mel writes supernatural

REQUESTS ARE: OPEN !! _________________________________________________________________________ imagines + one shots for supernatural. [ @moodycastiel is my main blog]

[moodycastiel-writes]

The Spirit of Nature [1]

summary: when exploring an old abandoned men of letters bunker, sam and dean stumble upon you, chained up and forgotten in the dungeon. when they investigate further, you’re alive, and they have a lot of questions

characters: monster!reader, sam winchester, dean winchester

author’s note: welcome to my first series! if you’d like to be tagged for future updates, let me know! i’d love to tag you (: takes place after 13x17 ‘the thing’ when sam and dean look for the seal of solomon and decide to explore other bunkers around the united states. i had a lot of fun with this one!

warnings: swearing (as always), lil bit of nudity (no smut or 18+ aspects), typical warnings y’know

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

          The Impala rumbled to a halt outside of the abandoned building in the outskirts of Rhyolite, Nevada, the dried up ground crunched and cracked under the weight of the tires. Sam and Dean looked at each other, exhaustion from a thirty hour trip from Kansas to Nevada evident on their face. Dean blinked his tired eyes as he looked past Sam’s shoulders, staring at the building in the near distance.

          “You sure this is the right place?” he asked, stifling a yawn. Sam looked over his notes in his lap and nodded his head in confirmation.

         “Men of Letters outpost located in Rhyolite, Nevada. One of the first outposts the scholars built, and the first one to get abandoned. All of the scholars disappeared in the fall of 1819, leaving no traces to where they could have gone, or why they left in the first place,” he read from the pages of his journal.

         With a huff, Dean took the keys from the ignition and exited the car, Sam following suit. Sam frowned as he stared at the building, feeling unnerved as his eyes took in the picture in front of him.

         “What’s wrong with this picture?” he asked, eyes raking over the sight in front of him.

         The nature around the bunker was very much alive and flourishing, unlike how it was throughout the rest of the town. Trees towered over the bunker, long vines connecting them together. Various types of flowers and plants covered the ground around the entrance where the door was, which was covered in the thick layer of ivy.

         “You mean besides the fact we just stepped into a freaking jungle?” he asked, moving to the trunk of the car, unlocking it with the key. Sam nodded his head, suddenly on edge.

         “The whole time we were driving here, it’s been dirt roads and tumbleweeds,” he explained. “The second we crossed over route 95, I haven’t seen a blade of grass. How come, all of a sudden, it’s like we’re in the Amazon?”

         “Maybe the old Men of Letters put up a spell to keep the scenery alive?” Dean suggested with a shrug, grabbing his gun and a flashlight for him and Sam from the trunk. He shut it and locked it back up, passing a flashlight to his brother. He wasn’t too concerned about the scenery, knowing that the Men of Letters of the past used magic and all types of spells for extremely random cases.

         The brothers made their way to the entrance, focusing on the plants surrounding them as they neared the door.

         “Maybe,” Sam hummed in response to his brother, taking out a switchblade from his pocket. Using the sharp blade, he cut away the ivy that was blocking the lock on the door. When the ivy was cleared, he replaced the switchblade in his hand for the key to the bunker and unlocked the door.

         Stepping inside, more plants and flowers covered every inch of the stone walls and floor, not a single part of the bunker untouched from its growth. Sam shot a look to Dean, silently asking him to give an explanation as to why the jungle continued inside.

         “Maybe with no one around it got out of hand,” Dean answered, his flashlight shining around the open space. Sam said nothing as they descended the spiral staircase into the main area of the bunker, their footsteps muffled by the mossy ground. Their flashlights moved around from the main room to where the library should be, but nothing was distinguishable underneath all the nature that was growing. Vines and ivy covered every inch of the room, growing over the wooden tables and bookshelves.

         “Maybe we should split up, cover more ground,” Dean suggested, and Sam nodded his head in agreement.

         “I’m going to check out their records room, see if anything is salvageable underneath all this crap.”

         “I’ll check out the bedrooms. Shout if you find anything.”

         The brothers wandered off from each other, Sam going left while Dean went right. Sam’s heavy boots crushed the various types of flowers underneath his feet as he stalked off down to where the records room should be. As he neared the door to the room, the plants grew thicker, more flowers of all colors and sizes sprouting from the floor.

         “What the hell?” he muttered to himself, having to use his switchblade once again to cut away the vines and ivy blocking the door shut. Once he was finally able to cut away the weeds and pry the door open, he was blasted in the face with the smell of different florals. “God,” he complained, letting out a sneeze at the sudden blast of scents. More vines and ivy covered the filing cabinets while flowers grew up the vines and all around the room, grass growing high and wild on the floor.

         “Why would they want plants growing like this in the first place?” he asked out loud.

         As he made his way into the records room, a strange feeling trickled down his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He looked around the room, his flashlight pointed in all directions until it fell on the cabinet on the back wall, very similar to the one in the bunker he calls his home. Cutting his way to the back of the room through the plants, the feeling he got grew stronger, putting him more on edge. The grass on the cement ground grew thicker and longer the closer he got to the wall, to the point where it was getting near impossible to cut through the tall blades with the small knife he had.

         “I’m going to need a bigger knife,” he said with a frown. Turning on his heel, Sam made his way out of the records room in search for his brother to find a way to the back wall where he believed would be the entrance to this bunker’s dungeon. The feeling he had vanished as he left the room, and he knew that something was behind that wall.

         “Dean?” he called out loudly once he got back to the library, but his brother did not respond. Sam threw his hands up in exasperation, and worked his way down to where Dean had headed off to towards the bedrooms.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

         Further into the bunker, Dean was having a bit more luck than Sam. There wasn’t much left behind by the old Men of Letters, and their bedrooms were all eerily bare. However, In one of the old bedrooms, he was able to find a tattered journal. Most of the pages got destroyed over time, but he was able to make out some of the entries. It was mostly dull from what he could make out, the man rambling on about spells and whatnot. The last one that he could read dated back to 1819, and there were only fragments of what he could make out on the page. The man writing the journal seemed to talk about a girl he had met, but he couldn’t make out her name, or anything else about her.

         “Real helpful,” he muttered to himself, haphazardly tossing the journal onto an old bed. It seemed the wildlife stopped growing past a certain point in the bunker, and most of the bedrooms remained untouched, give or take a few vines and flowers. Exiting the room he was currently in, he walked into the adjacent bedroom, which was set up exactly like the other four he had already checked out.

         Opening the bedside table cabinet where he found the last journal, he pulled out a Bible and another journal tucked away neatly inside. This one was in better condition than the last one, and flipping through the pages, it seemed the man that wrote this one had also met a girl. His eyes scanned over the entry from April 19th, 1819, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

         Taking the journal and exiting the bedroom, Dean started to walk back towards the main room, when he, quite literally, bumped into Sam.

         “Dude, you gotta see this,” they both said at the same time. Sam motioned Dean to go first, who waved the journal in his hand.

         “Found some horny old guy’s diary,” Dean said with a smirk, handing the book to his brother. Sam’s nose crinkled in disgust as he read over the contents of the page he opened to.

         “May 4, 1819,” he read aloud, “[Y/N] is quite the woman of many talents. She continues to impress every day. It’s impossible to keep her to myself, the other scholars dying to have their turn with her, but she fails to listen to them. My word is the only one that has power over her.”

         A look of repugnance crossed over his face as the words on the page settled into his brain. “Dude, what the hell?”

         “I know,” Dean smirked, “turns out these librarians actually did know how to have fun once in a while. If I knew orgies were in the mix of being a Men of Letters, I would have joined a long time ago.”

         Sam scowled and shot Dean a look of disapproval, throwing the journal back at him, Dean catching it last minute just as it was about to drop to the ground. Dean just rolled his eyes at his brother before changing the subject.

         “What did you find?”

         “I think the dungeon, but I can’t get to it,” Sam said, turning on his heel to walk back to the main room.

         Dean shook his head and followed close behind Sam. “What do you mean ‘can’t get to it’?”

         “The plant life seems to grow more frequently and thicker right in front of the door. There’s definitely something on the other side. I need something bigger than my pocket knife to cut through all that.”

         “We probably have some machetes in the trunk,” Dean said. Sam nodded his head, and waited for Dean to run out and grab them. In less than a minute Dean was back at his side, two machetes in his hand. Passing one to his brother, they made way back to the records room where the door to the dungeon was, being careful to not trip on any vines.

         “Damn, you weren’t kidding,” Dean commented once he saw the plant life surrounding the far wall. “Let’s get to it.”

          Ten minutes later, Sam and Dean were covered in sweat and the grass was cut down as low as it could go, and the filing cabinet was free. Sam crouched to the ground and swept some discarded grass away from the cement ground, and his eyes settled on the faded outline to a devil’s trap.

         “Thank God,” Dean said, eyeing the trap, “I would have killed you myself if we did all that landscaping for nothing.”

         Sam shot him a bitch face once he stood back up to his height, earning a cocky smile from Dean. “Just help me move this.”

         “Whatever,” Dean said, rolling his eyes while getting into position to move the cabinet. With their combined strength, Sam and Dean were able to get the secret door open, sunlight flooding their eyes.

         When their eyes adjusted to the sudden blast of light, they couldn’t believe the sight in front of them. All around the room were hundreds of different types of flowers; from daisies to lilies, lavender to cherry blossoms. Tall grass and ivy covered every inch of the concrete floor, not a single part of the cement underneath showing through. Sunlight seemed to filter through the room, even though there were no windows or doors anywhere. Right in the center of the room where the Devil’s trap should be, covered in ivy and flowers, a woman laid, naked and as still as the dead.

          “What the hell?”

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

FLASHBACK: APRIL 2ND, 1817

         Corvious Blackstone looked over his work again for the umpteenth time, his hands growing clammy as they wound into tight fists at his side. Lighting the candles around the perimeter of the Devil’s trap with a simple spell and the flick of his wrist, he began the ritual.

         Picking up an ebony blade from his tray of ingredients, he sliced a cut across his palm and let his blood flow into the gold bowl in the center of the trap.

