabbed the door frame to catch himself.

There was a moment of silence on the phone.

“Are you alive,” Charlie said after a second, tentatively.

“Castiel,” Dean said. “Castiel Novak?”

“Um. Yes?” Charlie said, trying to sound small and charming.

“Charlie, you’re kidding me.”

“I know,” Charlie said, drawing out the ‘o’ into a little understanding wail. “But after we graduated he went into interior design, and he’s so good at it, so back when I thought we’d be too busy to, you know, do the decorating ourselves after we moved in, I just sort of… spoke to him about it… and he said he’d do it for a really reduced rate, and scrap the consultation fee, so we’d basically just be paying market prices for whatever he chose, and…”

She kept rambling, filling up the space so that Dean couldn’t get an argumentative word in edgeways. He wasn’t sure he even had the words to be able to protest with, anyway. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and then looked down at his toe, which hadn’t enjoyed the trip on the rug.

“But you know I hate the guy,” Dean said when Charlie finally ran out of things to say. He’d meant it to sound jokey, but it came out just a bit too quiet.

There was a little rush of static down the phone as Charlie sighed.

“I know,” she said, in the gentlest tone of voice she had. “I know you do.”

“Can’t I just do it all, now that everything’s like it is?”

“It’s just… the deal he’s giving us is really good,” Charlie said, and he could hear the wretchedness in her tone.

“He can still do the deal?”

“Oh, yeah. His business is doing okay. You know what he’s like. He’s always got seven strategies for everything.”

“Right.” Dean bit out the word. He did know what Castiel was like. Or rather, he’d thought he did.

“But what with… everything… we won’t be able to afford any decent interior design if the deal with Castiel falls through. Which is, like… the least important problem in the whole world right now, maybe. But when this is over I want to live in a nice place with you, dude. Like we always said we would.”

Dean let out a breath.

“A special place of our own…” Charlie wheedled.

Ugh.

“In the centre of the city,” Dean said, after a second.

“With a kitchen island for you –”

“– and a gaming den for you –”

“– and a giant TV for both of us,” they finished together. They’d been wanting this since their first year of college. They’d worked so hard for it, to be able to live together and away from the pasts they’d struggled to leave behind.

Speaking of a past that Dean wanted to leave behind –

“But… Castiel Novak,” he said.

“Dude, listen. It’s going to be like, one Zoom call. Maybe two. Everything else you guys can do via email. And he’ll be completely professional, I’m like, one hundred percent sure.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Huh. Okay. So, you don’t think, just for example, just say, I don’t know…”

“Dean,” Charlie said, trying to head him off, but Dean was in full swing now.

“You don’t think he’ll, say, pretend to be really enjoying the job, and keep spending loads of time on the job, and definitely seem like he’s ready to start doing the job on a more permanent and exclusive basis, and then suddenly have a one-eighty and decide not to do the job at all?”

“Dean,” Charlie said again, and her tone of voice hovered between understanding and amusement.

Dean swallowed. He didn’t want to put any of it into words – how much it had really meant to him, what he’d felt growing between him and Castiel back in college. How happy it had made him when he’d thought that Castiel felt the same. And how much it had hurt when Castiel had blown him off for their first date, twice, to hang out with other friends.

“Listen,” Charlie said, “I swear. A couple Zoom calls, some emailing, that’s it.”

“Is he still…” Dean didn’t know how to phrase his question.

“Kind? Polite? Occasionally grumpy? Yeah. But he’s super not hot anymore, so.”

Dean made a sound of disbelief.

“When you’re emailing,” Charlie said, “you can just pretend it’s someone completely different, anyway, right? And I’ll help any way I can.”

Dean narrowed his eyes.

“Any way?” he said. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you have to be there.”

––––––––

Sitting in his lounge at noon the next day, Dean logged onto his Zoom, and started the meeting.

He’d insisted that he be the host. Castiel had apparently protested that he had a Zoom enterprise plan and he could host the call, but Dean got a business account through his work, and somehow it made him feel better to be the one arranging the time and starting things off.

He was calm.

He was in control.

He was going to talk to Castiel Novak about interior design.

And it was going to be fine. Years had passed since those days in college when Dean had felt so strongly for him. He was a different person now, and so was Castiel. This wasn’t going to be a big deal.

Someone logged into the meeting, and Dean’s heart skipped heavily, thudding hard and uneven in his chest. He squared his laptop on his coffee table, sat up, resisted the urge to look down at himself on the screen and check his hair –

“Hey, Dean,” Charlie said, and Dean breathed out.

He looked down at himself, and checked his hair.

Still fine. He looked fine. Just normal.

