#michael sheens acting here.........i need to have a word with this man about the control he has over his facial muscles because HOW

[edwardbonnets]

@realityisasham requested: aziraphale not wanting to let go of crowley (and looking very much in love) during the ineffable bureaucracy confession (x)

[ahsbitch]

Something Strange In The Air (Part 2)

Word Count: 2544

Summary: In the aftermath of your...incident with Michael, you’re still tumbling to figure out what you’re doing. 

Warnings: It’s probably bad idk, oral (male receiving), face fucking, degradation, Mean!Michael & Being Mean To Michael, blue balls, waxing poetic, lots of cursing (as always), idk i can’t think of any others 

A/N: Sorry this is really short and sorry it took so long I’m in college so I’ve been busy and I was writing a oneshot for a different fandom which took some time, the next chapter will have more plot to it and stuff I promise, my apologies for shitty writing and being a super slow writer, I’m doing my best I promise. As always, comments (even just in the tags) are always ultra appreciated!!!!!

Mini Tags: @wroteclassicaly @1-666-coven @michaellangdonstanaccount uhhh there are others but i can’t remember if i forgot to tag you i’m sorry pls remind me 

ALSO I PUT IN THE KEEP READING THING BUT IT REFUSES TO WORK SO SORRY ABOUT THAT

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was poetry flashing through your mind.

Some say the world will end in fire

Bits and pieces. 

Death, be not proud

You couldn’t get him off your mind. 

Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart 

Couldn’t get your dream off your mind. 

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams 

The way he had looked at you, in it, how he had held your hand.

He kindly stopped for me-

Michael often called you little witch,

Leave my loneliness unbroken 

But he had never called you his little witch, as he had in the dream. 

There will be time to murder and create

He was beautiful, almost angelic in appearance, you had to admit.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

And he pulled you in, in spite of how hard you tried to ignore it

I can no longer remain away from you

It was almost disgusting, how much you thought about him. 

Curse, bless, me now with your tears, I pray

There was something about him that frightened you.

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

A lot about him that frightened you, actually. 

A waking on a morn

“Y/N,” Cordelia spoke, and you could tell from her tone that this wasn’t the first time she’d said your name, “Are you with me?” 

Shit, you’d gotten distracted. 

You’d been called to a meeting in Cordelia’s office, made it to one of the chairs, and immediately spaced out. 

You hadn’t really seen Michael in almost a week, nothing more than passing glimpses in the halls and quick pulses of his energy in the air. You’d been avoiding him. Or maybe he’d been avoiding you. Honestly, you couldn’t remember. You hadn’t spent a single night in your bedroom, instead floating around to parties and going to the swamps to practice your magic rather than spend time in the study room. 

Fuck, things were getting complicated.

“I’m with you,” You smiled cautiously at her, “I’m sorry.” 

She smiled back, something you couldn’t quite determine just behind her eyes. Concern, of course, her whole aura was clearly very concerned, but something else, and then she was speaking, her voice as calm as ever, “Don’t be sorry. Are you feeling okay?” 

Of course not.

“Of course I am!” 

“Try again,” Her hands were folded neatly on her desk, and you dropped your gaze to look at them, Cordelia’s words making you feel a strange sense of shame, “I’m a little worried about you, Y/N.” 

Your ears were burning, your heart jumping wildly in your chest, “I’m sorry.” 

She sighed, shaking her head, “Don’t be sorry. Just... what’s going on with you? What’s going on between you and Michael Langdon?”

Shit.

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been sleeping in your room, or studying in the house,” Cordelia looked at you strangely, and you held your breath, “Have you still been fighting?”

She didn’t know.

Thank fuck. 

“Yes,” You responded, perhaps a little too quickly, “Yes, we have. We just can’t seem to agree on anything.”

Not entirely untrue.

She nodded sympathetically, and you were relieved to feel that she believed that was it, “I’m sorry. I feared something like this might happen. But Y/N, you need to return to your room.You can’t be out every night, and you can’t do all of your studying in the swamps. You’re still a student here. You have to be present, at least sometimes.”

“Okay,” Nodding, you worked on getting your breathing fully back to normal, “I’ll be back in my room tonight.” 

“Good,” Cordelia reached out and squeezed your hand gently, “I’m proud of you, Y/N. You are a powerful witch, and a good woman. I believe in you.” 

