It's almost an accident, how Castiel comes to this particular realization. He is using his hands on Dean's cheeks to check his face for any injuries that may need cleaning or even stitching lately, moving Dean's head gently from side to side, when, as he is about to let go, Dean wordlessly tilts his head down, letting the weight of his head be held by Castiel's open hands.
He does exactly that, their eyes meeting for a brief second, his thumbs caressing Dean's cheekbones.
Another thing, he tells himself, he wants but will never allow himself to ask for. No the first one he has found out about, and it won't certainly be the last one either.
He reverently cradles Dean's face for a moment and from then on, it feels like he never lets go. He does it before leaning in to kiss his forehead, right after Dean shaves too, his skin smooth to the touch, and he still does it when he decides he wants to grow a beard (he will claim later on Castiel's opinion on it isn't a valid one because he simply smiled at him and told him he always looks handsome to him, with or without facial hair). He does it to pull Dean closer for a kiss, right as his laughter is slowly fading because apparently Castiel keeps being, without even trying to, hilarious.
"What do you need?" He asks in the dark, as he usually does after Dean has a nightmare, because that's what Dean asked him the first around he had one, he is sure Dean won't say anything, he will shake his head and tell him to go to sleep.
He doesn't.
Instead trembling hands close around Castiel's wrists and gently tug at them until Castiel gets what he means and closes his hands over the sides of his face. Dean has his eyes closed, but Castiel watches them anyway, moving rapidly under his eyelids, his thumbs caressing his cheekbones. He feels proud, he doesn't know if it's at himself for becoming such a safe haven for the one that needed one the most, or if it's at Dean, for being brave enough to ask for what he wanted.
"Thank you," he mutters and Dean scoffs lightly at that, opening one eye to look at him.
"Should be the one saying that, you weirdo." Dean hasn't let go of his wrists yet, he gives them a light squeeze, he leans in, even closer, and the kiss he gives Cas is full of said gratitude and a love he can feel his own heart echoing back at Dean's.
Thank you to @thewhumpyprintingpress and all the authors involved for bringing this anthology together!
My contribution is In Bloom, a retelling of Sleeping Beauty with a monstrous princess and the folktale-hopping prince whose memories become her newest fascination. Lots of blood and plant horror, muah!
Summary: Rain usually means less people milling around London streets. But you love the rain. Seems someone else appreciates it as well.
Author: Vanessa @war-is-an-art
Words: 1971
Characters/Relationships: Mycroft x reader
Warnings: None
Request: Heyy, could you write a mycroftxreader please? The reader goes for a walk on the Themes and although it starts to rain she continues walking. After some time Mycroft appears and offers her to stand under his umbrella with him. After that day they become friends and Mycroft quickly develops feelings for her but he always denies it. After a few weeks they meet for a walk again, it rains and he admits it with a first kiss in the rain?Sending hugs and a lot of love to you!:)
- anonymous
Author’s Notes: Apologies, I’ve been flooded at work lately, but I hope you enjoy! I’m also working on the other requests and a few ideas of my own. Much thanks to Maddy for that bit with the car towards the end and help throughout, I was quite stuck!
When it rains, everything becomes a little more beautiful. I don't really know what it is… maybe it's the way the air felt cool on skin… or the calmness that radiated around. But there was something different that day. The air felt charged with something exciting. You stared across the Thames and the raindrops thundered onto the asphalt of the bridge. Little smatters began appearing on your clothes and your hair. It clouded your sight and you breathed in the dampness around you. And it was beautiful.
That was when it seemed to stop. You looked up to see an umbrella. The faint smell of smoke, cologne, and old paper mingled with the rain. Turning around you saw blue eyes, cold like the rain, fascinating, and glinting with equally matched curiosity. He was well dressed, impeccably so, and tall.
“I’d hate to see a young lady like you catching a cold in this weather…,” his smooth voice trailed off.
“ Ah…thank you,” you replied not breaking eye contact.
“If it’s not to rude to ask, what might you be doing out here?”
“I’d ask you the same thing.”
Mycroft smiled at this and a small chuckle escaped, so rarely did someone make small talk so easily with him. He felt elated at the queer reply, so quick, yet so smart.
Hearing his chuckle made you smile for some reason. Your eyes couldn’t help but drift to the roof of the umbrella.
“Do you like the sound of the rain on a brelly?” you asked innocently.
Mycroft blinked a few times...he’d never wondered about that. He looked up as well and you glanced at him. A comfortable silence settled over the both of you and when he made eye contact again he caught you smiling softly.
“It is not often I stop and observe such minute things… but I suppose the sound is rather pleasing,” he started.