“Dean? Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” Dean said. “Sorry, hey.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Charlie’s picture on Dean’s screen was a little grainy, but he could see the half-grin, half-grimace on her face. “Look, I’ve been thinking, and it’s probably really unfair of me to just –”

“It’s fine,” Dean grunted, waving a hand. The last thing he needed was for Castiel to log onto the meeting right at the point when Charlie was reassuring him through this encounter with his years-old crush. “It’ll probably be good.”

“… Okay?” Charlie said, with the confusion of someone who was getting away with something much more easily than they’d expected.

“I get veto power over any weird crap you try to put into the design, though.”

“Like you wouldn’t assume you have that anyway,” Charlie said. Dean made a face, and then sent her an expletive via private message. “Charming,” Charlie said.

A third person joined the meeting.

Dean felt his heart rate soar. There was only one other person who had the invitation. This had to be him. Dean licked his lips, cleared his throat, brushed at his nose, shifted on his sofa, and then tried his best to sit still and look relaxed.

The picture flickered to life. There he was.

Castiel Novak, on Dean’s laptop screen. His hair was still unruly, and his narrow-eyed expression as he waited for the call to load was a familiar one. Familiar enough to make Dean’s chest ache.

“Hello?” Castiel said, and Dean was gone. He was gone. That low, rumbling voice was just the same as it had always been. If Dean had known how to breathe a second ago, he was now having trouble remembering exactly.

“Hi, Castiel,” Charlie said easily, as Dean typed out a quick salvo of messages to her.

>> fuck you he’s still exactly the same >> he’s still hot >> fuck this

“Dean, you can hear Castiel, can’t you?” Charlie said, her tone edged with an instruction. Be polite.

“Uh.” Dean looked at Castiel on his screen. He didn’t know why these words were so hard to say. When he spoke them, they came out far too soft. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel blinked. Some of the tension seemed to go out of his shoulders.

“Hello, Dean,” he replied.

Dean almost wanted to laugh. He almost wanted to leap through the screen to where Castiel was. He definitely wanted to shut his laptop and throw it out the nearest window.

He settled for ducking his head to hide the slight smile he couldn’t repress, and the hurt that he knew had to be showing in his eyes. How did this feel so good and so bad all at once?

“Okay,” Charlie said, her tone bracing. “Thanks for coming to the meeting, guys. Dean, you’re recording this so we’ve got a transcript for later, right?”

“Sure am,” Dean said.

“Castiel, you’re comfortable with that?”

“Of course,” Castiel said.

How could Castiel be sitting there? Just sitting there in front of his bookshelves, looking that good and talking and moving like a real person? Dean had spent so long after they’d stopped talking just thinking about Castiel, arguing with him in his mind, picturing what could have happened if things had gone better between them. If Dean hadn’t been wrong about the way that Castiel had felt.

But now Castiel was just there. Dean could yell at him, right now. He could ask him what had happened. He could demand to know if there had ever been a time when Castiel had wondered if there was something going on between them.

Or he could just sit back, and listen to Charlie and Castiel get started on talking about paint and sofas and styles of wooden flooring.

>> you’re not talking >> say something

Dean read the messages from Charlie in the chat and blinked, and tried to focus on the conversation. Castiel was explaining the initial thoughts that he’d had about their place, and how they could use the space. Dean made an attempt at being able to interject with something relevant. Castiel’s voice sounded so good in his ears. Seriously, the guy could read the phone book and Dean would be on one knee. How had he forgotten the way that Castiel’s mouth moved when he spoke? The shape of his lips?

>> earth to dean, what is going on

When the new message from Charlie came through, Dean frowned. He’d tried to talk, but it wasn’t working. Instead, he typed out,

>> he’s just still the same

He hoped the message would be enough of an explanation. He saw Charlie glance towards the chat, and then launch into talking about her own thoughts on how they could repaint the exposed brick in the kitchen. Castiel nodded along seriously.

“And a kitchen island,” Dean blurted out. Charlie and Castiel both stopped talking. Charlie rolled her eyes, while Castiel’s mouth flicked upward in a smile.

“Ah, yes. The kitchen island. Of course. There are a few options for the shape…”

Of course, Dean repeated in his mind. Of course.

He typed out to Charlie,

>> I think he remembered I want a kitchen island?

Castiel kept going, mentioning a few websites that he thought Dean might like to look at and then sending them in the group chat for everyone to see. Dean nodded at them, and made filler noises as Castiel talked some more about different countertops.

Dean pressed his lips together hard for a second. It was messing him up that Castiel remembered something so small about him as the kitchen island thing. Who remembered that about someone they didn’t think was special? Someone they didn’t actually care much about?

>> Dean?

Charlie’s message was simple. He must be looking upset. Dean steeled his jaw, swallowed hard, and typed back,

>> just wish we’d’ve worked out.