         “Ego te voco spiritus naturae, ut appareant in conspectu tuo,” he spoke, clear as day. The atmosphere of the room changed immediately, a ball of sunlight appearing in the center of the trap.

         “Ego te voco spiritus naturae, ut appareant in conspectu tuo,” he repeated, louder this time. The light grew brighter, flowers beginning to bloom and grass began to grow out of nowhere on the cement floor beneath his shoes.

         “Ego te voco spiritus naturae, ut appareant in conspectu tuo!” he shouted for a final time, the ball of light growing so bright he had to shield his eyes. When the light faded, standing in the center of the Devil’s trap, bound in enchanted chains, a woman appeared.

         Her eyes were completely white, glossy and nerve-wracking to look at. Her hair long and blonde, going well past the swell of her breasts, down to the bones in her pelvis. Her tanned skin bare and gleaming in the light of the sun. Intricate designs of gold swirled over her skin, down her arms and her torso, coming together up her neck and onto her face, creating an elegant pattern in the center of her forehead.

         She blinked, once, twice, three times, and the white of her eyes faded away, her irises the same golden shade as the etchings on her skin coming to form a right of light against her eyelashes. A triumphant smile arose on Corvious’s face as he stared into the woman.

         “Hello, [Y/N],” he greeted, “get comfortable, you’ll be here for a while.”

TAGS: @joanofarcoffical @katnisspeetaprim @anatheodd @ria132love

[moodycastiel-writes]

Heya could i be tagged in your spirit of nature series? :)

of course, love!

[moodycastiel-writes]

The Spirit of Nature ━ MASTERLIST

warnings: swearing (as always), lil bit of nudity (no smut or 18+ aspects), typical warnings y’know

summary: when exploring an old abandoned men of letters bunker, sam and dean stumbleupon you, chained up and forgotten in the dungeon. when they investigate further, you’re alive, and they have a lot of questions

characters: monster!reader, sam winchester, dean winchester

author’s note: welcome to my first series! if you’d like to be tagged for future updates, let me know! i’d love to tag you (: takes place after 13x17 ‘the thing’ when sam and dean look for the seal of solomon and decide to explore other bunkers around the united states. i had a lot of fun with this one!

PART ONE━ READ HERE

Tag List: @joanofarcoffical @katnisspeetaprim @anatheodd @ria132love

[youngmoneymilla-deactivated2019]

A Head Full of Ghosts

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You have a past with Dean Winchester and Steve Rogers gets jealous. Also, vampires in New Orleans. 

Warnings: SMUTTY AF (18+), Language, Dirty Talk, Public Sex, Jealousy.

A/N: I got a lot of drabble requests for jealous Steve dealing with the reader flirting with some dude on a mission. This goes deeper than that!

Please Reblog/Comment My Dolls and lmk if you want to be tagged.

Steve Rogers is a planner. He’s practical. He is steadfast about preparing for all possible outcomes.

He does not, however, expect Dean Winchester.

He also does not expect you to fucking like him.

Keep reading

[moodycastiel-writes]

this is honestly the best crossover fic i’ve ever read. such an amazing job establishing a past relationship with reader and the winchesters and a current relationship with steve/ the avengers.

[moodycastiel-writes]

sacrifice

summary: reader undertakes the trials to close the gates of hell in sam’s place. this is a little au that takes place during the season eight finale!

pairing: sister!reader and winchesters

warnings: angst. lots and lots of angst. foul language. y’know, the usual. there’s not a happy ending with this one. please don’t hate me (:

author’s note: i wasn’t originally going to write the confession, but i had a lot of ideas on how to establish a relationship between reader and the brothers, and i felt having her confess to her sins would make her more of an empathetic character. so yes, this is a small au that i had in mind where reader is sam & dean’s older sister who does the trials instead of sam. (((oh, also, cas does end up believing metatron and him and naomi kill metatron so the angels never fall.))) ((double also, crowley calls reader ‘fatale’, which is a rocky and bullwinkle reference, since he calls sam and dean moose and squirrel. just wanted to throw that out there in case anyone was confused to that reference!)) anywho, yeah, i hope y’all enjoy!!

——————————————————————————————————

You could hear your blood pounding in your ears as you stood at vestibule of the run-down church, your shaking hand loosely holding on to the can of red spray paint, eyes trained on the devil’s trap you painted. This was it. Everything that has happened this past year is finally coming to an end.

You let out an uneven breath as the doors opened gently, the heavy footsteps of your brothers approaching you with caution.

“Do you have him?” you asked, not bothering to lift your tired eyes to meet them.

“Yeah,” Sam spoke, a level of uncertainty to his voice. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have to,” you answered, turning around curtly and brushing past Sam and Dean, leaving the church as you neared the Impala. It was only a few moments before they were both at your side again, the hot sun doing little to warm the permanent chill that settled into your soul when you first started the trials.

“We should get started,” you said, turning to Dean, “the sooner the better.”

Dean nodded his head and smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He opened the trunk and pulled out a handcuffed Crowley, completely at your disposal. Dean walked the demon into the church to get him ready, leaving you alone with Sam.

“How are you holding up?” he asked you as you grabbed the jar of holy oil from the back seat.

“Fine,” you responded, an unintentional iciness to your voice. “I’ll be better when this is all over.”

Dean walked back outside to meet you and Sam, wiping his hands on his pants. “Crowley’s all prepped and primed,” he turned to look at you, “How we feeling about this?”

“Honestly?” you asked, looking between your younger brothers, “Good. Better than what I have in a while. I think we’re finally going to win. This is all going to be over,” you sighed, a ghost of a smile appearing on your face for the first time in a long while.

Sam clapped a hand on your shoulder, but Dean cleared his throat behind you two. “All right, well, no dancing in the end zone until we're finished. What's the good father's playbook say now?”

You looked around the outside of the church eyes falling over the stained-glass windows. “Well... Now that we got the consecrated ground, I just, uh,” you cleared your throat, “I slip Crowley one dose of blood every hour for eight hours and seal the deal with a bloody-fist sandwich. That oughta do it.”

“Your blood's supposed to be purified, isn't it?” Dean remembered, “You ever, uh -- you ever done the ‘forgive me, father’ before?”

You shook your head, gaze dropping to the ground. “No, never. I have no idea what I should even say,” you admitted.

A thousand things were running through your head. All the countless times you’ve fucked up over the years. From the second your mother burned on the ceiling of Sam’s nursery to now, there was so many things you could confess. All the lies and betrayals, the murders and all the innocent people you’ve let die. Tears pricked your eyes, but you cleared your throat and blinked them away.

“Well, I could give you some suggestions,” Dean tried.

“O-okay, yeah. Sure,” anything could help.

“Alright,” he glanced at Sam, who had a disapproving look on his face. “Well, there was the whole siding with the demons thing. Or, um, ditching me when we were in Purgatory. Saying yes to Michael. Oh, also—”

“I get it!” you cut him off, not believing all the things he was currently throwing in your face. A wave of guilt washed over you, and an unsettling silence washed over you three.

“Well, we’re not getting any younger,” you finally said, passing Sam the jar of holy oil before making your way to the church.

“Hey!” Dean called after you, “Maybe open what you did to Penny Markle? In the sixth grade?”

You shot him a confused look, “That was you.”

Dean paused, the memory of what he did to poor Penny coming back to him. Clearing his throat, he waved you off. “Nevermind! Carry on.”

You rolled your eyes at him and made your way back into the church, closing the door behind you. You did you best to ignore Crowley’s eyes following your every move as you walked into the confession room, taking a seat on the bench.

“Okay,” you let out a shaky breath, “if anyone is listening, here we go.” You paused, your eyes screwing shut tightly. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” A cool blast of wind rushed by you, ruffling through your hair. You took it as a sign that someone, somewhere was listening, and continued on. “I have made a lot of mistakes. I have so many regrets, so many sins, that I don’t even know where to begin. I watched my brothers die, so many times, for what? To fulfill some stupid prophecy? I should have protected them. I—” you stumbled on your words, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

You wiped at your face and continued on. “I never should have let Dean sell his soul for Sam. It should have been me. I was supposed to do everything I could to protect those boys. If I just strapped on a pair, Dean never would have went to hell, and the seals never would have been broken. This is all my fault. I have to fix it.” The tears were falling freely down your face now, but you didn’t care enough to wipe them away. “I shouldn’t have let Sam ever say yes to Lucifer. I could have said yes. He never would have gone to Hell and lost his soul. It’s all on me.”

You took in another shaky breath, trying to calm down. “Leaving Dean alone in Purgatory… I don’t even know what I was thinking. I was so stupid,” you let out a humorless laugh. “I thought I was doing my best to protect him, but deep down I was trying to get away from him. From Sam. I caused so much pain in their lives, that it would be better if I just disappeared from their lives all together. 

“But those things I’ve confessed, those sins I’ve committed, they’re not even the icing on the cake. I have so many things just piling up that I could sit here forever, but I don’t have enough time. My greatest sin, the tip of the iceberg… What I want forgiveness from the most is how,” your voice broke as you choked back a sob. “My greatest sin is how many times I’ve let my brothers down.”

An ache settled in your chest as you confessed what you never thought you’d say out loud in a million years. Another breeze of wind brushed past you, and you took it as a sign that your confession was over. You wiped your face, leaving behind all the traces of your confession in that booth and stepped out, your guilt weighing on your soul heavier than before.

Crowley stared at you with a smug look on his face, no doubt he heard everything you had just said. Eyeing a roll of duct tape on the table with your gun, the needle, and holy water, you grabbed it and ripped a piece off, tightly taping the demon’s mouth shut.

“Not a word,” you sneered, walking out of the church. You saw Sam and Dean talking with Castiel at the Impala in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out what they were saying from the distance you were at, and crept closer to them to make something out.

“—You’re asking us to leave her, Cas. Now, if anybody needs a chaperone while doing all the heavy lifting, it’s [y/n]” you were able to make out from Dean’s whispering. His confession about you was like a slap in the face. Did he really not trust you that much? Thinking you needed a chaperone for everything you did?

