Phaesphoros

This blog is super dead but you can still read my stuff if you want

[wholockeddruid-writes]

Hi! Just wondering how you're doing, and if this blog is still active? I love all your works (especially the Samifer ones!!!) ❤

Hi! I’m so glad you enjoyed them!! I wish I could tell you this blog is still active, but honestly I haven’t written any fanfics lately. Maybe someday I’ll write some again and post it...... but yeah, I wouldn’t say “active” :((( sorry

[wholockeddruid-writes]

Anonymoose asked:

Could you write some more of the mad Lucifer in the bunker story? Maybe Sam finding out what Lucifer did for him?

A/N: Here’s the first part in case someone hasn’t read it (I recommend you do so it’s easier for you to understand) and @heavenspariah, I might as well tag you, considering that you’re the cause of this AU in the first place. Anyway, enjoy!

Sam didn’t know why he was doing this.

Okay, yeah, he said that about most of the things he did lately, but that didn’t make this or any other of his recent decisions any less confusing. He wanted to see it as following his heart instead of listening to his brain or something like that, but even his heart was on the fence about this whole deal. He was apparently just being nice to him for no reason whatsoever. Great.

He knocked on the door softly. “Um, can I come in?”

Lucifer’s voice immediately rang with the reply. “I don’t see why not. Door’s unlocked.”

Sam pushed the door open, but he hesitated before stepping inside. He felt so stupid, just standing there, holding a tall glass with a straw in it. A straw. He had gotten Lucifer a straw along with the drink. Getting him a drink was weird enough, but a straw, too? Jesus fucking Christ.

“What’s up, Sam?” Lucifer was lying on his bed. His feet were on the pillow. His head was hanging over the foot of the bed. Sam was suddenly worrying about too much blood going to the devil’s head. For fuck’s sake. If he wanted to be upside down, he could be upside down. Sam was not his mother.

Keep reading

[randomfandomstuff]

I need more crime AUs

I went to a forest to bury a body but somebody was already there burying one

You were chased by cops and took me as a hostage and now we’re spending the night in a dusty barn

You were chased by cops and took me as a hostage but you didn’t realized the cops were after me

We bumped into each other while stealing the same diamond and almost got caught because we were arguing over which one can have it

We’re both serial killers and we have the same target and we’re arguing over which one gets to kill the person

You’re a cop and you got called to a crime scene to arrest a criminal but you realize the criminal is the person you’re dating

We’re dating and we both have very dark secrets we are anxious to tell about but it turns out we actually have the same secret

[wholockeddruid-writes]

These are really good so prompt me pls

[wholockeddruid-writes]

Anonymoose asked:

Could you write some more of the mad Lucifer in the bunker story? Maybe Sam finding out what Lucifer did for him?

A/N: Here’s the first part in case someone hasn’t read it (I recommend you do so it’s easier for you to understand) and @heavenspariah, I might as well tag you, considering that you’re the cause of this AU in the first place. Anyway, enjoy!

Sam didn’t know why he was doing this.

Okay, yeah, he said that about most of the things he did lately, but that didn’t make this or any other of his recent decisions any less confusing. He wanted to see it as following his heart instead of listening to his brain or something like that, but even his heart was on the fence about this whole deal. He was apparently just being nice to him for no reason whatsoever. Great.

He knocked on the door softly. “Um, can I come in?”

Lucifer’s voice immediately rang with the reply. “I don’t see why not. Door’s unlocked.”

Sam pushed the door open, but he hesitated before stepping inside. He felt so stupid, just standing there, holding a tall glass with a straw in it. A straw. He had gotten Lucifer a straw along with the drink. Getting him a drink was weird enough, but a straw, too? Jesus fucking Christ.

“What’s up, Sam?” Lucifer was lying on his bed. His feet were on the pillow. His head was hanging over the foot of the bed. Sam was suddenly worrying about too much blood going to the devil’s head. For fuck’s sake. If he wanted to be upside down, he could be upside down. Sam was not his mother.

Keep reading

[wholockeddruid-writes]

Anonymoose asked:

Could you write some more of the mad Lucifer in the bunker story? Maybe Sam finding out what Lucifer did for him?