Not able to make yourself respond, you simply flashed her a smile and bolted for the door, blinking back tears.

Fuck, she’d bee so disappointed if she knew the truth. 

You were barely out of the office when the door to a closet opened and someone tugged you inside, slamming it shut. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What the fuck, Michael?” You snapped, blinking into the darkness. 

Michael’s hand clamped over your mouth as he let out a growl, “Be quiet, little witch.” 

You worked your mouth until you managed to clamp your teeth onto the skin of his palm, biting as hard as you could. 

“Fuck,” He hissed, jerking away from you, “That hurt!”

“Good,” Glaring, you reached for the cord on the light and tugged on it, the weak bulb flickering overhead, “What the fuck?”

Glowering at you in the dim light, Michael crossed his arms, “What did Cordelia want?”

“None of your business.”

“I’m pretty sure it is,” Shaking his head, he scoffed at you, “It was about me, wasn’t it? Does she know?” 

It was childish to play dumb, and you knew that, but you were doing it anyway, “Does she know what? Why would we want to talk about you?” 

It took only a single step for Michael to back you against the wall, pinning you there with his hips, "Don’t even bother with that shit. Answer the fucking question.” 

You shoved at his chest, although even you had to admit that it was a halfhearted push. His proximity, especially after so long away from him, was overwhelming, and you felt your mind slipping to a place you didn’t want it to be, “Get the fuck away from me, asshole.” 

Another shove, and he wrapped his hands around your wrists, holding them over your head, “You weren’t asking me to do that last time we saw each other, were you, little witch? Now. Does Cordelia know?” 

“No,” Growling, you tried in vain to pull your hands back, “We talked about you, but she doesn’t know about that. Now let me go.” 

Tilting his head to the side, Michael laughed at you, “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re not the one in charge here.”

“Fuck you,” You spat, beginning to shake with something between fury and a feeling that you didn’t quite want to acknowledge.

“This is a pretty color,” Michael shifted both of your wrists to one hand and brought the other down to trail across your lips, tapping at the soft flesh, smudging a bit of the golden sheen, “Did you put this on for me?” 

Ever since that day in the study room, not that day but the one before, you had taken to wearing more and more lipstick, coating your lips in a new color everyday. 

Today was gold, one that shimmered when the light hit it, and if you were honest, yes, you did put it on for Michael. Every time you reapplied a coat of lipstick, today and every other, he flashed through your mind, the sneer on his features, the echo of his words in your ear when his fingers were down your throat. 

“You look good like this...Gagging...You wear revealing clothes and you act like you’re doing it for yourself...But really you’re just a dumb, depraved, desperate little whore who wants nothing more than to be dicked down by your rival.” 

Fuck, just thinking about it sent a wave of wetness gushing through you, and you tensed your legs in an effort to ignore it, and the smirk on Michael’s face told you that he had noticed. 

Yes, you were wearing it for him. 

“No,” You had to crane your head to glare at him with how close he was, “I don’t know if this is the first time you’re hearing this, but not everything is about you, Boy Wonder.” 

He hummed, drawing his fingers along your cheekbone, and you cursed yourself for the way you leaned into the contact ever so subtly. After a moment he pressed his lips against yours, and although you fought to keep yourself in control, to keep from kissing him back, cursing yourself once again when you couldn’t hold yourself back, your noses smashing against one another, your mouth slipping open with a groan, quickly intruded upon by Michael’s tongue, which battled fiercely with yours. 

And then suddenly he pulled away from you and stepped back, and you fell to your knees as he chuckled, his hands unbuckling his belt, “All the same, little bitch, I think that color would look wonderful smeared all over my cock, don’t you?” 

“I fucking hate you,” You glared up at him through your eyelashes as one of his hands gripped your hair, the other pulling his dick out of the confines of his slacks. 

“That just makes this all the more pathetic, doesn’t it?” He slapped your cheek with his dick gently, and it wasn’t lost on you how perfect it was, the size and the ridging and and the pulsing veins and the furious pink of the tip all making your mouth water, “Get up and walk away if you want, little witch bitch. But I don’t think you will. I think you want this. I think that being a little whore is the calling you’re pulled to most.” 

Get up and walk away.

You could do that. 

He pulled his hand from your hair, letting your head drop back, and you knew that if you moved to stand he would release you, would let you go. His precum had leaked onto your face as he continued to hit your cheeks, waiting to see what you would do. 