You beamed at his reply, and the corner of his mouth turned up. Mycroft took in a deep breath, and let out a relaxed and quiet sigh. The rain only deepened the smells of the earth and something drew him to your form. Softness was one of the words that came to mind, a femininity, and strikingly beautiful… perhaps tragically so in this rain.
The bench next to the Thames became a welcome home for the both of you and conversation drifted from one subject to the next. Mycroft found your wittiness endearing, and your passion even moreso. But too soon, the clouds began to still, and the ripples in water gathered on the road faded. Both eyes glanced up, and stared quietly at the brightening sky.
“Perhaps this is our cue to leave…,” Mycroft broke the silence.
“I suppose,” you replied, watching him quietly shut the umbrella.
The rain came soon, and a few days later you found yourself once again at the bench, reading this time. It only began with a few drops. You shut the book, and attempted to protect the pages with the sleeves of your sweater as you admired the rain on your jeans. But the drops soon fell more and more frequently. You glanced at the river and took in the way the water melted into each other. It flowed seamlessly, and your mind drifted and the world faded too.
But the sound of the rain on an umbrella soon brought you back to reality.
“It seems we meet once again,” you heard.
“Once again in the rain it seems,” you replied, his umbrella sheltering both of you and your book from the water.
“Poems?” He asked glancing at the cover.
“Yes...I enjoy them more in this weather,” you explained. Mycroft joined you on the bench, making sure to shield you from the rain. He nodded and you scooted over to make sure the pages would be safe.
“Where were you, I’d hate to have disrupted your reading,” Mycroft said softly.
“Just started,” you replied. Your fingers gently opened the book and you held it between the two of you. The only sound was the occasional flipping of pages, and the soft rumble of the storm.
This time rain was slow in coming, and it was a week before you would walk to the Thames again. Your hand was resting against your lips, the knit sweater warm against your cheek. You were lost in thought as the drizzle slowly grew heavier.
“No book this time?” a voice asked gently. You turned your head to face him and smiled.
“No.” You replied softly. He had two cups in his hands as the wooden hook of his umbrella rested against his arm. Staring curiously, you stood from the bench and stepped towards him.
“Jasmine?” you asked gesturing to a cup.
“Yes…,” he moved it towards you hesitantly. Your eyes moved from the cup to his face and a gentle smile formed on your lips.
“Thank you,” you said as your hand moved to his to accept the drink.
“Your welcome,” he replied, taking in the softness of your skin on his.
“How did you know?”
“Lucky guess…,” he didn’t want to scare you by saying he noticed last time. That he remembered the way jasmine had mingled with the smell of the rain… and that he found it intoxicating. He didn’t even want to admit that to himself.
“Coffee for you I suppose?”
“Only when the days are long and arduous,” he replied as the corner of his mouth turned up.
“And when they’re not?”
“...earl grey.”
In between the soft spoken words, gentle laughs, and shy glances, Mycroft found himself more and more intrigued, and for some strange reason he didn’t mind.
“England’s rainy season seems longer than ever this year,” the radio played as your fingers fiddled with the hem of your sweater. Watching the sky, you saw the first few drops of water trail down your window and couldn’t stop the grin on your face. You turned towards the door and soon found your way to the Thames like before.
Minutes passed painfully, and became an hour. Drops joined the river as you stared, and flowed past the bridge. You thought about the rain. As it fell, the water would run, down the streets, or the river, lost among London.
Mycroft looked out from the window of the airplane. Rain.
Would you be there waiting for him? His brows furrowed as he analyzed his thought. Why did it matter? He had business to attend to anyways. The view was blurred by the water.
“May I ask what you’d like to drink, sir?” an attendant asked.
Even under the awning you could feel the mist cool against your skin. You stared a bit solemnly at the bench a few yards away, near the bridge. You heard the quiet flick of a lighter and looked to the side. Mycroft stood, lighting a cigarette.
“I’m surprised to see you under this awning,” he said, exhaling a wafting stream of smoke.
You looked into his eyes, unasked questions filling your own.
“I apologize… I was away for some … business,” he replied, not missing a beat.
You nodded, satisfied with his answer, and turned to look to the other side. Mycroft arched an eyebrow, observing you, and surprised you had accepted his rather unsavory reply without a care.
He cleared his throat and procured a book. You had glanced back and your eyes widened with surprise.
“We never finished this… last time.”
“We didn’t, did we…,” you said.
“Perhaps this dry bench under the awning would be more suitable,” Mycroft offered.
“I suppose it would.”
After settling comfortably, he opened the literature, and you moved closer to see the pages. His left arm lifted up and unsurely settled around you. Not paying much attention you settled comfortably and he relaxed, though still a bit anxious. With you being so close, he could smell the shampoo in your hair, the smell of the jasmine tea, and the cleanness of your clothes. He filed each scent away carefully.
