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supernatural boys reacting to making teen/young reader cry/flinch during an argument? maybe reader had a tough upbringing and they don't know this because she's never told them? thank you!

────── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 in .. † making fem ! teen ! reader cry / flinch during an argument !!

character/s featured. dean winchester .ᐟ sam winchester .ᐟ castiel novak .ᐟ rating: hurt / comfort .ᐟ

a / n : anyone would want a part 2 with demon!dean, soulless!sam, endverse!castiel and maybe casifer or samifer? ofc theirs would be not as.. comforting as this one..

🏷 ( @reginaphalangelobster , @isaa3xvs , @paigelouise , @laywinchester , @whimsicalbunnys , @r4wrr3-xpp , @stilesobruges , @v3nd3ttal3on )

#ძᥱᥲᥒ

#꒰ 𝖚𝖓holy scr𝘪ptur𝘦 𐡘🌪 ⸻ drabbles.#supernatural #supernatural angst #supernatural x reader #supernatural x fem reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x fem reader #dean winchester angst #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x fem reader #sam winchester angst #castiel x reader #castiel x fem reader #castiel angst #castiel novak x reader #castiel novak x fem reader #castiel novak angst

Falling Into A Dream

★ Stars: Castiel x Fem!Reader

★ Co-stars: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

★ Plot: When Castiel falls from Heaven you find him and take him in, teaching him a world he never dreamed he could be a part of, let alone love, but will it stay sunshine and roses when Sam and Dean come back for him?

★ Director: @ashbohog

★ Run Time: 6.2k

★ Rating: Explicit/16+

★ Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, smut - consent heavy, riding, softer sex, creampie - emotional vulnerability, slice of life, fluff, probably more I can't think of?

★ Commentary: Okay now THIS is a fic. Goddamn, longest one-shot I've ever written lol, I hope you like it! (please be nice to me this took five months lol)

꧁ Read my rules and send a request! ꧂

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.ೃ࿔*:･ what remains is you,

summary. castiel has fallen. no wings. no grace. just cold, fear, and loneliness. until he comes to you--then, he's whole again.

pairing. castiel x reader genre. soft smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 900

notes / warnings. comfort sex, human!castiel in a very vulnerable state (cold, hungry, traumatized, desperate for comfort), implied ptsd, intense emotional dependency, comfort sex, castiel being overwhelmed by physical sensation and affection—just skin on skin healing

It’s barely past midnight when you hear the knock.

Three soft raps.

Barely there. Like whoever’s behind the door isn’t sure they even deserve to be heard.

You answer with a loaded pistol in hand, because life with the Winchesters taught you never to trust quiet nights. But when you swing open the door, you nearly drop it.

“Cas?”

He stands under the porch light like a ghost. Soaked to the bone, shivering. His coat is gone. So are the usual shadows of divine power that used to cling to him like a second skin. No wings. No glow.

Just a man.

#castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel fluff #castiel angst #castiel smut #castiel fic #castiel novak #supernatural #spn #.docx

„i love you”

Look. I was over myself while reading that team free will where Cas didn't save us. We (yes we) need an ABSOLUTE PART TWO. because you write it the BEST. I ain't joking I am giggling whenever I'm reading ur stories because I love them. I hope u had an amazing trip and rest well. Have an lovely day as yourself!

╰┈➤ Crashing Down

Part 1 Part 2 Team Free Will x winchester!sister reader Summary: You got kidnapped so you called that one person you thought would come immediately. Did that person- angel come? No and it ruined everything. Maybe it was time to forgive after two long months. Warnings: torture/angst/betrayal/yelling Notes: I was actually dying laughing while reading this request. Y'all are so funny, I can't. I had the best trip ever to end the summer. I had no idea if you guys were looking for a happy ending to this story or not buuuutt I decided to give it to y'all.

The scars on your arms have faded to thin silver lines, barely visible unless you know where to look. You trace one absently as you sit in the bunker's kitchen, nursing your third cup of coffee and pretending to read case files. It's become a habit—this unconscious mapping of healed wounds—and you're not sure when it started or why you can't seem to stop.

Dean thinks you're punishing yourself. Sam thinks you're processing trauma. You think you're just tired of pretending everything is fine when it's not.