Just get up and walk away. 

But you couldn’t, couldn’t bring yourself to walk away without having the chance to taste him, not when the very thought was sending arousal roaring through you, and while you wished you could directly blame this on Michael, could say that his magic was holding you in place, that simply wasn’t it. 

You opened your mouth as wide as you could and in an instant his cock was down your throat, Michael setting off to fuck your face at an intense pace. 

Gagging, you brought your hands up to his thighs, and when your nails scratched against his legs through the fabric or his dress pants Michael let out a high, desperate groan. 

Although you couldn’t quite smile at that, with how full your mouth was, there was a little voice gloating in the back of your head, and you squeezed his thigh tightly, drinking down his moans as you moved until his own back had hit the wall, his hands desperately moving from your hair to your shoulders to simply slamming down on either side of his body. 

“Your mouth is good for something, I guess,” Michael grunted, as though he wasn’t as desperate for you as you had been for him a week ago, “You’re much prettier when you’re not talking, did you know that?” 

You managed to flick back your middle finger enough to flip him off, although you didn’t pull back to make a verbal response. There was something urgent about this, and the idea of dropping him from your mouth seemed too great a sacrifice to make, when the harmony of Michael’s shockingly soft, animalistic moans mixed with the lewd, wet noises of his dick hitting the back of your throat was so disgustingly lovely. 

Michael’s hands twitched, as though he was going to grab at your hair again, and at that moment he seemed to finally notice your own magic in the air, holding his wrists in place.

“You little bitch,” He snarled, straining against the magic, but all he could do was buck his hips into your mouth even harder, letting out a hiss as your teeth grazed him, as your tongue swirled around his head, “Let me go.” 

But where’s the fun in that? 

You didn’t let him go, and you didn’t stop. If anything, you grew more intense, your hands managing all over him, sneaking past the fabric of his clothes to leave angry scratches on his skin, so smooth underneath your touch. Eventually one of them trailed to his balls, tugging and toying with them roughly as he began to strain even harder, began to make a choked noise at the back of his throat that made your thighs clench, and you knew he was going to cum soon. 

You pulled your mouth off of him. 

He looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, panting, desperate, watching as you trailed your tongue over every inch of his dick, pulling his balls into your mouth and sucking them slowly, and finally you pressed a kiss to the skin just above his cock and leaned back with a grin.

“What the fuck,” Michael growled, although his face showed a kind of manic desperation that he clearly wasn’t used to, “Get back to it!”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Your smile got even wider, although your mouth was sore and your voice scratchy, you decided it was worth it, “You call me a little bitch all the time, but who’s the bitch now, Boy Wonder?” 

“Y/N, I’m serious. I will ruin you,” Snarling in spite of the pained expression starting to grow on his face, he thrusted against you, and you let out a giggle at that. 

“It’s so cute that you say that while you’re humping my leg like an unfixed puppy,” Shaking your head, you took a step back, out of the range of his hips, and looked down to admire his flushed, throbbing dick, “You were right, y’know. The gold does look good on there .Especially the contrast it has with the blue of your balls.”

He looked down to see that your words were true, the skin becoming overtaken with a pale, bruise like color, and when Michael looked back up at you there was something murderous in his eyes, “Quit fucking around. Let me go, and finish.” 

“Why should I?”

Arms straining against their magical containment, face twisting with the growing pain in his balls, Michael’s voice had grown croaky, “Do it. I will never touch you again, if you walk away from this, do you get that you desperate little whore? You want me. You need me. Do what I fucking tell you.” 

“I think there’s been a serious misunderstanding here, Langdon. I don’t need anything from you. You keep saying you’re the one in charge, but look at you. You’re nothing but a little blonde bimbo. So fuck you,” You scoffed, trailing a single hand across his chest and giving his nipple a harsh pinch, letting out a laugh at his angered whine, “And by the way, Cordelia says I have to move back into our room. I’ll be back tonight. I’ll see you whenever you get around to being the powerful warlock everyone thinks you are and break through my magic.”

With that, you pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of his lip and turned away, not bothering to fix your own appearance before you went out, turning the light off before you closed Michael in the closet. 

You were proud of yourself, you had to admit. 

Scared, perhaps, of what he might do, and curious as to whether or not he’d keep the promise that he’d never touch you again-not that you wanted him to, of course, you were just curious-but you were proud all the same. 