“You should you,” you announced, startling your brothers. You knew Cas was aware of your presence, and did nothing to acknowledge him.

They turn to look at you, a guilty look on their faces. “Seriously,” you added, not wanting to continue this conversation.

“Yeah, and leave you alone with the King of Hell? Really?”

You frowned at Dean, not understanding why he can’t trust you to do this one thing. Did he really expect so little of you where he is always prepared for you to fuck up and need someone to clean up your mess?

“Yes, really,” you snapped. You ignored the look of hurt that crossed over his face. “You two can’t do anything to help me. This is on me. I think I can get through one little thing without fucking it up.”

“[Y/n], you know that’s not what this is about,” Sam said gently. “It’s not that we don’t trust you. We don’t trust Crowley.”

“Crowley is bound to where he sits,” you argued, “nothing, not even the king of Hell, can get through both a devil’s trap and the chains we have him in.”

“Fine,” Dean said, “Start the injections now. If we’re not back in eight hours, finish it, no questions, no hesitation.”

“Yeah,” was all you responded. Castiel placed a hand on each of your brother’s shoulders and with the flap of his wings he was gone, leaving you alone at the church. With a heavy sigh, you made your way back into the building, facing Crowley. His words to you were muffled under the duct tape, but that didn’t stop him from blabbing. With a roll of your eyes, you ripped the tape off of his mouth, ignoring his wince of pain.

“You really think injecting me with human blood is gonna make me human? Did you read that on the back of a cereal box?”

You ignored the demon as you picked up the needle, pushing it into the vein in your arm. You drew enough blood and slowly ejected it, and walked over to Crowley.

“Are you listening to me, brat?”

“Shut up,” you sneered, thrusting the needle into his neck. He howled in pain as you yanked the needle away.

“You're miles out of your league, kid,” Crowley barked at you as you turned your back on him.

“See you in an hour,” you called over your shoulder, walking to the table at the altar. Your arms began to glow that golden color that always appeared after you completed the trials. Why was it showing up now? You bit back your pain, your hands forming into tight fists, waiting for the pain to go away. When the light finally faded from your veins, you let out a breath of relief and sunk to the ground, your back resting against the altar. You looked up at the cracked statue of Jesus on the cross and closed your eyes, waiting for your watch to beep, signalling the next round of injections.

—————————————————————————————————————

When your watched finally beeped after an agonizingly long hour, your were up on your feet as fast as you could get, the needle already in your hand. You ejected more blood from your veins into the syringe and made your way back over to Crowley, who looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. You ignored the look in his eyes and issued the second dose of injections into his neck. In the blink of an eye, Crowley’s head turned and his teeth sank into your forearm, hard enough to draw blood.

“What the fuck!” you exclaimed in pain, drawing your arm back and clutching the new wound in pain. You gave him an exasperated look before punching the demon across the face. “Seriously? Biting? What are we, five?”

You shook your head as you walked away from him, placing the needle back onto the table. You spared Crowley another bitch-face as you walked out of the church, slamming the door behind you. You walked to the trunk of the Impala and grabbed bandages to wrap up your arm. As you secured the bandages, your arms began to glow again, and you fell to the rubble on your knees.

“Stop it,” you groaned as the light grew brighter. “Please.”

Finally, the light faded again, leaving you struggling to get a grip on your breathing. With struggle, you turned your body to sit upright against the Impala, your head falling back, staring at the sky. The sun had begun to set in the distance, the sky painted with beautiful sparks of color.

“I can do this,” you whispered determined to yourself, “I can do this.”

—————————————————————————————————————

Another hour had passed by and you made your way back into the church, stuffing more bandages in your pocket before doing so. At the sound of the door opening and closing, you heard Crowley chuckle.

“How we doin’, Fatale? Ready for another round of injections?” he asked, a joyous tune to his voice. You ignored him and filled the syringe with another dose of your blood.

“Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes,” he began singing, you instantly recognizing the David Bowie song, “turn and face the strange. Ch-ch-changes, just gonna have to be a different man. Time may change me, but I can't trace—”

His singing was cut off by a loud sound, the church beginning to rumble. You quickly turned to face Crowley who seemed unfazed by the sudden shock to the church.

“What did you do?” you shouted at him over the sound of the quake. He remained stoic, but the hint of a devilish smirk rose to his face. The floorboards began to creak under your feet, a large crack running down until it severed the devil’s trap that you painted right down the center.

“Did you really think you could kidnap the King of Hell and no one was gonna notice, dumb nuts?”

An expression of fury and fear took over your features as the door to the church were ripped open, Abbadon revealing herself on the other side of the door.

“Now that’s what I call an entrance,” she gloated, patting herself on the back.

“Abbadon?” Crowley questioned. “They told me you were dead.”

“So not.”

“Where’s the rest of the cavalry?”

“It’s just little ol’ unkillable me,” she smirked. You turned quickly, reaching for your discarded gun, but with a wave of her hand, Abbadon sent you flying across the church and into the wall, your head slamming against the wood. You groaned as you landed on your stomach, your vision going blurry.

“Brilliant. Why send in a few grunts when you can send in a knight? Say your prayers, Fatale,” Crowley smirked. You tried to get up, but the Knight waved her hand again and sent you through the stained glass window to your right, immediately falling unconscious.

—————————————————————————————————————

When you came back to, it took you a minute to remember what had happened. You scrambled to your feet, hoping not a lot of time had passed in your impromptu siesta. Looking around for a weapon that you could use against Abbadon, your eyes settled on the jar of holy oil you had given to Sam. He must of left it for you, in cast of an emergency. You let out a silent thank you and patted your jacket pockets, striking gold when you felt your father’s lighter in your pocket.

You crept to the entrance of the church where the doors were still open and peered inside, eyes landing on Abbadon hovering over Crowley. You snuck inside, careful to step around any loose pieces of wood to prevent any unnecessary noises to alert your presence.

“Right now, you and I are going to talk about a regime change,” Abbadon said, crouching down to send another punch to Crowley’s face.

“You little whore,” he barked, “I am your king!”

She punched him again, this time hard enough to shut him up. When she went to stand back up, you ran forward and threw the holy oil over her body.

“Burn, bitch,” you spat, throwing the lighter on her. You watched with a smirk as her body lit up in flames and she screamed in pain as her vessel burned. Her mouth opened wide and she exited the body before any further harm was done to her, and she escaped the church in a flash of black smoke.

Without wasting any time, you made work of picking Crowley back up and fixing the chair so it was back in the devil’s trap. He groaned as he came back to consciousness, watching you with a glint of something… admiration, maybe? to his eyes.

“You did good back there, Fatale,” he congratulated you. “I'll deny it if you ever quote me, but I'm a proud man. I'm proud of you.”

You ignored his comment, instead focused on gabbing the can of spray paint you left on the table to fix the trap where it broke.

“Wait, what are you doing?” he asked.

“What does it look like?” you snapped, overly agitated at the events that had just transpired. You finished up the devil’s trap and threw the can to the side, it clattering to the ground noisily.

“Are you joking?” he asked, incredulously. “I just saved your life!”

“Seriously?” you dead-panned.

“Seriously? Me, seriously? We just shared a foxhole, you and I. We beat back the Tet Offensive, outrun the --the Rape of Nanking together! And still you're gonna do me like this?!”

You ignored his tangent and grabbed the needle, filling it up with your blood and jamming it into his neck before he could get another word in.

“Aah! Aah!” he exclaimed in pain, before a whole new emotion washed over him. “Band of Brothers? The Pacific?” he asked. “None of this means anything to you? All those motels, you never once watched HBO, not once?” You shook your head at him, confused at where he was going. “Girls? You're my Marnie, Fatale. A-and Hannah, she just—she needs to be loved. She deserves it. Don't we all—you, me; we deserve to be loved. I deserve to be loved!” he shouted, before lowering his voice back down to a whisper, “I just want to be loved.”

You cocked your head the the demon. “What?” you asked.

A confused look washed over him, and his expression mirrored yours. “What?”

As the moment of Crowley’s tangent passed, a wave of fatigue passed over you. The pain of where the needle was injecting into you suddenly took a toll on you. You walked back over to the table and placed it down, grabbing the spare bandages from your pocket. You wrapped where the puncture wounds were tightly, wishing right about now you had some extra strength tylenol. You took more blood from your opposite arm, wanted to be prepared for the next dose of injections just in case something else was going to happen.

“Would it be possible, Fatale, I’d like to ask you a favor,” Crowley spoke, his voice sounded drained and exhausted. “[Y/n], earlier you were confessing back there, and… well, I didn’t hear much, not really, so I’d like to know what you said.” You gave him a look that read ‘that’ll never happen.’ At the sight of your expression, he instantly clarified his statement. “ I only ask because, given my history...it raises the question... Where do I start...to even look for forgiveness? I mean…” he trailed off.

You paused, shocked at the revelation. The cure, it was working.

“You start with this.”

You held the needle out in your hand, showing him what you meant. Crowley tilts his head to the side, exposing his neck where the marks of the past injections were. You gently pushed the needle through at his submission, and unlike the past ones, he showed no signs of pain, but rather contentment.

“This is going to work, Crowley,” you reassured. “You’re going to be cured, and you’ll be redeemed. I promise.”

A gust of wind blasted through the church, and your arms began to glow again, but this time there was no pain. “We’re almost done,” you whispered, not sure Crowley even heard you. “It’s time.”

You took a deep breath and began the exorcism, the final piece to purify him. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegra, lustra.”

As you pulled your knife from its holder, the light grew brighter, and you sliced across your palm. You walked closer to Crowley, and as you were about to feed him your blood, footsteps barreled through the church.

“[Y/n]! Stop!,” you turned at the noise, coming face to face with the worried looks of your brothers. You backed up from them, your hip bumping into the arm of Crowley’s chair, a confused expression on your face.

“Easy there,” Sam coaxed gently, putting his hands up. “Take a deep breath.”