On the screen, Charlie’s eyes narrowed into the briefest of winces. She replied to Castiel, giving Dean the space to be quiet.

The rest of the call was uneventful, because Charlie made it so. Castiel shared a couple of pictures with the two of them, and they both nodded enthusiastically. For half an hour, they talked about fabric colours and feature walls and where to put the TV.

Dean spent most of the time thinking about the kitchen island, and Castiel’s hair, and what it had felt like when Castiel had ditched him.

“Okay,” Charlie said eventually. “You’ve given us a lot to think about. Loads of great stuff, Castiel. Thanks so much.”

“My pleasure,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, thanks, Cas,” Dean said. Even those three words came out stilted and husky.

“You’re welcome,” Castiel said, and looked as though he were going to say something else, but then didn’t.

“Dean’ll send you the transcript, just so we’ve all got it for reference,” Charlie said. “Okay. I’m gonna sign off now. Bye, guys!”

“Bye,” Dean said, hurrying to end the meeting with a click, not wanting to be faced with even a second of screentime with just himself and Castiel. He tapped to ring off, just as Castiel said,

“Goodb-”

Dean stared at the screen for several seconds, in the sudden quiet of his lounge. He looked around the room, trying to find some solace in the familiarity of his own place and his things, find the ground under his feet again. That had been Castiel.

They’d talked. They’d actually spoken.

He’d still been so –

So Cas.

Dean gritted his teeth. He knew where that line of thought and feeling went – somewhere Castiel didn’t want to go. Somewhere that would leave Dean on the end of a phone in the middle of the street with a pit in his stomach and a reservation at the nicest restaurant in town that no one was going to keep.

He clicked across his screen, grabbing the transcript and firing it off in an email to Castiel. There. Done. Finished.

––––––––

Two days later, Dean got an email from Castiel, to schedule a Zoom meeting.

“I told you,” Dean growled at Charlie over the phone. “I wanted to be the one hosting.”

“I know,” Charlie said. “But look, he’s got it all figured out. Can we just go along with it?”

Dean closed his eyes. No, he wanted to shout. No. I want to feel like I have a handle on this, even if it’s just the tips of my fingers. No. I need this –

He ground his back teeth together, and lifted his chin even though no one could see him.

“He better have some great suggestions for storage,” he managed.

And so here they were, three days after the first Zoom call, with Dean being the one to open up an invitation to a meeting, this time. As the screen loaded, he took a gulp of the beer he’d put into a mug. It was eleven in the morning, and he needed it.

He needed it through the discussion about the bathroom surrounds.

He needed it through the debate over curtain colours.

He needed it every time Castiel pulled a thoughtful face, or smiled, or licked his lips – god. Then, Dean drank twice.

“If that’s all,” Castiel said, “I have another call in fifteen minutes.”

“Perfect,” Charlie said. “And Dean, you’d better check the transcript for this one. I could see you spacing out over there.”

Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, and then realised every defence he could make was something that he couldn’t say in front of Castiel, and closed his mouth again.

“Fine,” he said mutinously.

“Great. Bye, guys!”

Dean rang off without a word.

He went and ate some food to settle himself. Once he had an entire plate of pasta inside him, he felt slightly more able to go back to his laptop and open it up and check his email. Sure enough, there was the transcript in a message from Castiel.

With a roll of his eyes, Dean opened it. If he didn’t, Charlie would start making all kinds of decisions about their new place without him – and through all of this awkwardness, he still wanted to be able to have a say in the decoration of their apartment.

Hello, began the transcript. Good to see you again thank you for coming can you both hear me well…

Dean read on a little way. At one point, Charlie started talking at length about the pattern she wanted on the wall in her bedroom, some kind of stencilled effect; Dean almost skipped ahead, but stopped and frowned. Intercut with Charlie’s speech were some messages – messages from Castiel.

>> Dean looks good today. >> Like he always does.

Dean felt a flush race from the top of his head to his toes, and then bounce back up. He read the messages over again, and then again, his eyes wide. Was – was this a mistake? Some kind of glitch? But the messages were right there, in black and white.

Castiel had thought that he… looked good?

As he stared at the screen, something caught his eye. Dean sat forward on his sofa, gripping his laptop as he scrolled down further. Another message.

>> I’ve missed him so much.

One hand raised involuntarily to cover Dean’s mouth for a second. How had he missed these messages when they came in? Dean read back over them once again, even more carefully, and felt a second rush of hot static go through him.

These weren’t messages to the group chat. These were private messages. Messages that Castiel had sent just to Charlie, during the call. Dean kept reading.

>> Ever since the last time we spoke, there hasn’t been one day that’s passed that I haven’t thought of him.

Dean swallowed hard. These – these weren’t casual messages, thrown into the conversation. These were – these were – Dean didn’t have the words for it. Were they true? Were they real? Surely not, how could they be?

