i’m currently working on a fic and have about 10 paragraphs written so far! hopefully i will be able to finish it and post it soon! i realized there was a problem with my requests (i’m a idiot) so they should be working now ! so please send a request if you have any ideas!
𖤓 Summary: You love giving your favourite kitty flowers, and he loves you deerly.
𖤓 Warnings: FLUFF! lovesick Cas and reader, they're disgustingly sweet, Cas doesn't know how to do emotions (I get ya buddy, I really do) - I wrote this with Cat!Cas and Deer!Reader in mind, technically could be read otherwise
𖤓 Word Count: 400
𖤓 Author's Note: Title is from Magnolia by Laufey, had to lol, also, apologies for the joke in the summary, couldn't help myself.
꧁ Read my rules and send in a request! ꧂
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It started off as a way for you to bring the outside in, surrounding the bunker with flowers. But once Dean grumbled about them, you kept them restricted to your room.
Cas didn't realize it, but he missed having the flowers around, a constant little reminder of you, and how you brighten his days without even trying.
You notice. You like to keep out of the way more often than not, which has resulted in you accidentally spying on your little family.
You didn't mean to of course, but from the way you make yourself small to your quiet nature, they don't often notice you.
You watch as Cas holds a wilted daisy, staring at it longer than most would.
But Cas was never really like anyone else.
From then on, you always came back from your walks with extra flowers, specific ones you'd picked just for him. Cornflowers, bluebells, a few miniature ferns and a stray dandelion every now and then.
The first time you give them to him, you're too nervous just to walk up to him, though you feel more than comfortable in his presence. Instead, you leave them next to the book he's reading when his head is turned.
You watch happily from the side as he furrows his brows before smiling slightly at them.
The second time, you tuck them in his coat pocket. He'd taken it off for whatever reason, looking strange without it. You ducked in, pulled the pocket back and dropped the flowers in before leaving in the same rush.
You didn't see his face that time, but you didn't have to to know he smiled once again, this time even more so.
It became a tradition of sorts, until he caught you.
You were just leaving another bouquet behind when you felt his grip on your wrist. You flinched immediately and it softened, but he didn't let go.
He pulled you back gently, not forcing you, just guiding you to him.
You don't meet his eyes, fixating on his tie instead, the dip to it, the way it sits so casually around his neck.
He's bad with words, not knowing what to say, when to say it. So instead, he wraps his arms around you, a little awkward, but full of love.
He holds you close and you nuzzle into his warmth. After a while, it's just quiet enough that you can hear the faintest purr, involuntary sure, but it came out for a reason.
Synopsis: She never had an ordinary life. Her dreams aren't made of hopes and beginnings, but of endings. She witnesses the deaths of strangers, acquaintances, and loved ones—some peaceful, others terrifying. And worse: a simple touch reveals how each person will meet their end. No matter how hard she tries, she has never been able to change what she sees. Until she meets Dean Winchester.
Warnings: death; suicide (not involving main characters); Death (the Horseman of the Apocalypse); plus-size!Reader; use of Y/N (I try to avoid it); platonic relationship with Sam Winchester; enemies-to-friends dynamic with Castiel; future romantic involvement with Dean Winchester; a touch of "weirdo!Reader" (it’s just who I am); visions of death; plot twist (though maybe not much of one if you pay close attention); smut; strong language; slow burn; enemies to friends; Jack appears; things of God; reunion with a deceased relative; birthdays;
Chapter 12
The next morning arrived with a long, satisfying stretch. The smell of coffee and bacon hung in the air like an invitation.
Dean wasn't by her side in bed, which already explained the delicious smell in the air.
She had never been one to sleep. Maybe because she could never rest properly. Or because she had visions of strangers' deaths in every second of her dreams. But now? Now that she'd discovered that sleeping next to Dean kept those terrible visions away? Now sleep was incredible.
She got up still sleepy, walking slowly to the kitchen before finding Sam and Castiel sitting at the table. Sam was drinking a strange green juice while eating eggs and bacon. The angel had a cup of coffee between his hands.
"Good morning, sweetheart!" Dean's voice made her turn toward the stove. He was wearing an apron that covered his abdomen and thighs, but didn't hide the jeans or dark shirt he was wearing that morning.
"Good morning," she replied, approaching the table and taking a seat.
"Here," Dean placed a plate full of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of her. "To help you recover your energy from yesterday."
"Dean!" both she and Sam said at the same time. Sam in a disgusted tone—after all, he certainly didn't want to hear about his brother's sexual experiences. And she in an embarrassed tone that everyone heard.
Dean responded with just a laugh, returning to the stove only to grab his own plate and sit beside her.