“There’s been a slight change of plans,” Dean said, slightly more aggressive than Sam.

“What? What’s going on?” you asked. “Where’s Cas?”

“Metatron lied,” Sam explained. “Him and Naomi are going to confront him.”

You shook your head at him, still not understanding what was going on.

“You finish these trials, you’re dead,” Dean said bluntly, trying to get you to understand what was happening. You looked between your two brothers, then back at Crowley. You scoffed and shook your head, looking back to face them.

“So?” you said, your voice slightly breaking.

Sam and Dean’s faces melted from worry to an emotion you couldn’t place, but it was somewhere along the lines of hurt and betrayal. Betrayal. Even now, after you’ve confessed and sought forgiveness, you were still letting your brothers down in ways you couldn’t stop. It had to stop. Finishing these trials with your death, it’ll all stop.

“Look at him!” you exclaimed, pointing down to Crowley. “Look at him! Look at how close we are! Other people will die if I don't finish this! Who cares about me?”

You could feel the tears pricking at your eyes, but you ignored the sensation. Dean took a small step forward, his brow creasing. “Think about it. Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from hell, curing demons, hell, ganking a Hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here. But we can't do it without you.”

“You can barely do it with me,” you fired back immediately. The confused look on his face egged you to continue. “I mean, you think I screw up everything I try. You think I need a chaperone, remember?” you couldn’t help the single tear that fell from your eyes as your voice cracked on the last word.

Sam frowned. “That’s not what he meant—”

“No, that’s exactly what he meant!” you exclaimed, cutting him off. You let out a humorless chuckle. “You want to know what I confessed in there?” you asked, pointing to the confession booth with the hand that you didn’t cut. “Do you want to know what my ultimate sin was? The thing that held me down the most?”

When neither of them answered, you continued. “My greatest sin was—is— how many times I’ve let the two of you down. I can’t keep doing it. Not again. Finishing this, it’ll end it all.”

“[Y/N]—” Sam tried, but you continued talking.

You held back a sob as the tears finally began falling. “You two don’t trust me anymore, I can see it in the way you look at me. Like I need one of you with me at all times. You haven’t trusted me in a long time, and it took me awhile to realize it, but now that I have I feel so fucking stupid for not seeing it before.” Another humorless laugh escaped your lips.

“I know I’ll never earn your trust back, there’s nothing else I can do to prove that I love you both more than anything. You don’t see it, and I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of watching you guys turn to other people when you get sick of me.” At their confused expressions, you elaborated. “Who will it be next? Another demon? Another angel? Another vampire?” You shook your head.

“You have no idea what it feels like to see the two people you thought—”

“Hold on, hold on!” Dean cut you off, finally breaking you from your tangent.

“You seriously think that?” Sam questioned, taking a step forward to be back in-line with his brother. “Because none of it, none of it is true.”

“Listen, [Y/n],” Dean began, “I know we’ve had our disagreements, all of us, okay? Hell, I know I have said some really fucked up things to get you thinking the way you are but you need to understand… I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you.”

Your shoulders slumped at his confession, and the tears fell faster from your eyes. You looked between Sam and Dean, then down at your bleeding hand, and in a split second you made your decision. You turned and brought your hand up to Crowley’s mouth, and instantaneously you felt him drinking your blood. The pounding in your ears resumed, and you barely heard Sam shouting words of protest behind you.

You pulled your hand away, and the light erupted throughout your entire body. “Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr,” you whispered. Crowley let out a gasp, his eyes flicking to his demonic red, then faded completely back to his human eye color.

“It worked,” you laughed, turning to face your brothers. They looked at you with wide eyes, not daring to move. You had no time to celebrate your victory of the trials, instead a large rumbling echoed throughout the church, and the ground began to crack again.

This time, underneath the cracks in the ground, a hellish light peeked through, eating away at the floorboards. A hole opened up underneath your feet and you jumped back far enough to the edge, opposite of your brothers as your watched with wide eyes as black smoke broke through all the windows of the church, glass shattering everywhere. The sound of hundreds, if not thousands, of demons screamed as they were forced back into hell against their will. The wind picked up harshly and you were thrown back from the portal to hell, losing the sight of Sam and Dean through the smoke.

When every last demon was through the portal, it closed up tightly, no signs of what had just happened anywhere. When the smoke cleared and the dust settled, you looked across to your brothers, a smile creeping up on your face.

“I did it,” you whispered, pinching yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Your heart hammered in your chest and you groaned at the pressure, stammering back an inch. Immediately, Sam and Dean were at your side as your legs began to give out, helping you to the ground. “I did it,” you repeated, your voice getting weaker, your eyelids becoming heavier.

“Yeah, [Y/N],” Sam sniffled, “you did it.” He gripped your hand tightly, squeezing it in his large one.

You smiled weakly up at him, using what little strength you had to squeeze his hand back. You looked to your other side to Dean, whose eyes were red-rimmed.

“I’m s-sorry,” you whispered at him, at the both of them.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dean said, finally looking over your pale form.

“You have to… you have to promise me,” you croaked out, struggling to get out your final words. You coughed, doubling over as it overpowered you. Raising your free hand to your mouth, you coughed up blood into it. “No bringing me back,” you finally said. “I’m at peace.”

“You can’t ask us to do that,” Sam said. You turned to look back at him, smiling sadly at him. You grabbed Dean’s hand with your free hand, feeling your last breaths creep up on you. You could have sworn you’d seen a person standing over Sam’s shoulder, but they had disappeared before your vision could focus.

“I love you both, so much,” you whispered, you eyes falling shut. Your grip on your brothers’ hands loosened, and your chest stopped rising and falling. Your head lulled to the side, your body completely still.

You stood over your two brothers, holding your body in their arms as they wept for you. A cold hand rested on your shoulder, and you turned around with a gasp.

“Tessa,” you said, staring at the reaper.

“[Y/N],” she greeted, a welcoming smile on her face. “It’s time.”

You nodded your head and she stuck out her hand. You spared one last look at your baby brothers, and grabbed her hand in yours, your soul leaving Earth to face judgement. You did not know where you were going to end up, if your final quest was good enough to outweigh all the shit you’ve done in your life.

You knew that Sam and Dean would be okay. They always were without you.

[moodycastiel-writes]

level-headed

requested by anonymous: i have a Castiel x Reader request! :) Reader had snuck off on a hunt that Cas had warned her to not go on, and she gets injured bad during the hunt, and since she’s super scared, she prays to Gabriel to help her since they’re friends. And when they get back to the bunker, Cas freaks out when he finds the reader unconscious in Gabriel’s arms, and Gabriel tells him what happened and Cas lectures reader as to why he didnt want her to go (he loves her too much to lose her).

summary: you’re hot-headed and cocky, too cocky for your own good. when you catch wind of hikers going missing up in the Colorado mountains, you take the case for yourself. castiel catches you while you’re packing and argues that you can’t go, especially not alone, which leads to an argument between the two of you where you storm off and end up going anyways. What you thought was one wendigo turned out to be a pack of them, and you’re in way over your head.

warnings: angst, some strong language, depictions of blood and gore teeny tiny bit of season 13 spoilers

pairing & characters: castiel x reader, gabriel, winchesters(mentioned)

You typed away furiously at your computer, you pen scribbling onto your notepad, taking notes on an upcoming case. Five hikers gone missing in the span of five weeks, none of the bodies had been found. Each of the campsites had been torn to shreds, and there were no tracks to indicate what did it. You, being the smart hunter you are, knew it was immediately a wendigo. You took out several wendigo over the past several years that you’ve been a hunter, so this should be a piece of cake.

You slammed your laptop shut and shoved it, along with your notes, into your backpack down by your feet and quickly stood up, excited to get out and get on a hunt by yourself again. You loved Sam and Dean Winchester, you really did, but they always put you in the back seat when it came to hunts. You were a good hunter, better than the Winchesters, but they were too cautious when it came to you. A solo hunt was something you needed to blow off some steam, especially something that would take skill and concentration, instead of a simple salt-and-burn.

Just as you were about to head to the armory, the door to the bunker opened, and in walked Castiel.

“[Y/N], hello,” he greeted you as he walked down the large staircase.

“Castiel,” you greet, acknowledging his presence.

“Where are you off to,” he asked, noticing you were alone in the bunker, Sam and Dean off looking for a lead on finding a way to open the door to the apocalypse world.

“I’m going on a hunt. Don’t wait up,” you responded, brushing past him. You didn’t get far, as a gentle grip on your upper arm held you in place.

“Wait, [Y/N], maybe you should wait for Sam and Dean to get back and you guys can go together,” he offered, releasing his grip on your arm. You gave in an incredulous look and scoffed at him.

“I’d rather not. People dying, y’know,” you told him, and iciness laced through your voice. “It’s no big deal, I can handle it.”

“[Y/N],” he sighed, “please.”

“Please what, Castiel? I’m a damn good hunter, I can take care of a stupid case on my own,” you shot back, your voice beginning to raise.

“Yes, [Y/N], know that, but–” he started, but you had already cut him off.

“There is no ‘but’. I’m not some damsel in distress. I’m a hunter.”

Castiel looked at you through squinted eyes. He could feel the heat your temper was radiating, and was trying to diffuse your anger before you erupted.

“[Y/N], just listen to me. Please, I–” but you had already heard enough, ripping your arm from his grip and sending him an ice-cold look that brought chills even to him.

“Fuck off, Cas. I can handle this myself.”

Before he could get another word in, you had already stormed off, your temper at its boiling point. You stomped and grumbled your way down to the armory, throwing all the weapons and medical supplies you needed that could fit in your bag and you were out door in no time. You jammed your keys into the ignition of your ‘78 red Mustang and sped off to Colorado, dreading the long drive.

—

When you arrived at the motel in Colorado the next night, you wasted no time in unpacking everything and opening your laptop again, going over your notes ten, twenty more times. By the time all the information was burned into your mind, the sun was already rising. You had about fifty missed calls from Castiel, and ignored all of them, still angry with how little of faith he had in you. You were going to prove to the angel that you were a good hunter, and you deserved to be treated like one.