>> Even when I’m not thinking about him, there’s always a part of me hoping he’ll call. And I hate phone calls. But I wouldn’t from him.

That was the last of them. Dean set down his laptop carefully on the end of the sofa. He could feel that his cheeks were bright red. His heart was racing. He was too – it was too much for him to be able to smile, or text Charlie, or even move.

What did he do now? Castiel had sent all those messages privately. Did that mean Dean had to pretend he’d never seen them? Dean grabbed suddenly for his laptop, pulled up a search browser and typed in Zoom call private messages printed transcript.

A few seconds of reading later, he set the laptop back down. His hands were shaking slightly. So, it was because Castiel was the host of the Zoom call that the transcript automatically put all his private messages in, as well as –

Dean stopped.

The transcript.

It printed out the host’s private messages.

This time, it had printed out Castiel’s messages. But last time –

Last time –

Dean dropped his head into his hands.

“No,” he said out loud.

He looked up, around his lounge. The lounge that had been the same after he’d seen Castiel again three days ago. The lounge that had been the same after Dean had seen Castiel’s private messages. And the lounge that was still the same, even now, when he realised Castiel had seen Dean’s.

What was it that he’d said? Something about Castiel being hot. And – Dean covered his face again.

“No. No. No,” he said. But he couldn’t make it untrue. Castiel had seen the message that Dean had sent to Charlie, wishing that things could have worked out between him and Cas.

The shame was like a punch to the gut. Castiel had been only too clear about his feelings in college, when he’d taken care to escape both the dates that they’d set up.

Except… except Castiel had read those messages, and he’d – Dean stopped trying to suffocate himself with his own hands for a second. Castiel had read those messages, and he hadn’t run away. He hadn’t awkwardly ignored them. He hadn’t asked Dean to stop.

He’d responded in kind. He’d sent an answer, of a kind.

Dean grabbed for his phone, and pulled up his messenger. He scrambled to find his chat with Charlie.

>> Charlie??

He hovered his thumbs over the screen. He couldn’t think of what else to say – but the response was immediate.

>> Call him >> Trust me

She sent a phone number.

Dean stared down at it, his mouth slightly open. Was this happening? Was any of this real? Before he could wake up from the dream, he tapped the number on his phone screen and hit Call.

The phone buzzed in his ear, just once, and then the call was picked up.

“Dean?”

The single word was so heavy, so weighed down with feeling, that Dean took a second to be able to respond.

“Cas,” he said.

There was a moment of quiet. Dean didn’t know how to breathe again. He seemed to keep forgetting.

“Got your messages,” he managed.

“I got yours,” Castiel said.

His voice was so good to hear – so good. But Dean was twisting up inside.

“Look,” he said wretchedly, “Cas, you gotta just tell me. Has something changed for you? About… about us?”

“Changed?” Castiel said. “No. Nothing’s changed.”

It was a blow. It was the sudden dousing of a spark of hope. Dean felt his chest go hollow.

“Oh,” he heard himself say. “Oh. Right.”

“But… something’s changed for you,” Castiel said. “Hasn’t it?”

“For me?” Dean managed to say through his dry throat. “No, Cas.”

“… Oh.”

Dean wanted to hit something. This – what was happening? Castiel – he’d read Dean’s messages – he’d sent those messages back the same way – but now it turned out Castiel still felt the same as he had in college, he still didn’t want to date Dean. How could he? Surely when he’d sent those messages, he’d have known what Dean would think?

What he’d hope?

“Um,” Castiel said. “I thought this would… I don’t understand. When you sent those messages, I thought it meant that you… that you felt…” His voice trailed off.

“You know how I feel,” Dean said, and the anger was burning through in his tone of voice. “I don’t get why you’d send those messages, if you didn’t… you know… the same. Feel. The same.” Anger gave way to awkwardness as his sentence stumbled.

“I sent them because I thought – I thought you felt – I thought you’d want them,” Castiel said. “When I read yours, I wanted to reply the same way, I… I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.”

“You thought you’d save me from being embarrassed,” Dean said, “by making me think you liked me like that? When you don’t?”

“Liked you like what?” Castiel said, sounding startled over the phone. Dean made an actual grunt of frustration.

“Like… c’mon, Cas, really? Like that. Like, like like.”

“But I – I do,” Castiel said, so quietly that Dean barely heard it.

Dean’s chest seized.

“No,” he said. “No. You just said you still don’t feel that way.”

The hiss of static on the line was painful. But then –

“Dean, I’ve always felt this way.”

The noise Dean made was involuntary. He put his hand over his mouth again, just for a second, to try to catch it.