A/N: Here’s the first part in case someone hasn’t read it (I recommend you do so it’s easier for you to understand) and @heavenspariah, I might as well tag you, considering that you’re the cause of this AU in the first place. Anyway, enjoy!

Sam didn’t know why he was doing this.

Okay, yeah, he said that about most of the things he did lately, but that didn’t make this or any other of his recent decisions any less confusing. He wanted to see it as following his heart instead of listening to his brain or something like that, but even his heart was on the fence about this whole deal. He was apparently just being nice to him for no reason whatsoever. Great.

He knocked on the door softly. “Um, can I come in?”

Lucifer’s voice immediately rang with the reply. “I don’t see why not. Door’s unlocked.”

Sam pushed the door open, but he hesitated before stepping inside. He felt so stupid, just standing there, holding a tall glass with a straw in it. A straw. He had gotten Lucifer a straw along with the drink. Getting him a drink was weird enough, but a straw, too? Jesus fucking Christ.

“What’s up, Sam?” Lucifer was lying on his bed. His feet were on the pillow. His head was hanging over the foot of the bed. Sam was suddenly worrying about too much blood going to the devil’s head. For fuck’s sake. If he wanted to be upside down, he could be upside down. Sam was not his mother.

Sam cleared his throat. “I, uh, got you a smoothie.” He raised the glass in his hand awkwardly. “I found a recipe online, but it’s for two glasses. I only wanted one and Dean didn’t want any, so I’ve got an extra glass. It’s yours if you want it.” I’ve got an extra glass. He had said it as if he hadn’t known that he would only drink one glass, or that Dean would never drink his “weird, low carb, nerd drink”. Whoopsie daisy, I really thought I was going to need two servings, but I didn’t! Shocker! I guess I’ll just give the extra one to the devil… I definitely didn’t plan on doing that since the beginning…

Lucifer didn’t try to figure out if Sam had planned to do it or not. He simply sat up in a flash (shit, he’s going to feel dizzy), leaving his legs folded by his side, and extended his hands towards Sam like a little kid expecting a gift. Rolling his eyes, Sam placed the drink in Lucifer’s waiting grip.

“I made it with-” the Winchester began explaining, but the blond stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“Spare me the details. Just tell me one thing: is it good?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… I guess. It tasted alright to me.”

That seemed to be enough for Lucifer. He took a big slurp and grinned. “Pretty good, Samuel,” he praised. Sam wasn’t sure if he had forgotten that Sam didn’t like it when he used his full name or if he was doing it on purpose. Lately, he was more prone to having his head in the clouds than being an asshole, so it was probably the former. “Pretty good,” Lucifer repeated. He kept on drinking, finishing the smoothie in record time. Once it was done, he placed the glass on the floor, stuck one end of the straw —the end that had been inside the beverage— and started sucking on it to get the last drops of the delicious smoothie.

And Sam was still standing there. Damnit. He tried to think of a good reason why he hadn’t left, but the greatest he could come up with was: What if he chokes on the straw and dies? What then? Easy: let him die. He’s the devil. Also, he can’t die from choking on a piece of plastic because he’s the devil. Stupid, stupid Sam. Get it together, man.

“Wanna sit?” Lucifer’s gentle question snapped Sam out if it. When Sam met his eyes, the archangel pulled his feet closer to his body to make space for the hunter on the bed. He fiddled with the straw between two fingers. Sam eyed the free spot on the bed, mulling over his options. This was some sort of fight or flight situa-

Blood.

There was a streak of blood on the sheets. It was more or less on the place where Lucifer’s feet had been a moment ago. Thankfully, though, it wasn’t a big stain.

“Lucifer,” Sam began slowly, “why is there blood on your bed?”

The archangel frowned. “Blood?” He followed Sam’s gaze and his eyes and mouth widened in a way that Sam would’ve found comical if his mind weren’t racing. “Blood,” Lucifer confirmed. “Would you believe me if I told you that I have no idea how that got there?”

Sam shouldn’t have believed him. His first thought should’ve been that Lucifer had somehow hurt someone and that that was some poor soul’s blood on Satan’s bed. It wasn’t. His first thought was That’s Lucifer’s blood; something’s happened, and he put two and two together. “Show me your feet.”