You grabbed your backpack off the ground by the foot of the bed and rummaged through it, making sure you had everything you needed.

Medkit? Check. Flare guns? Check. Shotgun? Check.

You grabbed your car keys and made your way to the door, eyes lingering on your phone that lay abandoned on the glass end table. There was a voice in the back of your head scolding you, telling you to apologize to the angel for having such a thick skull, but decided against it, leaving the phone long forgotten on the table as you headed out the door.

It took only a couple minutes of driving to get to the edge of the reservation and you were out of the car and started your trek through the forest. You pulled a map of the reservation out of your back pocket and opened it up, finding where you needed to go easily. Each hiker that had gone missing had set up camp in a five mile radius of each other, and right in the middle of all the disappearances, there was a massive cave, hidden to the common, everyday average-joe type of guy. You knew the cave was the perfect place for a wendigo to hide out, especially since the area was major in camping and hiking. You were less than five miles away from the first campsite, so you figured you were roughly ten miles from the cave. If you went fast enough, you should be in and out before nightfall. With a triumphant grunt, you folded the map in your pocket and headed onward, pulling the strings on your backpack tight against your body.

—

By hour three, you had finally made it to the first campsite, or what was left of it, anyways. Most of it was still blocked off due to police investigation, but with no officer on duty to block off the area, you were able to sneak through the site and continue on.

“God, this is taking forever,” you grumbled to yourself as your boots sloshed through the mud for the umteempth time, forcing your aching legs to push on. You could see the mouth of the cave in the near distance and picked up your pace, speeding up to a light jog. You reached around to the mouth of your backpack and grabbed the flare gun, holding it tightly in your left hand as you used the right to put more flares into the pockets of your jacket, just incase.

As you approached the cave opening, you stood on guard as you raised the gun, walking further into the damp cave. The further you walked, the darker and colder it got, sending a chill coursing down your spine. The sudden pungent stench of what could only be described as death filled your nostrils, and you knew you were getting close.

You slowed your pace down to a complete stop, listening to see if the wendigo was anywhere near you. Wendigo’s were good hunters, but you were better.  A low growl pierced through the silence, the hair on your neck standing up straight. You turned just in time to dodge the claws of the beast, ducking down and rolling out of the way. You stood back up quicker than the wendigo could recompose itself and shot the flare directly into the creatures chest.

You didn’t wait to see it go up in flames, instead you reloaded the gun and pressed on, determined to find survivors in the cave.

As you continued, you saw a break of light straight ahead, and jogged to the opening in the cave. To your delight, five bodies were suspended from the ceiling of the cave, only one of them appearing to be conscious.

“Help me,” the hiker groaned out as you approached him, “please.”

“Hey, you’re going to be okay. It’s dead,” you reassured him, cutting the man down with the knife you kept stashed in your jacket.

“All of them?” he questioned as you helped him to the ground.

“There’s more than one?” you asked, your voice shaking ever so slightly.

“There’s at least five of them.”

“Mother—”

A force strong enough to knock down a building came flying at you, sending your body crashing against the cave wall. You groaned in pain as your head slammed against the damp ground, the flare gun falling just out of arm's reach.

Two more wendigos came out of hiding, joining the one that had just attacked you. Regaining your composure as quickly as you could, you rolled over to the right and grabbed your gun, shooting a flare into another wendigo, it’s body going up in flames.

The other two let out a scream, one of them lunging towards you faster than you could even imagine. It brought its hand down, swiping its claws down your left arm. You screamed in pain, kicking your legs out to throw the creature off of you.

Blood pooled from the new wound, enticing the second wendigo to lunge at you, as well. You barely had time to register its attack before it was on top of you, grabbing you by the neck, lifting you in the air.

Your gun dropped to the ground with a clatter as it was getting harder to breathe. You flailed against the tight grip of the wendigo, trying to break from its grip. Finally, it threw you down to the ground, the feeling of your ribs breaking under the pressure of you overwhelming you. You rolled into your stomach, trying your best to reach for the gun when a third wendigo entered your line of sight.

As your fingers gripped the handle of the gun, claws raked down your back, digging harshly into your flesh. Another scream tore its way through your already sore throat at the feeling of your torn flesh. You pulled the trigger on your gun, sending another flare out into one of the wendigo, taking another one down. You rolled over onto your back, your body screaming in protest as you quickly reloaded the flare gun again and took down another wendigo.

When you went to reach into your pocket to grab another flare, you came out empty.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cursed, out of flares. One more wendigo remained, and you had no way of killing it, just a pistol and a knife, which would only piss it off more.

The remaining wendigo lunged at you, sending you back down to the ground, your head smashing against the cement ground. White spots danced across your vision, and the last thing you saw before total darkness was the wendigos face above yours, it’s white eyes staring deep into your soul.

—

When you woke again, your first thought was that you wish you didn’t. Your entire body was screaming in pain, and you could feel your body shutting down. Your tongue sat uncomfortably in your mouth as the metallic taste of blood was all you could focus on. Warm blood trickled down your face, landing in the pool of blood underneath your suspended body.

You tried to wiggle your way out of the ropes keeping you tied to the ceiling, but every movement made the brink of unconsciousness loom over you. You turned your head to the side, the body of the hiker torn to shreds over to the edge of the cave opening. Fuck. You wanted to cry, your efforts to save at least one person in vain.

You heard the growl of the last wendigo as it approached you, and you felt it lick a stripe up your leg where your pants were torn, lapping up the dried blood. You cringed at the feeling, trying to kick it away.

The wendigo ran its claws down the back of your left calf, breaking the skin there while it crushed the bones in your right. You tried to scream, but your mouth was too dry to even let out a noise.

The pain turned white hot, and you felt yourself beginning to pass out again, and you prayed that you wouldn’t wake again.

—

Halfway across the world, a certain archangel in hiding was enjoying his day hidden out in a run-down motel, trying his hardest to regenerate his grace, when he felt the familiar tug of someone praying to him. Usually, he ignored any and all prayers, seeing as most of the time they came from the Winchester duo, but for some reason, he actually listened to this one.

Gabriel, please help me.

Gabriel’s eyebrows furrowed at the sound of your voice as he continued to listen. I screwed up, bad. I need help. Please, Gabriel. God, please be hearing this.

Gabriel knew you, you were hunting with the Winchesters when you guys first encountered him at that college where he was giving those douchebags their ‘just desserts.’ You were hotheaded and arrogant, and he knew you were going to grow to be a damn good hunter. He knew the last thing you would ever do was pray to him, or any angel for the matter.

He followed the tug of your prayer, and in an instant he was by your side in what looked like to be a cave. He looked up at your unconscious body suspended from the ceiling and his blood turned cold. Using as much grace as he could, he cut you down from your bindings and held you tightly in his arms. You groaned at the contact of your raw skin on his.

With a flutter of his wings, no longer were the two of you in the cave, but you were in the warmth of the bunker.

“Hello?” Gabriel called out, hoping someone was home to help you so he could leave. He couldn’t be here, not now while the Winchesters and Castiel were depending on his help to save their friends, or whoever they needed to save.

“Gabriel?” a voice called out, the figure of Castiel coming into view. His confused expression morphed into one of immediate worry at the sight of your body in his brothers arms, the only sign of you living were your shallow breaths rising and falling unevenly.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, his voice shaking as he was beside Gabriel in an instant.

“I don’t know. I heard her praying to me, and when I found her, she was already unconscious.”

Gabriel lied you down on one of the couches in the room on your back, your blood leaving a stain on his clothes.

“Help me heal her,” Castiel ordered, his hand already on your forehead, his grace flowing through you. Gabriel complied with no arguments, his hand resting gently on your arm as his grace mixed with his brother’s.

Soon, all your open wounds were stitched closed, the only sign of your past hunt being the scars left behind. Your breaths were coming out more even now, and the pain in your body subsided.

“I’m going to take her to her room,” Castiel whispered, a forlorn expression on his face.

“I should go,” Gabriel responded. “Helping her used up a lot of my grace. I need to recuperate.”

Castiel nodded absentmindedly as he scooped your body into his arms, taking you to your room. He heard the flutter of Gabriel’s wings as he left the room, your body held tightly in his arms as he walked to your room. Once inside, he placed you gently on your bed, making sure your pillow was tucked safely under your head, trying to provide you with as much comfort as he could. He pulled your desk chair over to the edge of your bed and sat down, waiting for you to stir, his hand gripping yours tightly.

—

When you woke again, you expected to see the fiery pits of Hell; your bedroom was the last place you expected to be. You let out a groan from your body being so stiff, but otherwise felt no pain. A hand was gripping your own, and you gave whoever the person was a gently squeeze to that hand.

“[Y/N],” you heard a voice gasp from beside you, the sudden contact lossed.

“Cas?” you groaned, blinking your eyes open, adjusting to the harsh light.

“Yeah, [Y/N], it’s me. I’m so happy you’re okay,” he said, relief flooding over him. He helped you sit up, your back resting against the wooden headboard of your bed, a pillow bracing your lower back.

“What happened? How did I get out?” you questioned. The last thing you remembered was being dinner for that ugly son of a bitch.

“Gabriel heard your prayers.”

“Gabriel?” you asked. “I didn’t even know I was praying to him.”

Castiel nodded his head. “He said you were unconscious when he arrived, you must have been dreaming.” A silence settled over the two of you, and your argument from the other day was all you could think about.

“Cas,” you whispered, grabbing his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Never in your thirty-five years of being alive have you ever spoken those words. You never apologized, regardless if you were in the wrong or not. “I was in way over my head. You were right.”

Castiel said nothing, his eyes trained on your hand in his. “I should have more faith in you, [Y/N]. But I should never have let you leave this bunker.”