“You didn’t know?” Castiel said, and Dean knew him well enough to be able to picture the look of disbelief on his face. “But Dean, I… I thought you knew. I was so obvious.”

“Cas,” Dean said, “you ditched me for our first date. Twice.”

“What? You’ve never asked me out on a date.”

Dean’s mouth fell open.

“Are you kidding?” he said.

“Are you?”

“Cas, I asked you to meet me for dinner. I booked us a place. First time, you said you had to help someone with their homework. Second time, you said you got invited to go see a movie.”

“That – you – that was a date? No, I – I’d remember –”

“First time was right before midterms,” Dean said. “Second time was right after. You did homework with Meg, and then you went to a movie with Uriel.”

“Oh…” The penny seemed to drop. “But – no. That wasn’t a date, those weren’t dates – it was just going to be another group night… like we always had, with Charlie and Billie and everyone?”

“Group night? Cas, I booked us a fancy dinner, I was dressed up –”

“You didn’t tell me,” Castiel said.

“I invited you to dinner!”

“We were always asking each other to come over to eat together, and it was never a date,” Castiel said. “But – but it – but you – some of them were?”

Dean could feel his world crumbling. No – no, not his world. Just some parts of it. Just the spiky, painful, horrible part of it that had grown up twisted and aching because of Castiel ditching him.

“I thought you left me,” Dean said. “Twice.”

“I would never do that,” Castiel said. “You were the one who stopped talking to me.”

“I thought I had to be making you uncomfortable… trying to date you when you didn’t feel… but you would’ve – you would’ve said – yes?”

“If I’d known it was a date,” Castiel said, “I would have gone through Hell to get there.”

What could Dean say? All of these years of silence, all of the hurt, all of the worrying and thinking and arguing with a ghost, and the whole time Castiel would have said yes. He would have been there. He just hadn’t known. He tried to reach for words and nothing came. He tried to parse his own feelings but it was overwhelming.

“You didn’t say a word to me,” Castiel said. “You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”

Dean opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He stared around the static sameness of his lounge as though anything he saw there could possibly have the answers.

“I was wrong,” Dean said, his voice hoarse. “I’m so – I’m sorry, Cas.”

Castiel breathed out, a huff of static down the line.

Maybe it was broken, Dean thought. Maybe even though – even though they both – even still – maybe they’d broken it too much to fix it now.

“I could have tried harder to talk to you,” Castiel said softly. “I thought you must have figured out how I felt and decided you were better off dumping me. I could have tried to talk to you about it.” There was a pause, and then he said, “I’m sorry, too. Sorry I let you go.”

“You really… you really feel…” Dean couldn’t even put it into words. “I mean, those messages…”

“I said I missed you,” Castiel said, in that perfect low rumbling voice.

“I missed you, too.” It was so much truth in so few words that Dean felt his own voice give. “Cas, I… fuck. Is it too late now? For this?”

Castiel took a moment to answer.

“I’m surprised every day,” he said, “that I still want you just as much as I did on the day we stopped talking. I kept waiting for it to fade. Waiting for myself to finally realise you weren’t coming back. But it was like it didn’t matter. Like the time passing didn’t matter. Like it couldn’t touch us.”

Dean couldn’t smile. He couldn’t do it. Now was the time, if there had ever been one, but it was too much, way too much.

“I get it,” he said. “I get it. I want you too.” It rose in him like a rush of heat. “I want you so much, Cas.”

“I’m here.” A pause. “You can have me.”

“Fuck… Cas, I… I…” The sensation was only just starting to feel like happiness, a happiness so huge that it was devastating.

“When this is over…”

“Come on a date with me,” Dean said. “Cas, date me.”

It was silent on the line. For a second, Dean’s certainty wavered.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Now.”

“What?”

“Now.”

“But – we can’t – nowhere’s open, we’re not allowed to –”

“Now,” Castiel said. “We’re on a date. Right now. This is it.”

Finally, finally, Dean managed to smile.

“Okay,” he said. “Now.”

––––––––

A week later, Charlie sent him a text.

>> Haven’t heard from you in an entire twenty-four hours. Did I do good finding you a project?

Dean, on a Zoom call with Castiel, grinned down at his phone.

You did fine, he typed. You did good.

[jawritter]

Happily Ever After...

Request: Hey beautiful! May I request a Dean Winchester x plus size reader where the reader does all the research for the boys and she is very shy, she a huge Disney fan, one day demons get in the bunker and make fun of her and dean stand up for her and confess his love for her (smut)? And after they cuddle and watch lady and tramp? Fluff and smut you are a gem, my dear! 💕

Warning: Smut, Oral (female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, language, hint of body insecurities, demon’s being dicks. I think that’s about it...