Fucking Michael Langdon. 

[notworkingsposts]

Strength of Women (Kenna x Val)

This is something special. Not only did I have the honour of collaborating with the wonderful @kennaxval but I think we’ve created something really beautiful together. I really hope you enjoy reading this just as much as we loved writing it! 

This is part of the @choices-august-challenge hosted by @cora-nova . Today’s challenge is femininity which inspired us to explore both the emotional and physical sides of the subject.

@kennaxval Masterlist

My (kind of) Masterlist

Word count: 2040 

NSFW, meaning anyone under 18 should not read this.

My tag list: @queerchoicesblog @kennaxval @politicallycorrectinnocentteen @brightpinkpeppercorn @crazypeanat @strangerofbraidwood @standoutofthecrowd @tornbetween2loves @akrenich

Michael’s tag list: @tornbetween2loves @begging-for-kamilah  @stopforamoment  @maxattack-powell @zutara-kallura-hikaharu @k–e–i @itspixelberrychoicestime @queerchoicesblog @barbaravalentino @pb-boeboe @darley1101 @blackcatkita @lolablackwrites @indescribablechoices @katurrade @hopefulmoonobject @boneandfur @indiacater @laniquelovewrites @choicesbyjade @mfackenthal @angstymarshmallow @littleredroseonthevalley @innerpostmentality @sirbeepsalot @rafasgirl23415 @bobasheebaby @ifyouseekheart @ritachacha @alj4890 @leelee10898 @desiree-0816 @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @annabellewerecorgi @princesskennarys @drakesfiance @justtheaverageblog1 @gavryllo @noeschoices @hotchocolatelovesyou

Michael’s Kenna x Val tags: @bitchbrenner @ofreapersandwolves @reneeliddell @og-lacksubstance-studios @snowwritings @itsstydiaduh @ilovekamilahsayeed @jellymonster @larentboheme @i-am-lesbian2 @blossomhelena @galaxyside-0 @arynnx @standoutofthecrowd

—-

Femininity has changed over time. In the past, some mother’s would say it’s more important to be smart; being feminine meant you were weak. If you were to take care of yourself in a world where men can’t be trusted; you need to be independent, strong and smart. Some people think this is the opposite to being feminine and one should adorn themselves in the finest cloth, make-up, heels and curves should always be highlighted. What’s right? What’s wrong?

Femininity is powerful, women have always been self-reliant and self-sufficient, but it’s their choices which determine how the world perceives them. Women should be free to discover their passion and contribute in ways that feel meaningful to them. A lot of people don’t realise that it’s all about confidence in yourself; you can fuse feeling beautiful with feeling accomplished.

As a child, Kenna was urged to be more “lady like”; the way she spoke, played and dressed was not up to her mother’s standards. Kenna was strong but Queen Adriana’s words would cut deep; making her feel like she wasn’t a “normal” princess.  Gabriel was her shining light and over time her negative feelings disappeared with his support, “Be strong from now Princess. Your future, our future depends on the strength of our leaders”.

Val shaped herself from an early age, where she wrote off “Valentina”, protecting herself with her fists and emotional walls as high as any castle. She was tough, bold and stubborn. Not caring what others thought of her. Well, that was until she met the love of her life, best friend and wife - Kenna Rhys.

Right away, it was clear to Val what a commanding presence Kenna possessed. With only a few words, the Warrior Queen had men twice her size and many years older kneeling before her, ready to serve, and even die for her.

Of course, Val understood the commitment of the men around her. How could anyone not devote themselves to the great Queen Kenna? Val wasn’t sure about the cause, necessarily, but she knew she would follow Kenna, even through the gates of hell.

Over the course of the next couple of years,Val’s resolve to honor her pledge only deepened. Time and again, Kenna was right there at the front lines with her troops. And around the camps, the men all spoke highly of their queen. Even those who desired to comment on her beauty restrained themselves and spoke of Kenna with nothing but respect.

It all made Val smile. She wasn’t used to soldiers speaking of a woman with such high regard. And what made it all the sweeter was the fact that Kenna never tried to act anyway just to please others. The Warrior Queen neither tried to behave as she suspected a man would nor did she placate the stereotypes they had for women. The whole world knew that Kenna was a woman; proud of her femininity and confident in her strength that came because of, not despite, her womanhood.