Silence settled for a moment, comfortable and homey. Sam ate and drank his strange juice. She and Dean ate that hearty breakfast. And Castiel just kept looking at the black liquid.
"Castiel," she called, breaking the silence. "About my mother…"
"You want to visit her," he completed, remembering their brief previous conversation well.
"I do," she replied, looking deep into the angel's blue eyes. "Think of it as the final part of your forgiveness." He smiled briefly, before looking at Dean.
"Visiting heaven right now wouldn't be a good time," he said with a hint of regret in his tone.
"You said you could arrange it," she continued, her voice firm. "I want to see her. In heaven."
Castiel stared at her for a long moment. Then his gaze fell to Dean. Then Sam. Both remained silent.
"The angels are still afraid of you."
"I can handle them," she said with confidence in her voice. "They won't hurt me."
"Sweetheart—"
"I need to see my mother. I need to tell her that… That I'm finally okay. That I understood who I am," she left her fork on the plate and sighed heavily. "I need to tell her I met my father. I need this, Dean." Her eyes were lined with water blurring her vision, just as her voice trembled.
"Cas, can you take her?" Dean asked. The angel looked at Sam, who nodded.
"Both of you?"
"We're not letting you face heaven alone," Sam said, standing up and taking his dirty dishes to the sink.
"I can arrange that," Castiel finally replied.
The entrance to heaven wasn't what she could have ever imagined. An empty children's playground with a large sandbox.
She saw Sam and Dean looking around as if that wasn't right either.
"The angels are afraid," Castiel replied to their silent question.
"And they just abandoned the guard?!" Dean questioned. He was ready to fight the angels—certainly none showing up left him disappointed.
"They're afraid of me," she replied, looking at her own gloved hands. "The angels are afraid of what I can do if I feel threatened, aren't they?" she questioned, looking at Castiel. He nodded.
"Great, so heaven's going to be wonderful," Dean celebrated, walking over to the sandbox.
If the entrance to heaven wasn't what she expected, then heaven itself…
There were no clouds. Golden gates. Angels playing harps.
It was just corridors stretching into infinity, full of doors with names in alphabetical order.
"This is heaven?" she whispered to Dean.
"Expecting something different?" he whispered back.
"Well… Yes," she said as if it were obvious. "Where's the sound of harps? The cherubs flying around naked?" he laughed.
"Oh sweetheart… Heaven is full of sons of bitches with inflated egos. Hate to break it to you," he said, intertwining his fingers with hers, feeling the velvet of her glove against his hand.
They walked through the infinite corridors for only a few minutes before stopping in front of a door with a name she knew well.
Her mother.
"This is it," Castiel said. "Your mother is inside. Living her happiest memory."
"Her happiest memory?" she asked back. Which one would it be?
With a slightly trembling hand, she turned the doorknob and immediately knew which memory it was.
It was her old house. There were birthday balloons everywhere. Colorful ribbons and the house smelled deliciously sweet.
It was her sixth birthday party.
When she and her mother had a party just for the two of them. They ate cake all night. Cookies and brigadeiros until the sun rose on the horizon. She remembered the neighbors complaining about the karaoke noise, but they didn't care.
It was one of the most incredible days of her life. And apparently of her mother's too.
"My love? I hope you're ready to blow out the candles!" just her voice made tears stream down her face. Dean gave a gentle squeeze to her hand, as if to say: go. I'm here if you need me.
She went. Walking toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was exactly as she remembered. The old stove, the wooden table, the floral curtains. And there, standing in front of the oven, was her mother.
She was lighting the six candles.
"Mom?" her voice came out as a trembling whisper.
The woman turned slowly. Her face was the same as she remembered—the gentle eyes, the warm smile, the hair with streaks of gray.
"My love?" the mother dropped the lighter on the counter. "My daughter?"
"Mom!"
They ran to each other. The hug was tight, warm, full of tears and laughter.
"My God, you've grown so much," the mother said, holding her daughter's face between her hands. "Look at you. So beautiful."
"I miss you so much," she sobbed. "So much."
"I miss you too, my love. So much."
The mother looked beyond her daughter's shoulder and saw the three men standing there, looking around as if trying to find somewhere to look.
"And who are these?" she asked, and her daughter laughed, wiping her tears.
"Mom, these are my… Friends. This is Sam, this is Castiel, and this…" she looked at Dean, and her face lit up. "This is Dean."
Her mother watched her for a moment, her eyes tracing her daughter's face, then Dean's. A knowing smile formed on her lips.
"Oh, daughter. I know that look."
"Mom!"
"What? I had that look once too," she turned to Dean. "So… Dean…"
Dean seemed slightly disconcerted.
"Yes, ma'am?" he said in a more formal tone than necessary.
"I hope you're treating my daughter well."