“Ready to turn the page?”
Your voice had startled him out of his thoughts.
“Ah- yes,” he replied.
“What were you thinking about?”
“... a lot.”
Eventually the warmth from his form and his voice reading the words lulled you to sleep. Mycroft softly admired you and gently closed the book.
It didn’t really matter when or where a raindrop fell. They all led to the sea eventually. You realized no matter where the water was lost in London, they’d meet again in the ocean.
And you met him once more.
Both of you knew it wouldn’t rain many more days in London. He was standing in front of you with his umbrella in his left hand and his right hand in his coat pocket. You shivered and he stepped closer towards you. Mycroft slowly took his hand out of his pocket, and he hesitated, letting his fingers rest delicately along your cheek. You leaned into his touch and your own hand found its way to the lapel of his coat.
His breath ghosted across you, and he could tell the faintest bit of mint in yours. Mycroft’s eyes glanced down towards your lips, and you both could feel the tension in the air. Your eyes fluttered shut when he leaned in. His lips felt warm against yours and both of your hands were pressed against his chest gently. Mycroft’s hand had moved to the small of your back, barely aware; all he could focus on was the softness of your lips and the smell of your skin.
When he slowly parted, you were both out of breath. A small laugh escaped your lips, and a lopsided grin peeked from the corner of his lips.
“You’re quite stunning in the rain,” Mycroft mumbled. You blushed and shyly hid your face in his coat, your hands resting flatly along the material.
“Thank you,” you replied. After a pause you took a step back and stared at your feet. “What is this?”
Mycroft blinked and swallowed. “I don’t understand myself… but I can fathom that I find it very pleasant with you… and I look forward to rainy days, books, and coffee.”
The world around seemed to blur as you gazed into each other’s eyes; but you both looked away when a sleek car appeared and the rain slowed to near nothing.
“I had better get going.” Mycroft parted, and entered the black car.
You found it became cold quickly in the damp air of London and you watched the car pull away to become lost in the traffic. You tilted your head to the sky and breathed in the cool air, unsure of what had just happened.
The sky was cloudy, and even without a drizzle in the air you were making your way down to the Thames. You rested your forearms on the cold metal of the railing and let out a soft sigh. The sound of soft steps drew your attention and you turned around.
But it wasn’t Mycroft.
A young couple was making their way along the Thames, and you admired the way they so freely laughed, joyfully relishing the other’s presence, sharing a moment.
“It’s beautiful…” A voice said behind you.
You looked over your shoulder, one hand holding onto the rail. He was here.
“They are aren’t they…” You replied. The pair of you, with a bit of distance between you continued to watch the disappearing couple.
Soft thunder slowly rumbled.
“It might rain…,” you said casually, “If it does… will you stay here with me?” Fear was ever present in the back of your mind as these words passed your lips.
Another low rumble crept among the air.
“Even if it doesn’t rain… I’ll stay here with you.”
Dean huffs loudly, both at Castiel's occurrences and also at how difficult it is to navigate this forest in the middle of the night, carrying Castiel in his arms.
He feels the need to laugh, but it may come out as something bordering hysteria.
"Really, Cas, you are asking me that right now?" Both of them covered in dirt and blood, Dean silently praying whoever is listening they make it to the car in time, Sam following close behind, covering them in case the monster they just killed, and that almost kills Cas before that, didn't have a friend lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to pounce and finish the job " you haven't lost that much blood yet."
That gets him an upset huff from Cas, who rolls his eyes, "I'm not asking because I'm delirious, I am completely in my right mind, I just -"
"You aren't going to die," he cuts him off, forcefully, "you don't get to make a big declaration and die on me." The again is loud and clear there, even if Dean doesn't say it out loud. He cradles Castiel even closer to his chest, praying even harder, walking even faster.
"I read somewhere," Castiel says, quietly, a calm sea that clashes with Dean's inner ragging storm, "that when the moment is right to ask you simply know it. I thought you and I, what we have, was above such simple human tags and conventions, but I was wrong." He sounds a bit out of breath now, and Dean is about to tell him to shut up and not waste his energy, but Castiel is quick to add, "It would be nice to celebrate our love, find another way," his voice shakes a little, is he cold? is the wound getting to him as the adrenaline wears off? Their eyes met and while Dean can see the faint ghost of pain there, he doesn't see any fear, like Castiel is sure Dean won't let anything else happen to him on his watch and that trust is the greatest gift he has ever received, in his entire life, "to express how much I appreciate you, your love, your care," he raises a hand, slowly, the movement sluggish, he presses his fingertips to Dean's lips, "I know you don't do any of it because you expect something back, not even a thank you."