***

The night before the final battle with Azura had everyone on alert. The people knew in their bones that their Queen would lead them to victory over the dreaded Azusa, and were ready to pay whatever price was needed.

And to think, Val found herself all alone with the woman she loved. It wasn’t easy to admit that to herself, but Val knew more than anything else that she was very much in love with Kenna and silently wished for nothing more than a night to express that love.

The moon was a beautiful light in the darkness which made them feel at peace. It was like a spotlight focusing on them and only them. Nothing else was visible. This made Kenna and Val’s heart beat faster, almost in unison, even though there was a small gap between them. All that could be heard was their heavy breathing and the gentle sound of the lake as their gaze deepened. Val’s breath hitched as Kenna began to loosen her straps to her own armour. She couldn’t help but gawk at the beauty before her as Kenna took each piece of clothing off at a painfully slow pace. Her hands teased her own lines and curves as she revealed her body to her lover. The heat between Val’s legs was growing rapidly, and as she reached out to take Kenna in her arms she gently swatted her hands away.

“That’s not fair gorgeous. I need to feel you right now”.

With a knowing look, Kenna stepped closer, moving the mercenary’s hair from her face. She leaned in and placed Val’s hands on her naked hips; her lips grazing against her ear as she whispered, “Keep your hands here, I’m going to take care of you first my love”.

Val shivered in anticipation, voice hoarse, lips slightly parted waiting for them to be claimed by the love of her life. Kenna knew what she wanted, but she wanted to make her wait. Instead, she placed a gentle kiss to her neck as consolation. She began undressing Val, kissing and tonguing each body part as pieces of clothing fell to the ground. Her fingers lingered on every sensitive part of Val’s body, adding a small pressure which made Val twitch in delight.

As she removed the last piece of clothing, she looked up to see Val’s eyes completely hooded, pleading for more without a single word. Her kisses travelled from her ankle to her thigh, where she saw Val’s wet centre. She swiped her tongue over her wet folds and let the trail continue until she met her lover in an electric kiss.

Val pulled Kenna as close as possible as the kiss deepened; their bodies moving together as they fought for control. They both couldn’t hold back their moans as the kiss went on and on; their hands exploring one another. Kenna dragged her nails down Val’s back until she reached her round  rear, breaking the kiss with a firm slap and squeeze. She guided her lover down to the smooth surface of a large rock. Hovering over her, visually enjoying every part of the mercenary’s toned body. Val tried to reach for her, but the Queen pushed her back down in protest. She lowered herself, her body a light graze against Val’s, foreheads pressed together as she spoke, “I told you I’m going to take care of you first. Be patient beautiful”.

She claimed her lips in a feverish kiss, their tongues exploring and massaging. The Queen wrapped her arms and legs around Val and turned until their positions were switched. Kenna grabbed Val’s rear and pushed her up until her wet centre was mere inches from her lips. Her tongue darted out as she pulled Val lower on to her face, trying to get as deep as possible. Her tongued flicked and swirled, concentrating on her throbbing nub until her moans grew louder and wilder.

Val tangled her hands in her Queen’s hair as she climbed higher in pleasure, gently pulling, urging for more until Kenna’s tongue moved in and out; her hand a delicious replacement on her pulsating nub. Kenna’s other hand moved to Val’s hip trying to steady her gyrating but the pleasure was all consuming as she lapped up her juices. Ecstasy dominated her every sense, her knees buckled  and her breathing erratic as she fell forward.

A breeze picked up that rustled the trees and cooled the sheen of sweat on Val’s body. She sat up shivering with delight as the night air flowed around her. Her legs remained wrapped around Kenna’s hips pining the Warrior Queen to the ground. And as she looked down at her lover, Val was in awe at the sight before her. She grazed her fingers lightly on Kenna’s chiseled abs and rested them on the Queen’s folds.

“You’re a woman,” Val said softly.

Kenna laughed. “What gave it away?”

The normally cool and collected Val blushed. “It’s just that… that’s a big deal. We live in a world that caters to men and looks at women as nothing but subordinates. But you, Kenna, you’re strong. The people here respect you. They fear the likes of Luther, and you know that’s not the way to rule. Everyone here is ready to die for you, and that’s no small thing for a woman to achieve. We have to work twice as hard for half the respect and in mere hours, you will rule the world.”