"Mom!" she hid her face against her mother's lap, trying not to let her embarrassment show.
"What? I didn't even tell him that you told me he was the 'most handsome man you've ever seen'!" the older woman defended herself, teasing her daughter even more. She remembered saying that—not in person, of course, but in those conversations she'd imagined with those who had passed.
Dean looked at Sam with a proud smile, puffing out his chest as if to appear bigger.
"Come… Let's have cake. I want to hear everything about… About your life," she pulled her daughter into the kitchen. "You're all invited too!" she said louder so the three of them could hear.
They sat around the wooden table, the birthday cake in the center. She couldn't stop looking at her mother, as if afraid she'd disappear if she looked away.
She told her mother about everything. About graduating. About her old house. How she found Dean and Sam. Everything.
"Why did you never tell me about my father?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Why did you hide everything?"
Her mother was silent for a moment, her eyes lost in some distant memory.
"Because I wanted to protect you, my love. I knew that if you knew the truth, you'd be in danger. The world wasn't ready for someone like you. And I didn't want you to carry that burden so soon."
"But I carried it anyway," she felt tears streaming down. "I saw the death of everyone I loved. I saw your death."
"I know, daughter. And I'm so sorry for that," her mother held her hand. "But look at you now. You're so strong. So brave. And you found people who love you for who you are."
"I miss you so much," she confessed, and her mother pulled her into another hug. She looked at Dean, who was watching the scene with a soft smile.
"He loves you," her mother whispered to her. "I can see it in his eyes. It's the same look your father had for me."
"Mom…"
"Don't be afraid to love, daughter. Love is the most powerful thing there is. More powerful than death. More powerful than the Empty. It's what keeps us alive," she looked at Dean, and felt love overflowing in her chest.
"I know, Mom. I know."
The conversation flowed for hours. She continued telling her mother about her life, about the visions, about the escape, about the bunker. She told her about Dean, about how he'd searched for her, about how he never gave up.
Her mother smiled, her eyes shining.
"You deserve to be happy, daughter. You deserve all the love in the world."
That's when they heard the house door open again. Dean and Sam immediately looked at each other.
Dean set the cake aside—his tenth slice, taking advantage that heavenly cakes were eternal—and stood up, pulling a kind of mini-sword from his waist. Sam did the same.
She stood up, positioning herself in front of her own mother. Now that she knew who she truly was, she would protect those she loved. Even if her mother, technically, was dead.
Castiel was the last to rise, but he also brandished that strange blade.
The footsteps on the old wooden floor announced that it was close.
Just a small turn and she saw who it was.
A young man, with a friendly smile and blue eyes like Castiel's. His hair was light, with a long fringe that partially covered his face. He wasn't wearing anything specific—it was as if he'd woken up and chosen something comfortable for the day. Casual, like light pants, sneakers, and a light shirt.
"Jack," Castiel immediately dropped his weapon and ran to meet the young man.
"Jack!" Sam ran to the young man too, joining the hug.
She looked at Dean, waiting for his reaction before deciding what to do.
"Good to see you, kiddo," Dean said, also walking to meet Jack.
"Finally showed up! I thought you weren't coming today," her mother said as if she knew him.
"You know him?" she asked, looking at her mother with curiosity.
"Oh, of course! He comes at least once a day! He said he's the new God," she replied as if it weren't anything strange.
"The new God?" Sam and Dean had already told her that a nephilim was the new God. Would it be him?
"You can call me Jack," he replied. "Hello," he said, raising one of his hands as if in greeting.
She looked at Dean, who gave a slight nod before approaching her.
"What are you doing here? Not that we're not happy to see you, but we thought we'd never see you again," Sam said, joining his brother and friend.
"The angels called me. I was in another universe, fixing some things, when I heard the calls."
"The angels called daddy," Dean teased, receiving a small slap on his chest from the woman beside him.
"You're really God?" she asked, feeling a chill down her spine.
"Yes," Jack walked toward her, stopping a few steps away. "And you are Death's daughter. The one against the Empty."
"How do you know?"
"We need to talk," Jack raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
In the blink of an eye, she was no longer at her sixth birthday party. Her mother wasn't nearby, nor Dean or Sam. Much less Castiel.
She was in a strange place to describe.
It was like an eternal void, but with golden threads running through the horizon and everything else you could see.
"Don't worry, they won't notice we left," Jack said, moving one of his hands in the air, pulling a golden thread to look at it more closely. "I paused things in this universe."
"In this universe?"
"Each one of these lines is a universe. I take care of each one of them," Jack showed, pulling another, making a zoom-in motion with his fingers and showing an image of Earth, but with rings like Saturn. "Cool, right?"