Two months of careful politeness. Two months of civil conversation and shared meals where everyone talks around the elephant in the room. Two months of Castiel trying so hard to prove he cares that it almost hurts to watch.

He brings you tea every morning now—chamomile with honey, the way you like it. He researches cases for you without being asked. He hovers at a respectful distance during hunts, close enough to help but far enough away that you don't feel trapped. He never tries to heal you anymore, not even small cuts and bruises that would be so easy to fix with a touch.

The other day, he spent six hours in a library in Detroit, tracking down an obscure text about banshee lore because you'd mentioned needing it for a case. When he returned, windswept and slightly dusty, he'd simply placed the book on your desk with a small note: "Thought this might help. -C"

You'd stared at that note for twenty minutes, trying to figure out what you felt. Gratitude, maybe. Or frustration. Or something more complicated that you weren't ready to name.

The thing is, you want to forgive him. The anger that burned so bright two months ago has settled into something duller, more manageable. Exhaustion, maybe. It's hard to stay furious when someone is trying so desperately to make amends, when they look like a kicked puppy every time you enter a room.

But forgiveness feels like betrayal—of yourself, of the girl who screamed his name until her voice gave out. How do you forgive someone for not caring enough to save you? How do you trust someone who has to consciously remember that you matter?

"You're thinking too loud," Dean says, sliding into the seat across from you. "I can hear your brain from the garage."

"Sorry." You don't look up from the case file you're not actually reading. "I'll try to think quieter."

"Smart ass." But there's fondness in his voice. "What's eating you?"

You consider lying, deflecting with humor the way you've been doing for weeks. Instead, you find yourself telling the truth.

"I think I want to forgive him."

Dean doesn't need to ask who you mean. "But?"

"But I don't know how. And I don't know if I should." You finally look up, meeting his green eyes. "What if I forgive him and then something happens again? What if next time—"

"Hey." Dean reaches across the table, covering your hand with his. "There's not gonna be a next time."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do." His voice is firm, certain. "Because Cas learned his lesson. Trust me, he's not making that mistake again."

"How can you be sure?"

Dean is quiet for a long moment, considering his words carefully. "Because I've never seen him hate himself more than he does right now. And I've seen Cas go through some pretty heavy guilt trips."

You think about that—about the way Castiel's shoulders have permanently curved inward, like he's trying to make himself smaller. About the careful way he moves around you, like you're made of glass. About the desperate hope in his eyes every time you don't immediately leave a room when he enters.

"He asked me yesterday if I thought you'd ever forgive him," Dean continues. "First time he's brought it up directly."

"What did you tell him?"

"That it wasn't up to me." Dean squeezes your hand. "But if you want my opinion? I think you've both suffered enough. And I think he'd rather cut off his own wings than hurt you again."

Before you can respond, Sam appears in the doorway, laptop tucked under his arm and that particular expression on his face that means he's found something interesting.

"We've got a case," he announces. "Possible angel activity in Colorado. Witnesses report a man in a trench coat performing 'miracles'—healing the sick, bringing dying plants back to life, that sort of thing."

You and Dean exchange glances. "Gabriel?" you ask.

"That's what I'm thinking. The descriptions match, and Colorado's where we last tracked him." Sam sets his laptop on the table, turning it so you can see the screen. "Small town called Cedar Ridge. Population about three thousand, so if it is Gabriel, he's not exactly keeping a low profile."

"Could be a trap," Dean points out. "Demons might still be looking for him."

"Maybe. But if it is Gabriel and he's out in the open like this..." Sam shrugs. "He might need help considering he never just heals people out of the kindness in his heart."

The irony isn't lost on you—Gabriel, the archangel who'd helped your family countless times, who'd died for them and somehow returned, who'd been hiding for months because demons wanted to use you to find him. The same Gabriel whose location you'd protected even under torture, even when staying silent meant screaming for an angel who wouldn't come.

"I'll get Cas," Dean says, starting to stand.

"No." The word comes out sharper than you intended, and both brothers look at you in surprise. "I mean... let me. Let me talk to him."

Dean's eyebrows raise slightly, but he settles back into his chair. "You sure?"