Val rested her hand on Kenna’s heart. “But the more I think about it, the more I know that it’s because, not despite your womanhood. Females just needed someone to step forward and be proud of who she is. Now the world knows how cunning and brilliant the feminine mind can be.” Val ran her other hand along Kenna’s arms and legs. “And then there’s your body. You have muscles that would be the envy of any man. The way you charge into battle and have whole armies eating out of the palm of your hand is inspiring. You’re everything that’s great about women, Kenna. Strong and hard,” Val moved her hands to cup Kenna’s bare breasts, “yet soft and beautiful.”

Kenna stroked Val’s hair affectionately as the Mercenary kissed her queen’s breasts. Val’s lips lingered on the beautiful, smooth skin with each kiss, making Kenna’s heart race. Both of them faced death the following day, but the Queen wouldn’t let that happen without telling Val how she felt.

“You know, you have all of that too, Val,” Kenna said as Val continued to kiss her chest, “you’re the strongest person I know and I’ve seen the way the male mercenaries look at you. Truth be told, Val. I’m largely the woman I am because I saw you do it first.” Val looked up in surprise at this revelation. “And you should know that I love you. With all my heart. I’ve loved you for a very long time.”

“You… I… that’s… good. Good!” Val shook her head trying to fit off her own embarrassment. “Ugh, gods, I suck at this emotional stuff. What I’m trying to say is, I love you too, Kenna. Body and soul I belong to you. I’ve never loved anyone before and I know I’ll never feel this way again. I love you.”

She kissed Kenna’s lips. “I love you.” Her breasts. “I love you.” And her abs before hoovering over the heart of Kenna’s femininity. “And I’m going to show you just how much.”

Val parted Kenna’s wet folds with her tongue, sliding up and down the walls that enveloped her as she tasted her queen. She felt the tug of Kenna’s hands on her hair, urging her to continue. Her tongue flicked across Kenna’s sensitive nub darting back and forth and moving in rhythm with the bucking of the Queen’s hips. Val moved her tongue inside and out with her thumb on Kenna’s throbbing nub and her other hand supporting her lover’s backside. Tension continued to build inside Kenna, her pleasure intensifying until finally, she climaxed in a wave of ecstasy.

After all that, Kenna needed a moment to catch her breath while Val kissed and stroked her centre. Even with them taking their time, it seemed over too soon, and she dreaded having to leave the secluded spot.

Luckily, Val had other ideas and helped Kenna up before swatting her on the butt.

“Hey!” Kenna called out with a smile as she rubbed her cheeks.

“If you’re going to insist on having such a gorgeous, round ass, I can’t be blamed for wanting to slap it every chance I get. Now, I don’t know about you, but I could use a dip in the lake.”

Eagerly, Kenna took Val by the hand and they both jumped into the clear, cool water and holding each other close. The two of them kissed passionately in the water wanting to savor every second. As much as they wanted the night to last forever, they knew that their swim in the lake could only last a few hours at most.

Tomorrow was the battle for the Five Kingdoms and the world would know the power of two women in love.

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 17 - Willkommen!

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 2037

Summary: The part of the story in which the reader really should have listened to Castiel’s thoughts regarding her safety.

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

You sit on a fallen tree trunk stripped by weather and time of the remnants of its roughened bark at meadow’s edge nursing your woe in the peaceful haven Cas shared with you on that first fateful bunker outing together. The season’s rain and shade of surrounding trees lends a bracing dampness to air freshened by clusters of purple aster and sunny wild coreopsis blooms. Every so often, your toes prod the spongy mound of moss beneath bare feet; the earth thereon is scattered with contrasting piles of yellow petals plucked from the crowns of flowers, unlucky demise the result of their proximity to your person – a person absent-minded with need to apoplectically occupy fingers by dismembering the delicate buds one by one whilst reciting in silent solitude the not very cheering and pitifully childish mantra, ‘He loves me, he loves me not.’

You couldn’t bring yourself to stay inside today knowing the rift was opening and Cas was leaving, with feeling as though the tattered bits of hope still anchored in your heart at the possibility of his coming around and forgiving you might come completely untethered in his absence. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye himself, a slight you can only assume expresses the uncaring truth of his angelic nature; in which case, shame on you for letting down your guard and letting him in when you knew full well the sinister substance angels are made of. You wonder if Sam drew the short straw in announcing their imminent departure. You wonder if any of them are ever coming back or if, like before Dean rescued you, you’ve lost everyone you care about to that devastated world and must endure alone in this strange one.