“You think my feet know something?” Lucifer whispered, not sarcastically, but dead-serious. Sam had to take a couple of deep breaths so he didn’t lose his patience. Be nice. He’s absolutely bonkers. He’s entitled to thinking that his feet have minds of their own.

“I think you might have hurt them,” Sam said patiently. “I need to check them to be sure.”

Lucifer nodded. “Oh. Okay.” He unfolded his legs, and Sam kneeled down to inspect Satan’s feet. Nothing weird in that sentence. Nope.

There was nothing on Lucifer’s left foot, and, at first glance, there was nothing on his right foot, either, apart from the shackle around his ankle and the chain attached to it. Sam tasted something foul in his mouth every time he saw the crude metal with wards scratched on it. It’s necessary, he always told himself. They couldn’t trust Lucifer (yet), and a warded chain could be the only thing keeping him from tearing the world apart. It had to stay on, no matter how guilty it made Sam feel or how many times the hunter played house with Lucifer. All Sam wanted to do in that moment was stand up and leave before he did something stupid, but then he saw a drop of blood trickle from under the shackle.

Carefully, Sam moved the hem of Lucifer’s sweatpants out of the way and slid the shackle down. It made a thick sound, the sound of blood unsticking from skin. Lucifer’s ankle was an angry red color. The skin was cracked and bleeding, and there was dried skin and caked blood stuck to the inside of the shackle. Sam swallowed down the lump in his throat. Had he used the wrong wards? He was sure he had used only wards of containment when he carved the shackle, but maybe in his anger towards Lucifer he had made a mistake or carved a sigil that hurt the archangel. The damaged ankle could be only a superficial manifestation of Lucifer’s wounds. The wards could be damaging the Morningstar’s Grace in ways that Sam didn’t know if he could heal.

“Oh, no, it’s not that. The wards are all safe.” Lucifer had been reading his thoughts again. Damn him. Sam knew he didn’t do it on purpose —sometimes Lucifer couldn’t even tell if he was reading thoughts or just listening to someone talk— but it still annoyed the hell out of Sam. The hunter raised his head to look at Lucifer in the eye and prompt an explanation lengthier than “it’s not that”. Lucifer complied and added, “That’s because of the scratching.”

“What scratching?”

Lucifer pulled his knees up to his chin. If his new posture wasn’t guarded enough, the guilty glint in his eyes completed it. Sam suddenly felt too far away on the floor, but he didn’t dare move closer. He even held his breath while he waited for Lucifer to speak. Sam knew he was going to get an answer, but he wasn’t going to pressure him into spitting it out.

“I get scared sometimes,” Lucifer whispered, and Sam sat up a little bit straighter. The archangel wrapped his hand around the chain connected to his ankle slowly, as if it were a snake that could unexpectedly bite him. “I feel like it’s tugging me down… there. Back to the Cage. It tugs me down, and… I sometimes see things. More chains, ready to bind me if I get too close. Fire. Spikes. Blades. I get so scared that I try to get free by any means possible. I scratch at it, but the wards fight back and make the metal too hot to touch, so I turn to my ankle instead. When I’m too far gone, I can’t stop, not even when the bleeding starts.”

Sam didn’t know which of the million things he wanted to say sounded more genuine. Hey, it’s okay. I’m here for you. You are not going back. You’re safe here. “Let me heal you,” was his final choice.

Without waiting for Lucifer to reply, Sam got up and opened the bedroom’s small cabinet, which had been pushed to a corner to give Lucifer more wall space to decorate. All Men of Letters’ bedrooms had a cabinet like this one. They were big enough to fit a few clothes (Sam used it for books) and a mandatory first aid kit. Behind him, Lucifer had begun to complain, but Sam ignored him and pulled out the metal box. The hunter walked towards the bed and began taking what he needed from the kit: rubbing alcohol (the Winchesters had replaced the outdated bottles with new ones in all bedrooms that were being used), cotton swabs, and bandages. “Sit back and stretch out your legs,” he ordered firmly.

“Sam, it doesn’t really hurt. I’m a big, ol’ archangel, remember? I’d heal it myself if I could remember how to heal myself… But really, it’s not-”

Sam shut him up with a pointed look. Lucifer untangled his legs begrudgingly and let them drop to the floor, forcing Sam to kneel down once again to have access to the wounded ankle. Sam wet one swab with alcohol and warned, “This might sting.”