Are you sure? You're not sure of anything anymore. But maybe that's the point. Maybe forgiveness isn't about being sure. Maybe it's about taking a leap of faith, even when you don't know where you'll land.

"Yeah," you say, standing and smoothing down your shirt. "It's time."

You find Castiel in the library, surrounded by books about angel lore and divine grace. He's been researching obsessively lately—not for cases, but for himself. Trying to understand his own nature, his connection to prayer, the mechanics of how he hears and responds to calls for help. As if understanding the technical aspects might somehow undo what happened.

He looks up when you enter, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. It's the first time in two months that you've sought him out deliberately, and you can see the surprise and hope warring in his expression.

"We have a case," you say, your voice carefully neutral. "Possible Gabriel sighting in Colorado."

Castiel straightens, instantly alert. "Gabriel? Are you certain?"

"Not certain, but likely. Someone matching his description has been performing public miracles in a small town called Cedar Ridge." You hesitate, then take a step closer. "We think he might need help."

"Of course. I'll prepare to leave immediately." Castiel starts to rise, then stops, uncertainty flickering across his features. "That is... do you want me to come? I understand if you'd prefer I remain here while you and your brothers—"

"Cas." You cut him off gently, and the use of his nickname—the first time you've said it in two months—makes him go very still. "I want you to come."

Something shifts in his expression, hope blooming cautiously in his blue eyes. "You do?"

"I do." You take another step closer, close enough now that you can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the tired lines around his eyes. He looks like he hasn't been sleeping, which is ridiculous because angels don't need sleep. But somehow, Castiel has always been more human than he cares to admit.

"There's something else," you continue, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Something we need to talk about. But not here. Not now. After the case, when we get back..."

"Yes," he says immediately, eagerly. "Yes, we can talk about whatever you need to discuss."

You study his face—the desperate hope there, the careful way he's holding himself like he's afraid sudden movement might spook you. Two months ago, you would have seen manipulation in that expression. Now, you just see exhaustion. A tired angel who's been carrying guilt like a stone in his chest, who's been trying so hard to earn forgiveness that he's forgotten how to simply exist.

"Cas?" Your voice is softer now, gentler.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For the tea, and the books, and... all of it. I know you've been trying, and I want you to know that I see it."

For a moment, you think he might cry. His eyes shine with something that looks suspiciously like tears, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion.

"I would do anything to undo what happened. To be the angel you needed me to be."

"I know," you say simply. "And maybe that's enough."

It's not forgiveness, not yet. But it's something. A crack in the wall you've built between you, a possibility of something more. And for now, that feels like enough.

"Come on," you say, turning toward the door. "Let's go save an archangel."

As you walk away, you hear Castiel's footsteps behind you—not the careful, distant following of the last two months, but the confident stride of someone who knows their place in the formation. Someone who belongs.

It's a small thing, but somehow, it feels like everything.

Later, in the Impala:

You're in the backseat with Castiel for the first time since the warehouse. Not by design, exactly—Sam called shotgun before you could claim it—but not entirely by accident either. There's enough space between you that you're not touching, but you're close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him.

"So what's the plan when we get there?" Dean asks, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Walk up and knock on Gabriel's door? Assuming we can find him."

"Gabriel's not exactly subtle when he wants to be found," you point out. "If he's performing public miracles, he wants someone to notice. The question is whether he wants us specifically, or if he's trying to draw out someone else."

"The demons who were looking for him are dead," Castiel says. "You made sure of that when you refused to give them his location."

There's something in his voice—gratitude, maybe, or respect. Recognition of the sacrifice you made, the pain you endured to protect someone else. It's the first time he's directly acknowledged what happened in the warehouse, and the words settle something anxious in your chest.

"Gabriel's family," you say simply. "You protect family."

In your peripheral vision, you see Castiel turn to look at you, but you keep your gaze fixed on the passing landscape outside the window.

"Yes," he says quietly. "You do."

The rest of the drive passes in comfortable silence, broken only by Dean's occasional commentary about other drivers and Sam's periodic updates on the case. It's normal, familiar—the four of you heading toward danger together, each lost in their own thoughts but united in purpose.

It feels like coming home.