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size!Reader

Word Count: 3314

A/N: All mistakes are mine!! Please do not copy my work!! Feedback is golden!! This one might be a little cheesy lol. Not sorry..

Want More? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

"Okay sweetheart, see you in about an hour." Dean's rough growl came through the speaker of the phone laying on the bed next to you. 

They'd been on a hunt just outside of the state line and were on their way back. Dean always called letting you know when they'd completed the hunt and were safely either in a hotel; or on their way to you...

"Okay, be safe guys," you say, reaching over to disconnect the phone so that you could get back into your episode of Shrek. You were on your usual Disney binge, something you did regularly on a Friday night. 

You weren't a hunter, to be honest, you just never had the desire to be one, even though you were raised in the life by Bobby after your father and mother were killed by a werewolf just outside of Sioux Falls all those years ago. You were nothing but 15 years old at the time, and now that you knew what was out there, there was no way you were going back to a “normal” life. 

Still, you were no hunter and had no desire to come face to face with what was actually out there. Preferring to stay hidden safely behind a book or a computer screen doing what you do best, research.

After Bobby died Dean took you in like you were one of their own, and you'd been living with them in hotels and wherever else they found refuge until they found the bunker that you all now called home.

You knew Disney movies weren't exactly for adults, and that it wasn't exactly an acceptable thing to do for women your age to sit around and watch Disney movies on a Friday night instead of going and hanging out with friends or trying to hook up with someone, but you were never a people person, and Disney was a good way of escaping the reality that you were never going to be 'that girl'.

The girl that all the guys drooled over when they walked into a bar, or the girl that turned heads just walking down the aisle at a supermarket. 

Nope, that would never be you. 

With a perfect body, and a perfect figure with the perfect clothes, and the perfect makeup. You were always overweight. Thyroid problems plagued you all your life, and it wasn't exactly something you could control, even though you tried everything from diets, drugs, and exercises that were almost military level.

You were who you were, love handles and all, and there was going to be no changing it, because nothing ever worked, or ever worked the way you wanted it too anyway.

When you walked in a barroom, or in the supermarket, if you didn’t feel like people were staring and snickering, you just felt like they were avoiding you at all costs. Which only made you even more of a recluse, and even more selfconscious. 

Disney movies gave you this false feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was a prince charming out there for everyone, and someday, someone would come to sweep you off your feet, and not give a shit what you looked like, or what flaws you had...

You wished that prince charming would be Dean, but hey, you weren't diluted. Dean didn't go for girls like yourself, so you never let your self entertain thoughts and feelings that would slip in your way concerning Dean...It was just easier to deal with reality if you didn't 'deal' with reality, and rather found a way of distraction...

Somewhere around the beginning of Shrek the Third you drifted off to sleep on your bed with your TV still playing in front of you. You don't know how long you were asleep when you heard something crash in the direction of the kitchen, but it must not have been long, because the same show was still playing in the background of your consciousness as you were startled awake by the noise. 

Your eyes popped open like someone had thrown water on you, and you made to sit straight up, but were unable to do so...

A Snickering sound you didn't recognize came from either side of your bed, and when you looked over there were at least four pairs of black eyes standing around your bed staring down at you.

"Looks like someone should have checked the warding before going to sleep watch... Shrek?" Demon/minion one said with a smirk as he looked from the TV to your tied up figure laying on the bed. 

His gang of minions that were with him laughed mindlessly as if they were supposed to do so.

"Dean and Sam will be here any minute! You're going to regret this!" you threatened him as the credits rolled on the TV. 'Causing another course laughter to erupt from around your bed.

"Oh, we'll be long gone before then Sweetheart. Your little prince charming won't be here in time to stop what we have planned for you." Demon/ minion number two sneered as he lumbered closer to your bed, a knife playing at his lips. An involuntary shiver runs down your spin.

"Bet she's a little virgin, no woman in her right mind would be lying here on a Friday night, watching a Disney movie if she wasn't." Demon /minion number one said, mockery thick in his voice.

"Oh yeah, definitely a virgin, she's hoping some prince will save her ugly ass, but baby I hate to break it to you, this is real life, and in real life, no one wants a fat, ugly, useless Ogar laying around...Especially the Winchesters, fuck they will probably thank us when your gone, one less thing they got to worry about.." Demon/minion number four said, while number three made his way to the hallway to look around, apparently already bored with taunting you about your love for Disney movies.

"He's right you know, there's no one coming to help you, you're going to die alone, tied to this bed, with the credits rolling on something you will never have, a happy ending.." Demon/minion number one said, running the cold steel of his blade across your throat, tears involuntarily fell past your defenses as you looked around the bed, you wanted to scream, but you just couldn't get your throat to work properly. 