“No, it won’t because I won’t feel anything,” Lucifer sang. The hunter ignored him.

Sam stared at the shackle. Healing Lucifer would be easier if he took it off, just for a few minutes… He shook his head. He couldn’t risk it. Instead, he had to manage by sliding the cotton swab between the tough metal and the wounded skin. Lucifer didn’t flinch. He really didn’t feel the sting after all. Once Sam was sure he had disinfected every inch of the wound, he wrapped a bandage around the shackle. It was delusional to think that something as flimsy as a bandage could stop Lucifer from damaging his ankle even more, but it was worth the shot.

“There,” Sam mumbled. Lucifer was looking down at him with the saddest pair of blue eyes Sam had ever seen. “I’m sorry.” The apology finally crawled out of his mouth. “I know it must be awful to be tied up like this, especially after all you’ve been through, but I can’t… I-”

“I get it,” Lucifer said softly. “I do. I’m dangerous and unstable, like a nuclear warhead. One wrong move and Luci goes BOOM.” With a sigh, the angel spread his arms and let himself fall backwards. The straw, which had remained clasped in his hand during their conversation, slipped out of his grip and fell to the floor. “Round and ‘round the cobbler’s bench, the monkey chased the weasel,” he began singing under his breath. “The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun. Pop! Goes the weasel.” A hollow giggle left Lucifer’s lips, and he continued humming.

What happened to you? Sam thought, standing up. He saw Lucifer cock his head and immediately knew he had heard his thought.

“What do you mean, what happened to me? In your eyes, I haven’t changed one bit. I’ve always been one crazy bastard to you.” Yeah, he had definitely heard.

Sam cautiously sat down in the edge of the bed; Lucifer propped himself up on his elbows to watch his every move. “You were, uh, extreme back in the days of the Apocalypse,” Sam explained, “but now you’re-” Lucifer started making cuckoo noises. Sam scratched a phantom itch right under his ear before continuing, “Well… yeah. That’s one way to put it. I’m… I think curious is the only way to put it. I just want to know what the hell happened to you between then and now.”

“Hell,” Lucifer replied simply.

Sam tried really hard not to give him a bitchface. “Yeah, but that also happened before, and for a longer time.”

The archangel wagged his finger at Sam. “You didn’t let me finish.” Because it didn’t sound like you were going to say something else. “Hell and you, Samuel. You in Hell, and not in any of the nicer parts of Hell. All the awful things that the Cage did to you… even if you got out —and you did, I’m so proud— the memories would haunt you and destroy you. I didn’t want that, Sam. I couldn’t bear…” Lucifer’s voice broke and his eyes became unfocused. It didn’t take a genius to see that his mind was being a jerk again and was dragging him to an imaginary Cage. Sam placed his hand on Lucifer’s thigh.

“Hey. Stay with me.”

Lucifer nodded and closed his eyes, focusing only on the comforting weight of Sam’s hand. After remaining for few seconds like that, he opened his eyes and kept on talking, “Death came for your soul, and I took all I could find in your mind from your time in the Cage. I took all of your memories, but along with them came the psychological damage, the pain. It was too much. My mind couldn’t handle it.”

Lucifer had tangled their finger together. Sam realized he didn’t care. He gave the angel’s hand a soft squeeze and said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Even with bags around his eyes, Lucifer managed to give Sam a challenging look. “I did, or all of this would’ve happened to you.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Yes… but it was my burden to carry. You already have enough shit to handle without having to deal with my problems, too.”

“Sam, I did it because I wanted to do it and because I care about you. And stop worrying about the shit I handle. I’ve been handling it quite well on my own all my life.”

“That’s the point!” Sam threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. It would’ve been easier (and it would’ve looked less ridiculous) if he had let go of Lucifer’s hand, but he really didn’t feel like doing that. “You can’t bear that type of stuff on your own! You need other people to help you carry it, and you can help other people carry theirs. That last part doesn’t mean “absorb other people’s problems and don’t tell them you did it until it’s too late”, though.“

"That’s easy for you to say,” Lucifer grumbled. “You’ve got Dean and Cas and your whole suicidal definition of family that makes you do stupid things to help each other. I’ve got no one.”