A sharp snort and stomp of hoof draws your attention up and out into the field. The twin fawns, white spots fading on tawny coats with maturity, cautious of the salt smell and sniffling sounds of a human quietly sulking and seething, creep into the clearing to join you. Ears flicking, the larger of the two fixes her brown-doe eyes on your slumped figure. After a moment, her steady gaze shifts, drifting deeper into the wood beyond where you sit; her wary regard softens. Though not visible to you at this distance, the mirror image of a man in a trench coat reveals in the enameled glaze of her eyes – a man she knows simply as the sweetness of apples. Satisfied no danger exists, she paws at the ground and drops her head to join her sister in grazing upon the dewy grass.

Rounding the log with seraphim stealth of silence, Castiel sinks beside you.

At least you assume it’s the angel, certain anyone else at all would have sent the deer running in fright. For fear of shattering the illusion he’s here, that he didn’t leave after all, you keep your focus trained ahead.

He, too, looks forward, crossing and uncrossing his arms in a reflexive quest for comfort in the atmosphere of guarded awkwardness which general precedes the breaking of ice and subsequent admission of personal failings invariably followed by a vulnerable outpouring of bottled emotion which to him, as a divine being honed to conceal such sentimental weaknesses with wrathful righteousness, feels nearly as unnatural as it does natural. Unable to subdue the inner tumult of manifest feelings, he fidgets – a soldier waging war within the battleground of a vessel containing aloof angelic reason and a heart hewn to love humanity, the opposing ends battling to do the right thing by you.

The spastic shuffle of limbs in the otherwise hushed setting is enough to drive you bonkers. You reach out sideways, the impulse not entirely in your conscious control, and seize his hand to still the closest fretting limb. He does not stiffen at the suddenness of your touch, nor does he pull away when your fingers flex and fold, seeking the warmth and security of the spaces between his own.

You hold each other thus, unspeaking, watching the deer without really watching them, for what seems a stretch of eternity.

The fawns, perhaps sensitive to a tension strained to the pressure point of bursting, grow weary of munching. Fuzzy dew-soaked muzzles quivering, they decide in a subtle show of twitching withers and flinching flanks to embark on a winding path across the meadow. Disturbed from tall grassy posts, the translucent wings of small flies take flight, glittering the sky in the wake of their departure.

As the dim thickness of the bordering forest swallows up the creatures and outward tranquility again reigns supreme, Cas speaks. “I owe you an apology.”

You turn, a startled gasp catching in your throat at the blueness of his irises after being deprived of their gentle light for so many days. Shaking your head, you murmur, “You don’t owe me anything.” It’s an honest correction – he healed your mortal wounds with his grace and cleared the scorched ruin of your mind to give you back your memories. Wanting anything beyond these miracles seems greedy; although, at the sight of the doubtful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth over your contradiction, the swiftly thumping knot of muscle wedged inside your chest tells you despite all reason the heart nonetheless desires more.

His small smile dissolves almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a contrite pout. “I behaved” –he pauses to glance upward in search of a grand and meaningful explanation. Finding none in the grey clouds above, he settles for the humble truth– “selfishly.”

“Me too,” you contend. “More so. You saved my life and I-”

“Acted as anyone who lost everything and everyone they cared about would under the circumstances.” Interrupting your attempt at self-contempt, he squeezes your hand tighter. “Please forgive me for allowing frustration to get the better of me” –he brings his fingertips up to caress your cheek– “for forgetting you have feelings too. If you permit me, I’ll try to do better.”

His sincerity extracts an airy breath of pardoning laughter and bright twist of smile from you. “I’d say you’re only human, but …”

Chin dropping to his chest under the weight of his matching beam of a grin, he lets go a husky chuckle.

Soles of bare feet slipping on the moss, a relief of warm tears brimming over your lashes, you dive to embrace the angel.

Opening his arms to your scrabbling hug, he winds them about your waist to draw you into his lap and pull you firm to his torso. He buries his nose into your tousled hair to nuzzle and kiss the top of your head.

It’s there, clasped in the refuge of revived affection, it occurs to you to ask why he’s still here when he was supposed to leave hours ago with Sam and Dean and Gabriel. “Cas, what happened with the rift?” you mumble the query into the cushion of his coat.