Just as the cold steel blade cut into the skin of your arm by Demon/minion number two the unmistakable sound of a Demon being stabbed by Ruby's blade sounded from the hallway, and Dean burst through the door of your room. A look of pure rage and hate spread over his face.

Moving like a man on a mission he sliced his way through Demon's as if it were nothing at all. Pinning the last Demon against the wall, his face inches from his. 

"Well, well, looks like I was wrong, Sweetheart, Prince charming did show up to save the day," the Demon spat in Dean's face. "I'm surprised at you Dean, I didn't think you were into fat girls." 

Dean tightened his grip on the Demon's throat as Sam came running through the door, and to your bed, untying you and helping to sit up. 

Dean slams the demon blade into the chest of the demon he was holding up against the wall by the throat, him flashing in his hold as Dean looks eye to eye with him, prolonging the death, until Dean says what it was he had to say...

"That girl right there is way more than I deserve, she's smart, beautiful, funny, and she's mine, you got me? You don't come into my house! Hurt my girl, and expect to be out of here before I kill you!! Your boss? My face was the last thing he saw!! You're too late!"

With that, he twisted the blade in the demon's chest before ripping it from the body and watching it fall to the floor with the crack of the demon that was possessing the vessel dying instantly. 

Running to you Dean wraps you up in his arms, pulling you close to him, your shaking from melting against him instantly, your mind still swimming with the words that he just told the demon, and confusion clouding your overly anxious state.

"Dean, take Y/N to your room and stitch up her arm, make sure she's okay, I'll take care of this mess.." Sam said, and Dean lifts you like you weigh nothing at all, carrying you to his room, kicking the partially open door with his foot to open and close it behind him. Sitting you down on his bed gently before checking your wrist and arms.

"Dean," you said, your voice still shaking. 

Dean shushes you before you could say anything.

"It's okay, Sweetheart, they're all dead, I got you, that was the last of them, I thought Sam had killed them, but apparently they had zap away before either one of us knew it...They can't hurt you anymore I promise." Dean said, looking at your arm where the demon had cut you with his blade, dabbing it, and cleaning it before putting the butterfly bandages to hold it in place while it heals. Determining that thankfully he didn't have to actually stitch you up.

The two of you sat in silence as he continued to clean the wounds around your wrist and ankles where the demon had tied you up, and once his work was done hand he was satisfied that you were well sterilized and bandaged he climbed on the bed next to you, pulling you into his hold again, and leaning back against the headboard, his arms wrapped perfectly around you like they were meant to be there.

 Your mind was still racing with the words that he'd said to the demon. You were wondering if he said them out of adrenaline, or if he said them because he meant them, because people that looked like Dean, well they didn't really go for people like you... Not in real life.

The demon was right about one thing, this is real life, it's not a Disney movie, and while your prince charming did come and rescue you, he wasn't going to carry you away from all this mess, and take you off somewhere to live happily ever after... That just didn't happen to people like you.

"Well," Dean said in a huff as he settled the covers around you. "Looks like my little secret's out..." 

You chuckled darkly, way too caught up in your own head to actually believe him...

"It's okay Dean, you don't have to lie to make me feel better. I know you were just sticking up for me with those demons, that you really didn't mean any of it, it's okay." 

You tried to sit up before the waterworks could start again, but Dean pulled you back down to him.

"What are you talking about Y/N? I didn't say that just because I was sticking up for you for some demon scum, Baby he was right about one thing, I ain't no Prince Charming, and in the life we live there are very rarely any happy endings, but I meant every word I said back there." 

You shook your head and made to sit up again still not believing him, and he places both hands on the side of your head, making you look into his piercing green eyes, the ones that only existed in the Disney movies you loved so much, or fanfiction that fans of Chuck's old Supernatural books wrote on the internet. Even though you'd never admit it to Dean, those had become a guilty pleasure for you too.. 

Something there surprised you though...

Instead of disgust, or whatever else you expected to see there... You saw something else entirely... 

Love maybe?

"Baby girl, your smart, beautiful, funny, innocent in a lot of ways that makes you a better person than I'll ever be able to be, you patient with me when most people would have already given up, you believe in me when no one else does, you have the most amazing personality than I've ever seen in another person, you're the reason I still have faith in humanity because until I met you, I thought all the good things in this world were lost to me, and I mean it when I say I don't deserve you, not even for a second, but if you will have me...Baby, I'm yours....I'm not some knight in shining armor, more like some street tramp that you found in behind the dumpsters, but baby girl I know what I feel about you..and I know I'm in love with you...If You tell me to fuck off baby girl I'll do it, but please, tell me you feel something too, and it's not just my imagination..."

You sat there dumbfounded with your jaw on the floor. Of all things you expected him to say, that was not one of them...

Or any of them for that matter...

"Baby girl, say something," Dean said, his eyes searching you, fear of rejection shining stronger in them with each passing second...