You sighed, using your other hand to guide Castiel’s face to look at you. You rubbed your thumb gently on his cheek before dropping your hand. “Cas, please listen to me. I have one hell of a thick head, and I would not have listened to you no matter the circumstances. I thought I could handle it, but I couldn’t. That doesn’t mean I’m not a good hunter”

“You’re a great hunter, [Y/N], I know that, I know that better than anyone else, and I know that you have this part of you that needs to prove you’re the best, which means you refuse to ask for help on anything, but you need to understand how dangerous that is,” Castiel spoke gently, not wanting to cause another argument. “You don’t need to be so competitive all the time. It’s okay to need others once and a while.”

You winced at his words, guilt washing over you like a tidal wave. You knew he was right, how self-destructive your tendencies were, but you couldn’t just change over night. You didn’t know if you could change at all. You were raised in the hunter life, and your father made damn sure you were the greatest hunter out there. The constant tests he laid out for you, and how he reprimanded you if you failed… You shuddered at the thought.

“Cas, please,” you pleaded, but for what? You weren’t even sure.

“You matter, [Y/N]. You matter to a lot of people. You matter to me. You need to know that, you have to.”

An overwhelming feel of different emotions settled over you, all of them too powerful for you to begin to say anything to Castiel. Instead, you tugged him to you and wrapped your arms around his center, resting your head against him. “I’m sorry,” was all you could muster up. You expected Castiel to stiffen underneath you, for him not to reciprocate your actions, so it surprised you when you felt his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer to him.

“You have to be more careful,” he muttered, finally breaking away from your embrace. You nodded your head slightly, a small smile coming up on your face.

“Thank you,” you whispered. A sudden wave of fatigue settled over your body, and you stifled out a yawn.

Castiel helped you back down the bed, grabbing a fluffy blanket from your desk and covering your body until just your head peaked out. Your eyes fluttered shut as you snuggled into the warmth of the blanket, and as you were just on the brink of unconsciousness, you could have sworn you felt lips against your temple.

Castiel watched your sleeping form from the doorway, contentment settling over him. He flicked the light off in your room and smiled softly at you. “You’re welcome.”

[moodycastiel-writes]

feathers

pairing: dean x angel!reader

warnings: fluff, lil bit of gore n torture, some swearing

summary: you get hurt while on the run from heaven and confide in castiel to help. he brings you to the winchesters and their bunker to rest and heal [takes place during season eight-ish of supernatural]

word count: 5.1k

author’s note: this might become a mini-series or something, by the end of writing this i loved it a little too much, but we’ll see (: (oh, also, [y/e/c means your eye color!)

A scream tears its way through your throat as the demon slashes the blade down your abdomen. You tried to fight back, to back away, to do anything to stop your pain, but the enochian shackles around your wrists bound you from doing anything, including healing. Blood poured from your new wound as the demon wiped the blade and placed it back on the silver tray, and he turned back to you.

“I’m going to ask you this one more time, where is the demon tablet?”

“Go. To. Hell,” you spit back, your drooping eyes looking to make contact with the demon’s black ones. A sneer found its way to his face as he picked the blade back up slashed your cheek. You held back a whimper as more blood trickled down your already carved up face.

“If you just tell me what I want to know,” the demon sighed, walking around to face your backside, the blade drawing a line down your spine, “all of this could be over.”

You remained silent, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent any more noises from coming out, tired of giving the demon the satisfaction of your screams. You heard the demon let out a ‘tsk’ and he leaned forward, his breath hot against your ear. You shivered at the feeling.

“You know,” he whispered, “I heard rumors about angels. If you apply enough pressure and pain to a certain spot on their backs, you can get those pretty little wings to appear.” The blade danced across the skin of your back, bringing goosebumps to the surface of your vessel’s skin.

Panic shot through you at the thought of the demon finding your pressure point, your achilles heel, but you tried your hardest to keep a poker face. “Is that so?” you whispered, keeping your face blank.

The demon hummed in response, and thrust the blade directly into your skin, just below your left shoulder blade, and your head shot back as your scream pierced through the night, the windows of the warehouse shattering at the volume of the scream.

Before you could prevent it, your wings unfolded from your body, golden feathers lighting up the shadows the darkness of the night caused. The demon chuckled in triumph at the sight of your wings, walking around to face you again. Panic cursed through your veins as the demons eyes flickered black, a smirk drawn onto its face.

“We’re going to have a fun time.”

—

Halfway across the country, Castiel sat at one of the many tables in the library of the bunker, talking to Sam and Dean about the trials. Now free from Naomi's control, he was trying to get back into his old way of life, before Purgatory and the hallucinations of Lucifer caused him to go crazy.

As Dean begrudgingly began answering one of Castiel’s many questions about human life, a sharp ringing rippled through Castiel’s ears, causing him to clutch his head in pain, letting out a strangled noise. Immediately, Sam and Dean were on their feet, worry flooding through the brothers at the sight of their friend.

“Cas, buddy, what’s wrong?” Dean asked, worry laced through every word. “Talk to me, man.”

The ringing stopped, and Castiel looked to his friends in despair. “I have to go.”

Before ‘wait’ could pass through the lips of the either of the brothers, Castiel had already disappeared with the sound of his wings fluttering, only to appear moments later with a body curled up in his arms.

“What the hell?” Sam asked, instinctively reaching out to help Castiel lay the girl down on the table they were just sitting at.

“Cas, who is this?” he asked the angel, a worried looked on his face.

“[Y/N]. She’s an angel. She’s been gone from Heaven long before Gabriel. I heard the sound of her pain and found her like this,” he explained.

“What happened to her?” Dean asked, his hand resting on the gun he kept in the waistband of his jeans.

“Demons,” Castiel responded curtly. “They hurt her, bad. And I’m afraid what you can see right now isn’t the worst of it.”

“How could it get any worse?” Sam asked, his eyes grazing over the open wounds and caked blood littering your body. He watched the blood seep from your open wounds and onto the mahogany table under your still body, your stomach rising and falling in short, uneven breaths.

Castiel gave the younger brother an indistinguishable look before placing a hand to your forehead, a golden light shining through the bunker for a moment before disappearing. When the light vanished completely, the brothers looked down to you, their eyes widening in astonishment. Your once grand and beautiful golden wings were shredded and torn, blood dripping from each feather, a long gash running through the center of each wing.

“The demon that held her was looking for information on the demon tablet,” Castiel explained to the brothers. “[Y/N] was there when the tablets were created. If any angel had information on them, it would be her.”

“So he tortured her for information. Do you know if she gave him any?” Dean asked, sneaking a glance in your direction, not wanting to get caught staring at your body.

“She didn’t. I heard the sound her wings gave off when he started ripping them apart. It’s a self defense mechanism each angel has,” he explained, placing a hand back to your forehead to let your wings fold back into your body. “Wings are sacred among angels, it’s where most of our grace is. She’ll need to be protected while she heals from the inside before she can return back to the outside world.”

Dean caught on fast to the underlying tone of his friend’s voice. “By protection, you mean keep her here?” he asked.

“Please,” Castiel sighed, “[Y/N] is a good angel, she always has been. Just let her stay here until she gets better.”

“Yeah, Cas, that’s fine,” Sam declared, not giving his brother a choice in the matter. He ignored the pointed look Dean gave him and continued. “We should bring her to one of the spare rooms and clean her up a bit before she wakes.”

Castiel nodded his head. “I’ll help you.”

—

The first thing you felt when you began to stir was an unimaginable pain shooting all over your body. You felt a warm, soft surface below your body, and something even softer under your head. You blinked your eyes open, having trouble adjusting to the brightness of the room. Looking around, you panicked, not recognizing the four walls around you.

You heard footsteps approaching the cracked door and you stood as quickly as you could, grabbing the nearest object, which so happened to be a thick, hardcover book, to prepare yourself in case you were under attack. You hid against the maroon wall, right next to the door and tried to ignored the sharp pain that shot through your body.

A hand placed itself on the outside of the door and slowly pushed open, and when a figure came into your line of sight, you brought the book down to the intruders head. He ducked down at the contact and clutched his head in pain, letting out a low groan.

“Man, what the fuck was that for?” he whined, rubbing the spot where you hit him.

You paused, breathing heavy. “I’m… not under attack?” you questioned.

“No, you idiot, we’re trying to help you.”

You dropped the book to the ground and clutched your side in pain, blood beginning to seep from a wound that decided to reopen due to your frantic movements.

“Oh, well, sorry,” you breathed out, leaning your body against the wall. The person stood up straight as two more people came barreling through the door.

“[Y/N],” one of them spoke, relieved to see you up and about.

It took you a second to recognize who it was, but once you did you couldn’t help the smile that ran over your face. “Castiel, hello.”

“I’m surprised you recognized me,” he admitted. You wince, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the open wound on your side or the underlying meaning of his words. Before you could apologize for your absence in your brother’s life, you were cut off by a gruff voice.

“Uh, I hate to cut this reunion short, but maybe you should sit down,” the man that you hit in the head with the book suggested.

“Right,” you huffed, making your way back over to the bed, sitting down on the edge. “Brother, I must ask, where am I? And who are these people?”

Castiel smiled at you. “You’re at the safest place on Earth right now, and these boys are Sam and Dean Winchester. They’re going to watch after you while you heal.”

You looked to the brothers, the taller one, Sam, had a soft smile on his face, welcoming you into his home. The shorter one, Dean, the one you whacked with the book, however, didn’t share the same welcoming look as his brother.

“That’s not necessary,” you argued, going to stand back up, but Sam was immediately at your side, pushing you back to the bed.

“It is, [Y/N]. We saw how bad the damage was… Your wings,” he trailed off, and you lowered your gaze to the ground.

“How bad is it?” you whispered, eyes glued to the hardwood floor.

“It’s bad,” Dean said gruffly. “And until you get better, you’re stuck here.”

“Don’t worry,” Castiel assured, “you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

—

‘No time’ had turned out to be longer than you or either of the Winchesters expected. Days turned to weeks which turned to months, and you still weren’t one hundred percent better. All your physical wounds were healed, but your wings refused to get better.