Cedar Ridge, Colorado - That Evening:

Gabriel is exactly where you expected to find him—holding court in the town's only diner, surrounded by locals eager to hear about his latest "miracle." He's wearing the same face he always does, sandy hair and mischievous eyes, but something about him seems different. More settled, maybe. Less frantic.

"Well, well," he grins when he spots your group in the doorway. "If it isn't the Winchester family reunion. And Castiel! Looking appropriately brooding, I see."

"Gabriel." Castiel's voice is carefully neutral. "We need to talk."

"Oh, do we now?" Gabriel's grin widens, but his eyes are sharp, assessing. "What about? My sudden career change to small-town faith healer? My complete abandonment of stealth and self-preservation? Or maybe..." His gaze shifts to you, and his expression grows more serious. "Maybe you want to talk about why little Winchester here looks like she's been through hell."

The diner falls silent, locals suddenly very interested in their coffee cups. You feel heat rise in your cheeks, aware of the scars on your arms hidden beneath your jacket sleeves.

"Outside," Dean says firmly. "Now."

Gabriel shrugs, tossing a twenty on the table. "Fair enough. But I'm buying everyone pie first. Can't have a Winchester family meeting without pie."

Twenty minutes later, you're gathered around a picnic table behind the diner, the smell of apple pie mixing with the mountain air. Gabriel's demeanor has shifted from performative cheer to something more genuine, more concerned.

"So," he says, cutting straight to the point in a way that's very un-Gabriel-like. "Someone want to tell me why my favorite little Winchester looks like she's been wrestling with demons? Literally, by the smell of it."

"How did you—" you start, but Gabriel waves a hand.

"Archangel senses, kiddo. Plus, you're sitting like someone who's been hurt recently, and Castiel over there looks like he's been flagellating himself for months. Doesn't take a genius to put two and two together."

You glance at Castiel, who's staring at his untouched pie like it holds the secrets of the universe.

"They were looking for you," you say finally. "Demons. They grabbed me, tried to make me tell them where you were hiding."

Gabriel's expression darkens. "And?"

"And I didn't tell them. Obviously." You take a bite of pie, chewing slowly. "But it took Dean and Sam eighteen hours to find me."

"Eighteen hours." Gabriel's voice is deadly quiet. "And where exactly was our feathered friend during those eighteen hours?"

The silence stretches uncomfortably. Castiel still hasn't looked up from his pie.

"Drunk," Dean says bluntly. "Having an existential crisis in a dive bar in Missouri."

Gabriel's head turns slowly toward Castiel, and for a moment, you see the archangel beneath the trickster facade—ancient, powerful, and absolutely furious.

"Drunk," Gabriel repeats, his voice carrying harmonics that make the table vibrate slightly. "You were drunk while she was being tortured. For information about me."

"Gabriel—" Castiel finally looks up, his face pale.

"No." Gabriel holds up a hand. "Just... no. Don't try to explain or justify or whatever it is you're planning to do. Because there is no explanation that makes this okay."

He turns to you, his expression softening. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm so damn sorry. If I had known—"

"You couldn't have known," you interrupt. "You were hiding, like you were supposed to be. This isn't your fault."

"Isn't it?" Gabriel's laugh is bitter. "They were looking for me. They hurt you because of me."

"They hurt me because they're demons and that's what demons do. You didn't make that choice for them."

Gabriel stares at you for a long moment, something like wonder in his expression. "How are you not furious? How are you sitting here, eating pie and being reasonable, when everyone around you failed to protect you?"

It's a good question. Two months ago, you would have been furious. Two months ago, you were furious. But sitting here now, watching Castiel struggle with guilt that's eating him alive, watching Gabriel blame himself for something he couldn't control...

"Because being angry doesn't change what happened," you say slowly, working through the thought as you speak. "And because the people who failed to protect me are the same people who've saved my life a dozen times over. One mistake doesn't erase all of that."

You glance at Castiel, who's looking at you with something like awe.

"Besides," you continue, "being angry is exhausting. And I'm tired of being tired."

Gabriel studies you with those ancient eyes, seeing more than he usually lets on. "You're forgiving him."

It's not a question.

"I'm trying to," you admit. "I think... I think maybe it's time."