“You’ve got me,” Sam blurted out, and the shell-shocked expression on Lucifer’s face was enough to make him keep on talking, “I got you the smoothie, didn’t I? And I healed you. And I got you your own room and I want to help you get better.” The hunter studied their linked hands. “It seems that I care about you, and that’s why I’ve been doing all these things.”

The Morningstar inched closer to Sam. “You mean that?” he asked. Sam barely had time to nod before he was almost tackled off the bed by a fully grown archangel. Lucifer wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, and Sam awkwardly placed his hands on Lucifer’s hips.

“I, uh,” Sam stammered, “I wasn’t expecting a hug, but okay.” He felt Lucifer’s giggle rumble through the chest pressed against his. Lucifer, hugging, and giggling. The only reason why those three words were in the same sentence was due to the angel’s current… situation. Sam reminded himself of this and tried not to get used to it. If he was really going to find a way to heal Lucifer, he had to remember that Lucifer was more of the “thank-you nod and maybe a pat in the shoulder” type of fellow.

Sam didn’t realize that Lucifer had gone still in his arms until the archangel spoke, “Are you really going to try to cure me?”

Sam pushed him back so they could see each other face to face. “Of course,” he promised. “There has to be a way.” Lucifer smiled, and Sam smiled right back. Sam noticed that Lucifer was sitting on his lap and that his hands were still on the angel’s hips. If Dean walks by right now, he will kill me before I heal you. Lucifer laughed and curled up against Sam’s chest, not helping him with the imminent danger at all.

[wholockeddruid-writes]

Hey!! If you're looking for things to write, I made a post recently with a bunch of Blitzstone headcanons! It's the first thing in the tag, I think, and a bunch of people added their own headcanons to it!

Thank you!!!! I’m going to check them out and I’ll tag you when I write something!

[wholockeddruid-writes]

@sodagiraffe:

Ok how ‘bout Charlie and Kevin living in the bunker with the guys? And they are like BROS and it doesn’t hurt? 

A/N: Hope you like it!

“Play nice, nerds.” Dean waved goodbye from the top of the stairs and walked out the door behind Sam and Cas. They had a hunt somewhere in… Wisconsin? Yeah, probably. For small hunts like this one, it was always the same: the muscle of the team went out to kick ass while the nerds stayed in and explored the never-ending secrets of the bunker. It was a pretty sweet arrangement.

Charlie was sitting at the big table at the library’s entrance. She had her tablet on the southern tip of Chile and her feet propped up on top of South Africa. Her coffee mug was somewhere in the Atlantic. There was a dusty box on top of the United States. She heard shuffling behind her and turned her head with a smile. “Good morning, sunshine.”

Kevin answered with a grunt. He was carrying the ancient text that had been driving him nuts these past few days. After the Godly tablets drama had ended, Kevin had decided he liked stressing himself to death while translating ancient, forgotten languages. Even if he didn’t have wicked translating superpowers anymore, he still felt like it was “his thing”. It was Charlie’s job to make sure his nerd masochism stayed within somewhat healthy limits.

“Any progress?” the redhead inquired as Kevin spread his notes and the text over Russia.

“Sort of,” Kevin mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What are you working on?”

Charlie sat up and turned her tablet around so Kevin could see the code on the screen. “An interactive database of the bunker’s library,” she explained. “You and Sam insist on using the records on paper, but they are such a mess that to find a book it’s easier to wander aimlessly around until you find it rather than use these stupid records.” She nudged the dusty box containing a pile of papers with an accusing finger.

“They are not that messy.”

“Okay, I may be exaggerating, but believe me, you are going to love this bad boy.”

“I believe you,” Kevin replied mechanically. His attention was already on the documents in front of him, so it was possible he hadn’t paid attention to the last thing Charlie had said. Oh, well.  Charlie turned the tablet back around and let her fingers do their magic on the keyboard. Silence immediately reigned on the bunker, except for the occasional turning of a page or sigh and the constant tic-tac of Charlie’s typing.

Code, code, code, code, sip. Code, code, code, code, sip.