"You didn't bring me here just to show me other universes, did you?" she asked, not in a rude tone, but more apprehensively.
"Oh! Don't worry! It's not what you're thinking! I don't want to hurt you or… Or anything," he said, moving the line—or rather, the universe—away and approaching. "Did Dean tell you about Chuck?"
"Chuck?"
"He was God before… Before he became nothing," he took a deep breath. "He wasn't a good God. He abandoned his creation. His own children. Wrote terrible instructions and left every universe he created adrift without support."
"Jack, what do you want from me?"
"But Chuck had one thing: balance. He and his sister—"
"God had a sister?"
"Amara. She ruled the darkness while he ruled the light," Jack explained briefly. "See where I'm going with this?"
"Jack, you want me to work with you? Why?" she asked, not hiding her surprise. Jack smiled.
"Because you're important," Jack stared at her with his bright blue eyes. "The universe needs balance. And you are the key to that balance."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Every light needs darkness to exist. It's the balance of everything. Yin and Yang," Jack touched her hand carefully, removing her glove and letting their skins touch. She felt the tingling of something new. Power. "Together, we can balance the universes that Chuck left adrift. You take the souls that need to go. You let the Empty dominate where there is nothing but mercy." She pulled her hand away from his, crossing her arms as if trying to protect herself. Jack understood that, and stepped back a little.
"And if I don't want to? If I want to stay with Sam and Dean?" She had just found herself. Just learned what it meant to love and be loved. Just learned what the pleasure of living was, and how she wanted to stay there. How unfair it was for Jack to appear and ask her to leave her life behind and go with him to fix others' mistakes?
"I'm not going to force you," Jack said. "If you want to live the rest of your life on this Earth, I'll let you. No angel will ever bother you again. You'll learn to hunt and you'll use your powers to save the souls here. You'll live a long life alongside Dean and Sam," he completed, saying with a certainty she knew was real.
"But?" she couldn't help but feel there was more.
"Unfortunately, without balance… Many universes will… Die," Jack showed already some golden threads breaking and disappearing. "I can't save them," he said with regret. "I wish I could, but alone I can't."
"So I need to choose between living my life with who I love… Or… Or saving the universes," her words were disbelieving. Heavy and incredulous.
"I'm so sorry," Jack said, seeing the anguish she was feeling. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Can I think about it?" It wasn't an easy decision. Not even a simple one to make.
"When you're ready, just call me," Jack replied, snapping his fingers and then they were back at the birthday party.
It was an old tale your mother used to tell you; freckles were made by angel kisses. She told you that an angel came down when you were a baby and peppered your face in kisses.
It was just an old tale. A cute story that comforted you as a kid. Or so you thought.
Currently, you're on your bed, giggling, being kissed by the bunker's resident angel. His kisses pepper from cheek to cheek, down your neck, and on your collar bone. They tickle and make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
You can't help the laughter bubbling up. Castiel seems to be encouraged by this as his kisses get more energetic.
You know both of you might have to get up soon, but Cass seems so happy, like a puppy with its favorite toy. With that in mind and the increasing warmth, you let him continue his attack. He's moved down to your arms, laying his lips on as much exposed skin as he can reach.
He goes on for a little longer before leaning back with a small smile on his lips.
"What is it?" You asked, a little dazed.
"Just admiring my work," he responds in the same monotone voice he carries always.
"Your work?" You tilt your head. His grin widens as his gaze drifts to different spots on your arms and face. You look down at your arms, eye widening as you see that your freckles have multiplied.
Your first thought is that you developed some sort of rapid acting skin cancer, until you see the smug look on Cass' face. Things start clicking in place.
"It's real…" You whisper.
"What is?" Now it's his turn to tilt his head.
"Freckles are angel kisses," you say, still in awe and looking at your hands.
"Well, not all of them," he states. You look up at him, confused. "It's a common misconception that all freckles come from angels. Only some of them," he clarifies. "It's usually by choice on the angel's part."
"So… You wanted me to have more freckles?" You ask.
"Yes, they suit you," Castiel leans down to kiss your left ring finger, leaving a large freckle right where a stone would sit. The thought makes you blush.
You blush harder when you realize that this is his way of claiming you as his.
"That color suits you as well," he murmurs as he kisses your ear. The spot tingles for a bit like the others, so you have no doubt that he added another spot to his collection. Your blush spreads to your ears and you hear a chuckle before feeling a nose nuzzle into your neck.
You lift a hand up and run your fingers through his hair. He lets out a low rumble that sounds like a purr. It makes you smile softly as you hold him closer.
You both end up falling asleep together on your bed, curled up, blushing, and covered in freckles that you don't doubt Sam and Dean will ask about later. Neither you nor Cass care, though. You're both just glad to be together.