"Dean. I've loved you from the moment I met you."

Dean closed the distance between the two of you, his mouth claiming yours instantly in a heated kiss. Lowering you on the bed with him, his arms still securely around you.

Dean's tongue slid across your lower lips, begging you for entrance that you gladly granted him.. Tasting you, drawing you in deeper to him. His body melting against your own, the sizable bulge in his jeans pressing against your center as you spread your legs and allow him to fit between them perfectly like he was always meant to be there...

You vaguely register your clothes being stripped from your body, but Dean was so good at kissing you drunk that you really didn't care what he was doing to you. There were insecurities screaming in the back corner of your thoughts. He didn't allow them to linger though as he worked his way down your body, over the mound of your breast, stopping long enough to give each an equal amount of attention that had his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

He continued his track down your body, nipping at your thighs and your hips, your body screaming for him, every touch too much, and at the same time not enough. His mouth finally made its way to your center, and he locked eyes with you for a moment before running his tongue through your soaking folds. Tasting you and sending a wave of white hot pleasure burning through your veins. 

He took it slowly at first, lightly lapping at your swollen bundle of nerves. Letting you adjust to him before he was eating at you like a starving man, driving you close and closer to your release. 

His thick fingers found their way into your tight cunt, first one, then two, curling inside of you, hitting that place inside you with the exact pressure of his curled fingers, your body arches off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure washes over your body. The coil winding tight in your belly before, and before long you were falling over the edge into pure bliss. Dean never stopped working your through your release until you had finally come down from your high.

Stripping himself quickly he crawled back up your body like a predator crawling up his prey, a cocky smirk plastered all over those perfect lips of his before he catches yours in a sweet, searing kiss. 

"You sure you want to do this sweetheart, we can stop here, I don't have to...I mean I don't want you to think..." 

Before he could ramble anymore you lean forward and capture his lips in yours, giving him a chaste kiss as his hands wander up your bare sides. 

"Dean, I'm sure..." 

His piercing green eyes search yours for any hint of hesitation as he lines himself up with your center. running his tip through your folds, collecting as much of your slick as he could before slowly pushing his way inside of you, stretching you and filling you in a way no other man had ever been able to.

You weren't a virgin by any means, but Dean was definitely the biggest man you'd ever been with, and it took you a moment to adjust to him. He waited patiently for you to relax before slowly starting to thrust in and out of you, his lips barely ever leaving yours as your arms made their way around his shoulders, and your hands wandered up into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

With every stroke he seemed to be hitting new and better places deep inside of you that no one ever reached before, driving you higher and higher... Little moans and the sound of his flesh hitting your filling the room his pace continues to pick up, his mouth traveling down your throat to your pulse point as he sucked his mark there, one that you knew you'd never be able to cover up, but you didn't care who knew you were his. 

Before long he had your body withering underneath him. Your body so close to another release that you were visibly shaking. Your walls flutter around him with every thrust he made into you. 

"Dean..." 

"I know baby, let go, I've got you," his own pace started to falter.

Your walls collapsed around him, and your body arched into him as he released thick ropes of cum into you, painting your walls with his seed, his cock throbbing as he thrust into you slowly, dragging out both of your high.

 When you both came down from your highs he slowly pulled himself out of you, giving you a quick peck on the lips before retreating to the bathroom, bringing back a washcloth, cleaning you up gently, then settling down next to you, pulling the covers over the two of you, and wrapping you up tight in his arms.

"You okay?" he asked you, playing with your hair as you nuzzled into him. letting the warmth of his body wash over you.

"More than okay," you tell him, breathing him in deep. Trying to commit everything to memory, not wanting to forget one moment of this first night together..

"You tired?" Dean asks you,  after a while of just laying there in each other's arms.

"Nope, not even a little bit," you admitted, adrenaline still pumping through your veins from the demon attack, to Dean finally telling you he had feelings for you, to this... You're probably going to be up for a while.

"Wanna watch something on TV?" he asks, leaning up and turning on Disneys plus with his controller that he kept next to his bed.

"Dean, we don't have to watch Disney movies if you don't want to, and would rather watch something else," you tell him, the demon's words from earlier still stung a little, and you didn't want Dean to think you were childish, and that he'd made a mistake by letting you in..

"Fuck that, I wanna watch Disney," he said, with a chuck, as you looked up at him with a quizzical look on your face. 

"Now I can watch Disney and Sammy will think it's because of you, and won't give me any shit about it."  

He smiled down at you, turning on Lady And The Tramp, and snuggling the two of you into the covers.

You couldn't help the stupid smile that was spreading over your face. Sure in this life you didn't get a lot of 'happily ever afters', but this right now felt pretty damn close...

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