He smooths a hand up your back. “We” –he hesitates, fisting and flattening his fingers at your spine– “we need another source of archangel grace. Gabriel’s is too weak to maintain the gateway to your world. I came to talk to you about that.”

You incline backward slightly to peer up at him. “How can I help?”

“We have a plan. It’s not a great plan” –he frowns, blues sheening in a serious darkened glint as he continues– “or even a good one. Sam accurately called it one of the worst plans ever and Dean’s sarcasm was evident even to me, but it seems to be the only option available to us if we want to rescue Jack and Mary and stop Michael.”

“What’s going on?” You squirm to sit up straighter, steadying yourself by clutching the lapels of his coat.

His tone tumbles gravely deeper. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything, angel.” Freeing a hand, you reach up to run your fingers through the silky sweep of chestnut locks gathered at his temple.

He looks at you hard, eyes narrowed and roving your features like he’s searing a mapped memory of your face into his celestial consciousness; after a few breathless heartbeats, he nods, lids relaxing their squint to blink entreatingly wide. “Y/N, I need to know you’re safe, no matter what happens.”

A spasm of emptiness snatches at the steady rhythm of your heart. In the skipped beats, you sense what’s coming next – he’s about to ask you to leave just when you’ve reconciled. You bite back the argument brewing on your tongue.

Regardless of the uneasiness he feels flowing through your veins, he continues in hope elucidation of the danger will assuage your trepidation. “As we speak, Rowena, Gabriel, and the Winchesters are attempting to capture Lucifer to bring him to the bunker in order to use him as a power source to keep the rift open. To do so means we need him alive.”

“You’re bringing the devil … here?” you gulp, although the news does nothing to diminish your desire to remain.

“Yes, and if you’re to be safe, you should be somewhere else.” He ignores the slow objecting wiggle of your head. “It isn’t as far as I’d like, but in Sioux Falls we have friends …”

“Cas” –you press a palm to his heart– “I’m staying.”

An anxious line creases his forehead at your protest. “If you think what happened to you on your world was bad, multiply that by a hundred thousand times and that’s what happens if Lucifer manages to free himself. He’s without mercy. Think about it.”

Unmoved, you enfold yourself back into his embrace. “There’s nothing to think about. I need to be here to make sure nothing happens to the rift. To make sure you come back.”

“Y/N …” Recognizing his frustration once again threatens to erect a wall between you, he stifles further reproach out of respect. Cuddling you close, he reassures himself you’re stubborn. Strong. “Very well … little one.”

Little one. A cold shiver courses your coiled form. The other Castiel called you that – not out of any tender endearment, but to reinforce your insignificance to him.

Dread darkens the perimeter of your vision; the colorful meadow wavers ribbon-like in ebbing blackness. “Wh-what did you call me?” you stutter in a fraught whisper; the tentative wriggle from the angel’s grasp rapidly evolves into a desperate struggle to free yourself as his grip constricts your movements.

“I said, you did very well, little one,” he repeats in the wrong voice, his nasally strangely accented voice.

Eyelids clamping, you try to believe this is a nightmare.

Snippets of memory roar through your mind in a vacuum of wind: Cas – your Cas – cutting Lucifer’s throat. The golden bolt of the rift opening in the library. Cas’ parting kiss before stepping through it that felt too much like a final goodbye. The devil’s escape. Rowena’s threat to abandon them all and your frantic plunge back into your world through the flickering rift, unarmed and unequipped, to warn the others and because you couldn’t imagine being separated from your angel forever.

The greater your panic to be free, the more agonizing the reality of entrapment. You discover then you cannot scream, the fingers gripping your gorge prevent any sound from escaping your lips or air from entering your lungs. You verge on blacking out, having no such luck as the vice relents to let you suck in a gasp in order to keep you conscious.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

The skin sheathing your wildly darting orbs unwillingly parts to comply with the order. An unsympathetic appearing Englishman with fractured facial structure and shrouded in mercenary black frowns at you from where he hangs by the wrists from the beam of the ceiling. Beyond him, a fiery redhead slumps comatose where she sits bound and bleeding in a chair.

Castiel tilts you by the neck, wrenching your regard with angelic force from the others in the room to center instead on him; features alive in a firestorm of tics, dead opaque eye and menacing blue one searing you to the soul, he yanks you closer. Brushing his convulsive lips to yours, he growls, “Welcome home, my little one.”

Next: Ch. 18 - The Good Soldier