Charlie was reaching the bottom of her cup of coffee, and her program was getting closer to completion. She gave one last, contented sigh and pushed her chair back. Only a few details were missing on the database, but those could wait for later. First, a break.

For both of them.

“Hey, Kev?”

“Mm… shhh…” Great. He was so gone he couldn’t even use English.

“Ke-vin,” Charlie sang. “Time for a break, dude.”

“No.”

Charlie was forced to switch chairs. She plopped down next to Kevin and waved a hand in front of his face. Kevin swatted it away. “C’mon, man. Don’t go into nerd-trance.”

“Nerd-trance is a wonderful state to be in when you’re about to reach a breakthrough.” A whole sentence. Wow. Charlie was making progress.

“Yeah, but it’s not healthy. If you don’t rest, reaching a breakthrough is going to be harder.

“Mm.” No, no, no. We were already doing sentences. We were making progress.

Charlie sighed, “Let’s do something else for a while. We never do anything together.”

“We were doing something together,” Kevin pointed out, “until you started making noise.”

Charlie stood up behind Kevin and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Worrying about a friend is not noise, Tran. Unglue your eyes from the squiggles and join me in a fun game. Don't make me wrestle you out of this chair.”

With a heavy sigh, Kevin closed his notebook (progress!) and tilted his head back so he could look at Charlie. “A fun game? What the hell are we going to play? And don't say Monopoly; last time was a mess.”

“Point A: it was only a mess because none of us expected Cas to be such a ruthless businessman. Point B: I don't have a game in mind yet, but we can make something up as we go, or maybe we'll find something. Who knows; maybe these Super-Secret Nerds have a Super-Secret D&D lying around somewhere.”

With one last sad look at the ancient text before him, Kevin pushed himself out of the chair and played along. “Pray tell, how is a Super-Secret D&D different from your regular Dungeons and Dragons?”

Charlie headed towards the maze-like hallways with a shrug. “I dunno. It has real dragons?”

Kevin rolled his eyes but followed her anyways. He wanted to ask where were they going, but Charlie probably had no idea, either. “Is walking around until we get lost a fun game?” he sassed instead.

“Very funny. I just want to-” They had reached a T-shaped intersection. A long hallway stretched to their left and right. Charlie turned her head to each side, gears very obviously spinning in her head. “Never mind. New idea. Do the Men of Letters have skateboards?”

Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Skateboards?!”

“Yeah. Or any other smallish thing with wheels, like a… a…” She slapped her forehead with her hand, the universal symbol of Eu-fucking-reka. “Dean’s garage seat!”

“Dean’s gara- okay.” Kevin realized he wasn't getting a straight answer (no lesbian joke intended) for now, so he sighed and followed Charlie to the garage. After peeking under a couple of cars, they found the cart. It was the cheapest Dean could find, just a slab of plastic —wide enough to allow Dean to lay back on it— with four small wheels. Charlie, still not explaining anything to Kevin, inspected the garage seat.

“I think this will do just fine,” she mused.

“For what?” Kevin demanded.

Charlie beamed. “Hallway races!” She hoisted the front of the car up and dragged it out of the garage. “Come on, Kev!” she called.

Kevin was ninety-nine percent sure they were going to get hurt in some way, but he was also one-hundred percent in for this new game.

An hour and a half later, they were sitting on the floor of the Official Racing Hallway drinking beer. Kevin had a bruise starting to appear on his knee and Charlie had scratched both of her elbows. Because they only had one cart, the farthest each had managed to go before crashing into a wall or falling off the cart (garage seats are unsteady as fuck) was marked with a small piece of paper with their initial on it. Kevin was the reigning champion so far. Charlie swore up and down she was going to beat him soon.

“D’you think the boys will like it if we show it to them?” Charlie asked.

Kevin imagined Sam trying to stay within the cart’s limited surface, long legs and arms tucked tightly to his chest. Charlie imagined Cas stubbornly racing in his trenchcoat, and the stupid thing’s belt getting tangled in the cart’s wheels. They both chuckled.

“Yeah. I'm sure they'll love it.”

[wholockeddruid-writes]

Could you write some more of the mad Lucifer in the bunker story? Maybe Sam finding out what Lucifer did for him?