Later that night, motel room:

The case, such as it was, resolved quickly once Gabriel explained himself. He hadn't been trying to draw out demons or hunters—he'd simply been helping people because he could, because after everything that had happened, doing good felt like the only way to balance the scales.

"I spent so long running from responsibility," he'd explained over dinner. "Running from Heaven, from my family, from myself. But watching you refuse to give me up, even under torture... it made me realize that some things are worth taking a stand for."

Now you're sitting on one of the motel room's twin beds, having sent Dean and Sam to get ice and snacks—a transparent excuse to give you and Castiel privacy, but one you're grateful for nonetheless.

Castiel sits on the other bed, hands clasped in his lap, looking like he's facing execution.

"I've been thinking about what you said," you begin, your voice quiet in the small room. "About prayers being unclear unless they're from Dean."

Castiel winces. "That wasn't... I didn't mean to imply—"

"No, let me finish." You hold up a hand. "I've been thinking about it, and I think you were lying. Not to me—to yourself."

He looks up, confusion flickering across his features.

"I think you hear all prayers equally," you continue. "I think the difference isn't in the clarity of the signal. I think the difference is in how much you care about the person praying."

"That's not—"

"Isn't it?" You lean forward slightly. "When Dean prays, you drop everything because you love him. When I pray... when I prayed... you had to make a conscious choice about whether I was worth your attention."

Castiel looks stricken. "You are worth my attention. You're worth everything."

"Then why didn't you come?"

The question hangs between you, the same question that's been haunting both of you for two months. Castiel closes his eyes, his hands clenching into fists.

"Because I was afraid," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Afraid of what?"

"Of caring too much." He opens his eyes, meeting your gaze. "Of having another person I couldn't bear to lose. Dean is... Dean is different. My relationship with him is complicated, tied up in destiny and cosmic purpose and things I don't fully understand. But you..."

He trails off, struggling for words.

"You were supposed to be simple," he continues. "Dean's little sister. Someone I cared about because he cared about you. But then you grew up, and you became... you became important to me in your own right. And that terrified me."

You stare at him, pieces clicking together in your mind. "So when I prayed..."

"When you prayed, I heard you clearly. Every word. Every plea. And I wanted to come to you so desperately that it scared me into paralysis. I told myself your prayers were unclear because acknowledging how clear they were meant acknowledging how much you meant to me."

The confession settles between you like a living thing. You can see the truth of it in his eyes, the self-loathing and regret and desperate hope all tangled together.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," you say finally.

Castiel's face crumples. "I know. I know it is. I know there's no excuse—"

"No, Cas." You stand up, crossing the small space between the beds. "It's stupid because you thought caring about me was something to be afraid of."

You sit down beside him on his bed, close enough that your knees are touching.

"Do you know what I thought about while they were hurting me?" you ask. "I thought about all the times you'd healed my injuries. All the times you'd listened to me complain about cases or school or boys. All the times you'd brought me books you thought I'd like, or sat with me when I couldn't sleep after nightmares."

Castiel is staring at you like you're speaking in tongues.

"I thought about how safe I felt when you were around," you continue. "How you never talked down to me or treated me like I was fragile just because I was the youngest. I thought about how you saw me—really saw me—not just as Dean's little sister or Sam's baby sister, but as myself."

"You did?"

"Of course I did. Because somewhere along the way, without me really noticing, you became one of the most important people in my life. And I think... I think maybe I became important to you too, and that scared you because it wasn't part of the plan."

Castiel nods slowly. "Angels aren't supposed to form individual attachments. We're supposed to love humanity as a whole, not specific humans."

"But you do love specific humans. You love Dean. You love Sam. And maybe..." You take a breath, gathering courage. "Maybe you love me too."

"I do." The words come out in a rush, like he's been holding them back for months. "I love you so much it feels like drowning sometimes. And that night, when I heard you calling for me, I wanted to come to you more than I've ever wanted anything. But I was so afraid of what that meant, of what it said about me and my nature and my purpose..."

"So you chose fear over love."

"Yes." He looks down at his hands. "And you paid the price for my cowardice."

You're quiet for a moment, processing everything he's told you. It doesn't excuse what happened—nothing could excuse eighteen hours of unanswered prayers. But it explains it in a way that makes sense, in a way that feels true.