"You don't even have a ring, man." Dean says, as soon as Castiel moves his hand back, letting out a watery laugh, feeling a mix of emotions rush through him, an immense love for the man in his arms, a great relief since he can see the impala, waiting for them.
Castiel manages a sheepish smile, a light shrug, "that's true, but I can offer you everything else that I have, everything I am."
"I will marry you, you weirdo." He dips his head down, pressing a kiss to Castiel's forehead, he gets a bright, albeit tired smile back, a muttered I love you than he answers with one of his own.
"Uh, guys, congratulations?" Sam says after a beat of silence.
"Thanks Sam." Castiel smiles over Dean's shoulder at him.
"Yeah, thanks, whatever." Dean grunts. "Couldn't wait not even five damn minutes to ask me." He mutters under his breath, shaking his head, smiling to himself.
"You have to agree I have given us a great story to tell people." Dean laughs lightly.
A bolt of lighting outside the window lights up the room, framing Castiel's strong body for a blink. Dean can almost picture his wings opening behind him, their shadows stretching across the room.
They never appear, of course, long gone now, but forever etched in Dean's memory. He can almost see the blue eyes staring down at him glowing for a beat, his mind playing tricks on him.
The loud roll of thunder that comes after the lighting fills the silence in the room, way louder than their quiet, synced breathing.
He is laying on his back, Castiel laying beside him, propped up on one elbow, his hand tracing patterns that only seem to make sense to him all over Dean's bare chest. Dean hums under the gentle ministrations, staring up at Castiel.
They have all the time of the world, and Dean is still trying to get used to this welcomed change of pace in their lives.
Castiel leans down then, pressing his lips to Dean's in a quick and chaste thing that has Dean smiling at him and reaching out to close a hand over the nape of his neck to stop him from going too far. Castiel's fingers are still moving across his skin, he mutters something under his breath, they are so close it's impossible for Dean to miss it and, even if it's Enochian Dean recognises the word, blushing lighty.
Beautiful.
Before the thunder comes he sees another burst of light, throught his closed eyelids this time, Castiel's lips are on his again, slower this time, deeper too, just as sweet and loving. When they resurface, gasping for air, his hand doesn't need to make an effort to keep Castiel close, he won't move it anyway, his fingers tangles with his messy hair now, because Cas stays where he is, pressing light kisses to the corner of Dean's mouth, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, Dean keeps his eyes closed, basking in the affection, he can still hear Castiel's mutter, between kisses, he doesn't understand it all but he recognizes some familiar words.
He hears light, bright and star. Beautiful, there it is again. Dean doesn't ask him what he is saying, he doesn't need to understand it fully to hear the sentiment behind Castiel's words, they have a lump forming in his throat despite their meaning being lost to him.
"I love you so much." Castiel switches back to English, always making sure Dean is listening, that he understands those words. That he never forgets them.
He is going to say them back, but Castiel's lips have found his again, drinking the words straight from the source.
Castiel's hand finds the waistband of his underwear and the thunder outside is nothing compared to the way his pulse roars in his ears.
"I love you too," he blurts, because Castiel is in front of him again and there are many things he wants to say, but none of them are fighting so hard to escape him as that one, "didn't say it back then, but I do," he looks at Cas, "I did back then too, love you, I mean." He is rambling, he knows, there is something guarded there, despite the hope he can see in his blue eyes, "I had loved you for a long time at that point," and then it dawns on him, the unspoken things hidden behind Castiel's careful approach, "not like a brother, dumbass."
Castiel's shoulders lose all the tension Dean is sure they had been accumulating since the very beginning of time itself and now that the caution is gone hope shines bright in his features, he smiles, it's a shy thing, full of joy, "can I kiss you, then?"
And is a good thing Dean is used to his boldness, but he still feels like the Earth has stopped turning under his feet, like he has ever felt it doing so. Dean nods lightly, unable now to find his voice, unable now to be his usual smooth self when it comes to things like this. It's not the first time he has ever kissed someone, it doesn't matter, as he approaches Cas, and Cas approaches him, as they meet in the middle and two strong hands come up to frame his face, it feels like a first. As Castiel's lips find him he forgets about every other kiss. None of those lips had love Dean, not like Cas'. It's tender and slow, brief, it's a promise for me, a vow to forever, Dean doesn't ever want to feel other lips on his if they aren't Cas'.
Dean's hands have found Castiel's waist, he squeezes lightly, Castiel talks then, slightly out of breath, eyes full of wonder like, even though he was there putting them in the sky, he still believes Dean was the one that hung every sky up there, "I never imagined it could feel like that." And Dean didn't either, both a calm sea, a raging storm.