You had yet to bring them out, too afraid, and even ashamed, of what they looked like to look at them and view the damage yourself. The pain you felt in them was getting to the point where it was unbearable, and the Winchesters knew that, too. It seemed to cause the brothers to walk on eggshells around you, unable to begin to imagine the pain you were in at every moment of your days. They let you be for most of your time at the bunker, trying to make your stay as comfortable as possible as you found yourself settling into a new routine.

You crept out of your room, listening intently to see if you were alone in the bunker, or if the other occupants were still there. Most of your angelic powers had returned to you in your time of recuperation, the ability to sense other living souls being one of them. You were able to quickly come to the conclusion that Sam was out of the bunker, probably off on a supply run, leaving you alone in the confined space with Dean.

Oh, Dean. How could you describe the elder Winchester? You happened to bond instantly with Sam, and you think it’s due to the fact that you were able to sympathize with him. Dean, however, was cold. Unattached. He refused to show you the same affection that his brother showed you, and you couldn’t figure out why. You had lived among humans for thousands of years, you knew humans; why they acted the way they acted, but yet, you could not read Dean. He was… different from any other human you had ever met, and it frustrated you. You could read Sam, to you, he was an open book. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and his soul practically screamed at you, but not Dean. Dean always gave you the cold shoulder. Sam tried to explain to you that’s just how Dean was. He was cold to strangers, and that’s exactly what you were; a stranger.

You tried to get Dean to warm up to you by doing things most humans liked. (You had been on Earth for thousands of years, you knew humans inside and out.) You figured out what Dean liked and tried to bond with him with his interests, but nothing ever worked. Dean remained cold towards you, and all your efforts to get him to open up to you failed.

You sighed to yourself as you quietly closed your bedroom door behind you and padded down to the nearest bathroom, which so happened to be the bathroom adjacent to Dean’s bedroom. You knew he was in his room, but the soft hum of music playing over his speakers gave you a sense of comfort, knowing he won’t hear you wandering about and pay you no mind. You slipped into the bathroom and shut the door tightly behind you, making sure to flick the lock shut.

You took a deep breath and turned to the vanity, your eyes glued to the tiled floor, afraid to look into your reflection. You let out your breath and braced yourself on the edge of the sink, and slowly, your gaze inched up until you were staring into the mirror.

Your eyes met themselves in the bathroom mirror, your knuckles turning white from your grip against the porcelain sink as you stared deep into your vessel’s being. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you finally willed your wings to fold out, taking up most of the bathroom. When your eyes opened again, you almost threw up at the sight that greeted you. Thankfully, any open wound was now closed up, but they left behind hideous scars, killing any feathers in their destructive path. You watched with tears in your eyes as three blood-stained feathers broke from your wings and slowly drifted to the white tile floor below your feel. You choked back a sob at the sight of your once glorious wings, now broken and damaged beyond repair.

You didn’t hear Dean knocking on the door, a worried expression on his face after hearing estrangeled noises coming from the bathroom adjacent from his bedroom. His fists banged louder on the door, and you barely had time to register what was happening before the door was kicked open, a gun held tightly in Dean’s hands, in case the situation he was barging into required one. You paid him no mind as he immediately lowered his gun and concealed it once he registered what was happening.

You finally broke away from your reflection in the mirror and looked into Dean’s eyes, an awkwardness settling over the two of you. You quickly wiped your face of any tears and folding your wings back in, clearing your throat, an awkwardness rising in the room.

“Sorry to have bothered you,” you mumbled, making way to push past Dean, but a light grip on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. You looked straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with the man.

“[Y/N], stop,” he whispered gently, afraid that speaking to loud or harshly will cause you to flee, as if you were a rabbit. “I know you’re in pain, be it physically or mentally. Let me help. How can I help?”

You shook your head, arm still held softly in Dean’s grip. “You can’t. I can’t,” you responded, your voice cracking at the end of your sentence. “I can’t heal myself. My wings. They’re…” your voice trailed off, eyes screwing shut tightly.

“Let me look at them, let me see if I can do anything,” Dean pressed, still speaking gentle.

You ripped your arm from his grip, holding it tight to your side. “You can’t,” you sneered. “There’s nothing you can do. Just leave me alone.”

You fled from the bathroom, leaving Dean standing there, his arm still held in the position it had been where it was previously grabbing you. He heard your door shut with a slam, flinching at the echoing noise.

You winced as the door shut, barricading you from the man on the outside. You slid down the door, unable to stop the tears that pooled over your eyes, falling freely down your face. Instinctively, your ratted wings unfolded from your back, gently wrapping around your body, shielding you from the outside world.

—

“You’re saying she just snapped at you?”

Dean groaned into his hands for the fifteenth time in the past minute. “Yes, Cas, she snapped at me!”

“And you did nothing to provoke her?” he asked, an accusing tone in his voice. Dean shot the angel an annoyed look.

“No, Cas. All I asked her was how I could help her get better, and she snapped and locked herself in her room,” he explained.

Castiel sighed, sinking into the chair parallel to Dean. “I don’t know how to help her, either,” the angel admitted, a forlorn look overtaking his features. “She’s been gone for so long, I barely even remember a time where she was in Heaven.”

“Maybe we can’t help her,” Dean sighed, looking to his friend. “I know you want to— I know you feel like you have to do something, but sometimes, things are just too broken to fix.”

“Would you give up on Sam?” Castiel asked. He knew the answer before the question even crossed his mind. “I can’t give up on her. She’s a good angel, and she would do it for me.”

“Would she?” Dean argued. “You just said that you couldn’t even remember her. I’m sure she hasn’t thought of you, or Heaven, in hundreds, hell, even thousands, of years.”

Castiel wanted to fight back, he wanted to argue and stick up for his sister, but he knew Dean was right. If the roles were reversed, and she heard his distress call, would she come?

Dean stood up from his chair and walked around to the back of Castiel. He gently patted his shoulder in reassurance before leaving the library, and Castiel, alone with his thoughts.

—

Another week had passed since your outburst at Dean, and you had not left your room since that night. You knew that you should not have snapped at him, that he was only trying to help, but you felt so weak and helpless. You needed to apologize to him, whether he wanted to hear it or not.

So that’s why you stood outside of Dean’s bedroom door at three o’clock in the morning, hand hovering over his doorknob, shaking slightly. Rip off the bandaid, [Y/N]. Stop being a baby and apologize.

“Fuck it,” you muttered to yourself, and opened the door to Dean’s room, shutting the door loudly behind you. Dean jumped up in surprise at the sudden loudness in his room, letting out a noise of shock at the intrusion. As he was about to reach for his gun under his pillow, he saw it was only you, and his racing heartbeat began to settle.

“[Y/N]...” he trailed off, “what can I do for you at,” he glanced at the clock on his nightstand, “three o’clock in the morning?” He rubbed his face, wiping the tiredness away from his eyes as he sat up, back resting against the headboard.

“I’m sorry,” you spoke, voice velvety and calm. “It was wrong of me to lash out at you like that. You— and Sam— have been very kind to let me stay here these past few months while my vessel heals, and I had no right to yell at you that way I did the other night.” You began rambling, nervously playing with your hands. “You have every right to kick me out of the bunker if you want, I probably deserve it I—”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dean cut you off, getting out of bed to stand across from you, close enough where he can grab your hands to get them to stop moving. “Who said anything about you leaving?”

“You did,” you said softly, “the other day when you were talking to Castiel. You said I can’t be fixed.”

Dean frowned. You weren’t supposed to hear that. Before he could defend himself, you were talking again.

“You’re right, maybe I am beyond fixing. Whatever the case may be, you and Sam, hell, even Castiel, you guys don’t need to take on the burden of having me in your home. I am a guest here, and I have no place to yell at you the way I did.”

“[Y/N]!” Dean exclaimed, his hands coming up to grip your shoulders, breaking you from your rant. “Please, just… listen to what I have to say before you start talking crazy like this,” he pleaded. You nodded your head, letting out a deep breath of air, and Dean dropped his hands from your shoulder. You frowned at the sudden loss of physical contact.

“You have every right to be upset, [Y/N]. You went through something that me or Sam will never experience in our lives. I can’t tell you how you should and should not feel because I don’t know what it feels like you have that part of you ripped and torn up the way that demon tortured you.”

You nodded your head, eyes falling to the ground, trained on your sock-clad feet.

“Still, all you wanted to do was help. I shouldn't have yelled at you for being nice.”

Dean just smiled at you— the sight of you looking bashful, eyes trained to the ground with a small blush glowing across your face. “Maybe…” he whispered, “maybe I can help you out now, if you want.”

You looked back up to the man, your blush growing deeper. “Are you sure?”

Dean nodded his head. “Positive.”

You let out a breath you didn’t you you inhaled, and slowly, your wings unfolded, a dim golden light glowing softly in the darkness of Dean’s bedroom. You heard him suck in a deep breath at the sight of your wings.

“How come they’re not getting better?” he asked, walking around you to stare at the back of them.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “They’ve never been damaged like this before. I’ve never been foolish enough to let anything, much less a goddamn demon, get the best of me like this.” Your blood began to boil at your incompetence, but a gentle touch to your left wing made the anger melt away. You sighed at the sudden feeling of contact to the wing, shocked at your own reaction.

“You know, it’s funny, hearing an Angel saying the Lord’s name in vain,” Dean chuckled as his hand ran down your wing, right to where your skin turns to feathers. You were too caught up in the euphoric feeling of his calloused hands massaging your wings to snark back a response.

“Hey, I think I know what the problem is!” Dean exclaimed suddenly. Before he gave you a chance to react, you felt a sharp pain where his hands once were. You gasped in shock, the action too sudden for you to make any other noise. Once the initial shock faded away, all the pain you felt in your wings these past months melted away instantly. When Dean came back into your line of focus, you saw a small black blade in his hand, blood staining the handle.

Instantly, the dead feathers began falling from your wings, new ones growing in their place. The jagged scars disappeared completely, and the dried blood left on each of your feathers vanished. The golden light in the room grew brighter, and your wings stretched out further, curling slightly towards the man standing in front of you.