"I forgive you," you say finally.

Castiel's head snaps up, eyes wide with shock. "You... what?"

"I forgive you." The words feel strange on your tongue, but also right. Like something falling into place. "I forgive you for being afraid. I forgive you for choosing poorly. I forgive you for being an angel who's still learning how to be human."

"I don't deserve—"

"Forgiveness isn't about deserving it, Cas. It's about choosing to let go of the hurt so it doesn't poison everything else." You reach out, covering his hands with yours. "I'm tired of being angry. I'm tired of missing you. And I'm tired of both of us walking around like ghosts because we can't figure out how to get past this."

Castiel stares down at your joined hands like he can't quite believe they're real.

"I will never let you down like that again," he says fiercely. "I swear to you, on my grace, on everything I am—if you call for me, I will come. No matter what else is happening, no matter how afraid I am, I will come."

"I believe you." And surprisingly, you do. "But Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Next time you're having an existential crisis about loving people, maybe try talking to someone instead of drinking yourself into oblivion. We're pretty good listeners, you know."

That startles a laugh out of him—the first genuine laugh you've heard from him in months.

"I'll remember that," he says, and then more seriously: "Thank you. For forgiving me. For giving me another chance. I know I don't deserve it."

"You're family," you say simply. "And family forgives each other. Eventually."

You lean forward and wrap your arms around him, feeling him go rigid with surprise before melting into the embrace. He holds you carefully, like you might break, and you can feel some of the tension that's been living in your shoulders for months finally start to ease.

"I missed you," you whisper against his shoulder.

"I missed you too," he whispers back. "More than you know."

You stay like that for a long moment, two damaged souls finding their way back to each other. It's not perfect—there are still scars, still trust that needs to be rebuilt. But it's a beginning.

And sometimes, a beginning is enough.

When Dean and Sam return with enough junk food to feed a small army, they find you and Castiel sitting side by side on the bed, sharing a bag of chips and arguing about the historical accuracy of a documentary playing on the motel's ancient TV.

"Everything okay?" Sam asks carefully.

You look at Castiel, seeing the hope and relief and gratitude in his eyes, and smile.

"Yeah," you say. "Everything's okay."

And for the first time in two months, you actually mean it.

#spn #supernatural #supernatural x reader #castiel x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #winchester x reader #castiel #castiel novak #castiel angst #team free will #team free will x reader #team free will angst

Backseat Confessions

-Warning// none really, lead up to smut but no actual smut, fluffy, slight taste of angst ;)

-lil summary// stormy weather and no motel because Dean wanted to be stubborn till it was too late to find one, Sam spends most of this one asleep with small appearances, and of course our favorite car, baby

Dean x reader

word count// 1.6K

-MASTERLIST

(GIF FROM PINTEREST)

The rain hammered against the impala as thunder rolled from the dark sky outside, Metallica playing softly on the radio, Sam had been snoring in the passenger seat for the last 2 hours, while you tried to stay awake to keep Dean company, no matter how many times he tried to get you to go to sleep.

"It's getting really bad out there, maybe we should try finding a motel?" You suggested in a tired voice, "ah you scared of a little thunder, sweetheart?" Dean teased, his eyes catching yours in the rearview mirror, "no, I'm scared we could get in a crash because the roads are rough and it's hard to see, honey" you hit back with a small sarcastic smile

"Alright, you have a point. I'll pull in the next motel" he promised "thank you" you couldn't help the triumphant smile that took over your lips. Knowing it could be another 30 minutes to and hour before a motel would turn up, you pulled the blanket Dean had thrown into you last food stop, over your shoulders , leaning back against the leather seats

you couldn't help but admire Dean driving, his apple green eyes barley ever left the road, only flashing to catch your's in the mirror, every time your eyes met the butterflies erupted in your stomach, that was just like Dean, he'd flash you a smile, get your coffee order right and anytime it was his turn to go grocery shopping he always remembered what you wanted, even if you hadn't put it on the list.

When you last talked to Charlie she was adamant he was doing this because he liked you but you knew better. Dean liked easy girls with perfect figures he could one and done, and that just wasn't you. You just had to learn to accept it and ignore the pang of hurt that always welled up inside you, even if he continued to flirt with you, you knew that was just his personality... that was just Dean.

"Alright I don't think we're gonna find anything out here. It's seems pretty deserted, I'm gonna find a safe place to pull in and we'll just wait it out, sound good?" Dean asked his eyes finding yours in the mirror once more "sounds good to me". Thankfully it wasn't that long before Dean was pulling into the side of the road far enough away so no passer buyers would see you guys and turning the car off.

Sam woke with a a yawn "are we there?", "nah Sammy, just had to pull in for night, road was just getting worse, couldn't risk my baby getting a scratch now could I?" He joked with a playful smirk

Sam rolled his eyes "alright, what's the sleeping arrangements then, cause there's three of us and only two benches"..... oh crap you didn't even think about that, where the hell were you gonna sleep?

"Well you take the front and Y/N and I will take back" Dean said like it was nothing, like he hadn't even had a second thought about it "perfect" Sam was already shrugging his jacket off into a make shift pillow and kicking his shoes off "guess that's my queue to get in the back" you giggled, Dean rushing to get out and back in the back "fuck, it's cold out there" your eyes racked over his now soaking body as he locked up baby, "Jesus Dean you weren't even out there three seconds" he laughed at your exasperation, Sam's snores already taking over the front seat

"Yeah I know" he shook his head are droplets flying everywhere, he shrugged his jacket and shoes off next to your own "so how are we supposed to.. y'know sleep?" You questioned, gesturing to the small space "okay I'll lay down and you lay on top of me, like a human mattress, sound good or would you prefer something else?" He asks raising his eyebrows in question. "Nope, sounds good" you sat up, moving to allow Dean to lay down, waiting until he was flat on his back, a make shift pillow with his flannel, leaving him only in his black undershirt and jeans

He opened his arms, signalling he was ready. You tried to ignore your heart that was thumping against your chest, sure you and Dean share beds before over the years, but that was different, you weren't laying on top of Dean in such an intimate way, having his arms wrapped protectively around your waist. Dean pulled the blanket you'd been using around your back covering you both in a quiet warmth, his fingers subconsciously running through your hair

"you asleep?" He whispered after a couple of minutes of silence between you both, the only sounds being the rain outside and Sam's snores

"nope" you whispered back, now angling your neck so that you were looking up at him, " you comfortable enough?" He asked, his fingers never haltering their movements through your hair "definitely, I just feel bad I'm crushing you" dean scoffed at your words "you're not crushing me, there is no place I'd rather be than under you" it was your turn to scoff now "oh yeah, I'm sure you'd rather be under that slutty waitress back in Michigan again." Snapping your eyes away from his to lay back down on his chest hoping he'd stop with the flirty comments, if this had been any other situation, where you were not laying on top of him, you’d have been able to ignore the flirting but your emotions were on high alert, nervous you’d blurt out your true feelings for him.

Dean was taken back, he hadn’t even acknowledged that women’s advances. Hell he stoped looking at other women the second he felt something other than lust for you. He just didn’t know how to get you to fall for him, he tried flirting but you never seemed to reciprocate, but now you’re jealous over something that never even happened, maybe he was wrong, maybe you did feel something for him too.

"hold on a second now, I didn't sleep with that girl what are you talking about?" His finger under your chin pulling your gaze back to his "I'm not stupid Dean. Every time we go to a diner, a bar or even on a hunt you always manage to have some girl drop to her damn knees for you. It was no different with her, she practically eye fucked you the whole time we were in there, then you disappeared all night, so yeah I know you'd rather be under those kind of girls instead of me" your whispered tone turning angrier with each word

"I didn't sleep with that waitress. I haven't slept with anyone in over a year and if you want to know why then I really must have lost my charm sweetheart" Dean told you with a nervous chuckle, you squinted your eyes at him confused "what do you mean you lost your charm?"