Without thinking, you lunged forward, arms wrapping tightly around Dean. You didn’t care when you felt Dean stiffen under your embrace, too caught up in the fact that you were finally healed to pay any mind to the awkwardness that will follow once you two broke apart.

Just as you were about to pull away, Dean’s arms came up to wrap around your frame, and you sighed in content. Your wings curled inward, shielding you and Dean from the outside world.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your cheek resting against Dean’s chest.

Dean said nothing in response, but gave you another quick squeeze before letting go of your body, you doing the same.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to dilute the tension in the air, and you just smiled at him, your wings folding back into your body. “So, now that you’re healed, I guess this is goodbye.”

You smiled softly at the man in front of you, and for the first time in months, you are finally able to read him. He yearns affection, and once he receives it, he never wants to let it go. Neglected as a child, everyone he loves dead (or has died and has been brought back at some point), he doesn’t get the affection he craves.

“Well, I was thinking on waiting until morning to leave, if that’s alright with you?”

Dean tried not to show it, but a slither of a smile peaked through his poker face. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat, willing his voice to get lower. “Yeah, that’s okay with me. I’ll uh, I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Actually,” you whispered, inching closer to him, “it’s such a long way back to my room, and I’m really tired.” Wrong, your room was right down the hall, and you don’t sleep. “Maybe, I could just crash here?”

Dean scoffed, seeing right through your tale, but stepped out of your way, his bed coming into your line of sight. You smiled sweetly up at him and made your way under his covers, getting all comfortable, before turning back to Dean, who looked as pale as a ghost.

“Well, you comin’ or what?” you asked, batting your eyelashes.

Dean only gruffed in response, but slid into his bed next to you, lying flat on his back.

“C’mon Dean, you act like this to every girl lying in your bed?” you teased, turing on your side to face him. He scoffed at you, but remained motionless otherwise.

“Only when there’s an angel that’s older than time itself inhabiting that girl’s body,” he bit back. You rolled your eyes at him and held back a reply. Instead, in one swift motion, Dean was underneath you as you straddled his abdomen, hands resting firmly against his chest.

“Wanna try that again?” you retorted, a smirk evident on your face. Dean’s eyes grew as wide as the moon once he processed what you had just done.

“[Y/N],” he gulped, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What,” you smirked, staring directly into his eyes. In a boost of cockiness, you let your grace flow through your body and shine through your eyes, your once [Y/E/C] eyes now shining a luminous gold, the same color as your wings.

“Easy there, tiger,” Dean said, finally regaining his confidence, his hands coming up to caress the smooth skin of your thighs. Your eyes returned to their original color and your cocky smirk faded into a gentle smile. You slid off of Dean and returned to your position on the bed next to him, and Dean turned his body to face you.

“[Y/N]—” you cut him off before he could finish what he was saying, as you knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Shh, sleep Dean. We’ll talk in the morning,” you promised him, snuggling up tightly in his embrace. Dean’s arms wrapped tightly around you, as if he was afraid of you disappearing right between his fingers. When he finally drifted off into a deep sleep, you placed a hand to his forehead, making sure his dreams tonight were nothing but good memories. Your eyes fluttered shut and you lulled into a slumber yourself, the soft snores coming from Dean music to your ears.

—

“[Y/N], it was good seeing you again,” Castiel smiled, pulling you into a hug. You hugged him back twice as hard before pulling away from him.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Sam said has he pulled you into a hug next, squeezing you tightly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you responded as you pulled away from him. You frowned at his appearance, noticing how sick he looked. The trials were taking a toll on not only his body, but his mind and soul as well. You place a hand to his forehead, a dull light illuminating from your palm as a warmth ran though his body.

“That ought to fix you right up.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, unable to express his gratitude.

“Be careful,” was all you responded with. “These trials, they’re going to change you Sam, in ways even I can’t even begin to imagine.”

Sam nodded his head at you and turned to Castiel, beckoning the angel to follow him out of the room, leaving you alone with Dean.

“Like Sam said,” he said curtly, “don’t be a stranger.”

You frowned at Dean, making no move to hug him like you did Castiel and Sam. “Dean,” you said, an underlying tone in your voice, begging him to look at you. When he refused, you called his name again, more urgently this time.

“Do you have to leave?”

You smiled sadly at him. “I’m an angel, Dean. I’ve been around longer than humans were even a thought in God’s mind. I can’t stay here, I just can’t.”

“I know,” he responded, trying to keep his voice level. “Just, drop in once in a while, would ya?”

“For you? Always.”

He pulled you into a tight hug and you recropricated tenfold, burying your head into his chest. When the two of you finally separated, you stood up on your toes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. When you pulled away, a warm feeling coursed through your body and your heart fluttered in your chest.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

With a flutter of your wings, you were gone. Where you once stood and provided warmth, a cool breeze ran through the room and an unsettling chill ran down Dean’s spine.

[moodycastiel-writes]

the novaks

requested by styggtroll: Could you do a oneshot involving beaches, Castiel, and a male/gender neutral reader? You write however you process that :^) thanks!

summary: reader and castiel take some time off from saving the world and enjoy themselves with their toes in the sand

warnings: too fluffy for your own good

pairing &  characters: gender neutral!reader x castiel - gender is not specified in this particular oneshot; you can interpret reader’s gender any way you want. (:  

author’s note: small n short fluffly drabble, nothing too crazy! writing this made me want to up and leave my life and fly out to hawaii with my fictional boyfriends and lay on the beach and never leave.

The warm breeze of the Hawaiian winds blew by your face and ruffled your hair as you sighed in contentment. Your feet burrowed themselves into the warmth of the white sand as you recline your head back, eyes fluttering shut underneath the protection of your sunglasses. You felt a tug at your hand and turned your head slightly, the blue eyes of your boyfriend staring deep into your hidden ones.

“What is it?” you hummed, your hand giving Castiel’s a slight squeeze as you threaded your fingers together.

“Nothing,” he answered back, “I’m just happy we’re here.”

You smiled at him, and your eyes raked over his shirtless body, his swim-trunks tight around his tanned thighs. “Me too,” you agreed. It took a lot of convincing from his to get you to put down the books of lore and guns and take some time to spend time with him in a moment of calmness, before the next end-of-the-world crisis arose.

The palm trees in the distance stood tall and proud and provided slight shade against the beating sun, and you found yourself reaching for the sunscreen again, handing the bottle to Castiel.

“Mind doing my back?”

Castiel just smiled at you and stood up, beckoning you to follow and turned to face your back, squirting a generous amount of the lotion into his hands. You jumped as the cool cream came into contact with your shoulders, but Castiel worked the lotion in fast enough for it to warm back up. You let out a groan as his hands worked expertly into your muscles and down your spine as he rubbed the lotion into your skin.

His hands gripped your waist and pulled you back into his body, his arms moving to wrap around your chest, head resting on the top of yours. “Thank you for coming here with me,” he whispered. Your hands wrapped around Castiel’s and your eyes fluttered shut.

“Thank you for convincing me to come,” you responded. You turned your head slightly to stare into your boyfriend’s, pressing a soft kiss to his soft lips. His arms wrapped tighter around you and he pulled you back in for another kiss, humming in content as you melted against his lips.

When you two broke apart you eyes remained shut, your cheek resting against his body. “I love you,” you mumbled, never wanting to pull away from this moment.

“I love you, too, always.”

As the sun began to set, you and Castiel made no move to get off the beach. There were no laws stating there couldn’t be people on the beach after dusk, so you knew that the two of you weren’t going to leave anytime soon. As Cas made a move to unfold the blanket you had stored in your beach bag, you tugged your t-shirt over your head, not bothering to put your pants back on, staying in your swim-bottoms.

You sat on the blanket beside Castiel, who immediately tugged you into his side and pressed a warm kiss to your temple. He brushed your bangs from your face and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You both enjoyed the stillness of the world around you, the only sound passing was the waves hitting the shore and the sound of your breaths coming out in even tones.

“Hey, Cas?”

He hummed his acknowledgement, allowing you to go on with your question.

“Do… do you think that after several years pass, and I finally give up the hunters’ life, maybe we can come back out here? Permanently?” You bit your lip in anticipation, eyes glued on the sky painted with the colors of the setting sun.

“Hey, look at me,” Castiel answered, his voice low and husky. Your gaze tore itself from the pink sky as you looked into the blue sky of Cas’s eyes. You were expecting him to have a hard expression on his face, but instead it was soft, a small smile adorning his face.

“There’s nothing more in this entire world that I want more.”

You smiled at his answer, the feeling of tears rose to your eyes. You sniffled and hugged him tightly, head resting right above his heart, the soft thumping music to your ears.

“Yeah?” you asked, the self-doubt that was melted into you as a child still prominent in your life always making you second guess every good thing in your life.

“Yeah,” he responded, a chaste kiss pressed to the top of your head. “I’ll follow you anywhere, [Y/N].”

Nothing else was spoken between the two of you, and you stayed wrapped in Castiel’s arms until the cool air of nightfall pricked at your skin. Even as you drove back to the hotel you were staying at, a comfortable silence settled around the two of you like a fuzzy blanket. Your hands stayed intertwined over the center console the entire way back to the hotel, and his arm wrapped around your shoulder the second the two of you were out of the car and heading into the hotel.

“Ah, the Novaks. Good evening,” the doorman greeted the two of you as he opened the doors for you to walk through. You smiled sweetly at the man, and it didn’t even occur to you to correct the man, explaining to him the two of you weren’t married.

“I like that,” Castiel said, breaking the silence. “The Novaks. Granted, Novak isn’t my last name-- I am an Angel, we don’t have last names, but I like the idea.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest as the doors to the elevator closed. “Me too, Cas,” you agreed, pressing your lips to his. “The Novaks.”

[moodycastiel-writes]

requests are open!

hey y’all! feel free to send me supernatural imagine/one shot requests! im pretty much open to write anything (except wincest but that’s kinda a given lol) so yeah! my ask box is open friends <3