Dean sighed, cupping your face in his hands now, leaning towards you, nose bumping yours, his breath hot against your lips "tell me to stop and I will" his voice low and deep, ignoring his words you surged forward crashing your lips to his passionately

His hands were all over you now, running down your sides to grip your ass under the blanket, pressing you harder against him "does that answer your question? Dean panted, his lips leaving yours, to trail down your neck "I think I've got the idea by now Winchester" you moaned rolling your hips against his, feelings his thick bulge against your core

Before anything could go further a loud grumble from the front seat brought you both back to reality “wait Dean. We can’t, we’re not alone” you whimpered, trying everything in your power to fully pull away from his plump lips on you “your right we can’t” he panted, moving his kisses back your mouth “please stop” Sam mumbled annoyed before rolling over to get back to sleep

“Relax Sammy, not my fault you’re not getting laid tonight” swatting his chest once more “neither are you Casanova” Dean feigned offence dramatically “aw c’mon baby I thought we were having a moment there” his tone turned slightly more serious by the end, almost as though he was putting up a guard, afraid of your answer “we were definitely having a moment De. I’m just saying our moment is getting cut short until we no longer have an audience” chucking Dean placed one more small kiss against your swollen lips

“Just in case I didn’t make it clear enough, I’m into you sweetheart. And I don’t mean just sex, I mean that I want all of you” your heart thumped wildly against your chest at his confession “I’m want you too de” pressing your forehead against his you couldn’t help the quiet giggles leaving your lips “what’s so funny?” Sighing happily you told him “the irony in the situation, I mean we could have been doing this for the last year and a half if we would have just talked to each other” deans thumb rubber lovingly along your cheek “we’re talking now, and I can’t lie, I kinda like the fact we got together in here, I mean it makes sense. Making you my baby… in my baby” your mouth was sore at this point from all the smiling he was making you do “that’s really sweet de” pressing a kiss to your forehead Dean then pulls you tight against his chest like you were not that long ago.

“only for you baby” deans whispered words were the last you heard before falling into a deep slumber, not in the arms of your crush, but now the arms of your boyfriend.

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heyyy... how ya'll doin?

SORRY i know its been forever but i was in the early days with my boyfriend and didn't have any time to write. but I'm back now I PROMISE... of course with another Dean one, i just cant seem to keep any ideas i think of for poor Sam and Cas and I'm sorry so if you guys want to message me simply with 'Sam or Cas' or want to comment i promise whoever gets the most votes i will write for them, of course you guys are more than welcome to elaborate if you want your own imagine to come to life,, anyways sorry for the long chat, BYEEE :):):):)

one more thing. i just want to thank you all for your continued support for my page, it means the absolute world to me. when i first started writing it was an outlet for me just something that could take my mind off stuff and make me happy, i never expected it to become as big as it has gotten and i cannot thank y'all enough, so thank you and i love you... now BYE FOR REAL THIS TIME AND ENJOY xx

๋࣭⭑ the great divide ☆ castiel

๋࣭⭑atlas : castiel's an angel. you're a demon. you're not supposed to fall in love with each other, right ?

๋࣭⭑binary stars : castiel x demon!reader (m) ๋࣭⭑classification : angst with hopeful ending ๋࣭⭑stellar density : 2.4k

๋࣭⭑omens : male!demon!reader, moral conflict + religious undertones/imagery/trauma, etc., good omens vibes, internalized homophobia, yearning to the max, one bible quote and a happy confession ending !!

๋࣭⭑message in a bottle : requested !! lovee thiss !!! using this to heal my frustrations with how they handled good omens s3 because god i did not like that ending...title obvs comes from the song because i think its fun to do unpopular interpretations of songs !!!! also im realizing posting this in pride month is kinda wild but im gay, this account will always love gay people, so idc <3

๋࣭⭑taglist ༊彡 masterlist ༊彡 k's ama !

For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. -Ephesians 6:12

They say there is always a right and a wrong. A correct choice, the proper path, something that leads to towards salvation and the light. A poor choice, a moral failing, something that turns you into what is most loathed and hated. Something to aspire to be and something to resent to be. They say it’s easy to know right from wrong. And they say that to be wrong deserves punishment. Yet what they seem to forget is that right and wrong is arbitrary; a judgement call led by those in no position to judge. An ideal of the world that lends no truth to what the world is really like, put into place by ones who write rules meant to cage and trap and ostracize. Led by the ones who make being good seem easy. Led by the ones who cast you out for being good.

Robert Reynolds with The Void

Castiel with The Empty