That’s a yes in case you were wondering.

[wholockeddruid-writes]

So here's the dealio

School’s over, and after a French test on Wednesday, I’m 100% free and I want to WRITE! So pls send me any prompts you have You can see in my tags the ships/fandoms I have written about, and I’m even planning to make a list of other ships I have never written anything about but would like to try

EDIT: I added a list at the end of my tags with some ships I would like to write about :3

[wholockeddruid-writes]

Hey peeps!

I finally made an AO3 account!!! It’s called justAperidot. Rn, I’m updating it so it has all the fics I’ve written (the ones posted in this blog, at least). Go check it out!

[wholockeddruid-writes]

Hell: Business as usual

anonymous asked:

I don’t know if you’re still taking prompts, but if you are could you do a super fluffy and cute samifer fic? I love your angsty rip-your-heart-out fics, but I’m really craving some new ‘soft’ stuff about them right now ❤️

A/N: Yes, this is terribly late, anon, and I feel awful. I hope you like it tho. It’s a Boyking!Sam fic (because I am trash) BUT WORRY NOT. It’s still fluffy af (once again, because I am trash).

(Also, @sweetonmeclarence this is the fic I mentioned)

They were both busy, each in his own way.

Lucifer’s fingers nimbly braided the stems of the flowers he had handpicked himself. A pair of gardening scissors lay on his lap, ready to snip away any thorns or leaves that weren’t pretty enough. A basket with more flowers sat by his side. His outfit could be described with three words: cotton, white, and loose. His shirt was so thin it was almost see-though.

Sam was leaning against the same tree, law textbook opened on his lap. He had a highlighter in his right hand, and he tapped it rhythmically against his shoes as he read. He had taken off his suit jacket a while ago, and he had also undone the first two buttons of his shirt and loosened his tie.

Sam had gone back to law school… what was it? One hundred Hell years ago? More or less. Studying law could be handy for the job. He wanted to be a fair king, and a fair King of Hell needed to know all the ins and outs of contracts and deals. He tried to go to all of his classes, but sometimes he missed a few because a sudden crisis in Hell wasn’t exactly something he could schedule. When there were no classes to go to and Hell was running smoothly, he would sit with Lucifer in his husband’s garden and study.

Keep reading

[wholockeddruid-writes]

Hell: Business as usual

anonymous asked:

I don’t know if you’re still taking prompts, but if you are could you do a super fluffy and cute samifer fic? I love your angsty rip-your-heart-out fics, but I’m really craving some new ‘soft’ stuff about them right now ❤️

A/N: Yes, this is terribly late, anon, and I feel awful. I hope you like it tho. It’s a Boyking!Sam fic (because I am trash) BUT WORRY NOT. It’s still fluffy af (once again, because I am trash).

(Also, @sweetonmeclarence this is the fic I mentioned)

They were both busy, each in his own way.

Lucifer’s fingers nimbly braided the stems of the flowers he had handpicked himself. A pair of gardening scissors lay on his lap, ready to snip away any thorns or leaves that weren’t pretty enough. A basket with more flowers sat by his side. His outfit could be described with three words: cotton, white, and loose. His shirt was so thin it was almost see-though.

Sam was leaning against the same tree, law textbook opened on his lap. He had a highlighter in his right hand, and he tapped it rhythmically against his shoes as he read. He had taken off his suit jacket a while ago, and he had also undone the first two buttons of his shirt and loosened his tie.

Sam had gone back to law school… what was it? One hundred Hell years ago? More or less. Studying law could be handy for the job. He wanted to be a fair king, and a fair King of Hell needed to know all the ins and outs of contracts and deals. He tried to go to all of his classes, but sometimes he missed a few because a sudden crisis in Hell wasn’t exactly something he could schedule. When there were no classes to go to and Hell was running smoothly, he would sit with Lucifer in his husband’s garden and study.

Lucifer’s garden was the most relaxing place in Hell. It was easy to forget you were underground and with damned souls screaming in pain just around the corner. There were all kinds of trees, bushes, and flowers, and a creek that snaked through the whole thing. Several minuscule stars floating overhead illuminated what used to be a big, dark room. A perk of being the Lightbringer: no place was dark for too long.

“I don’t like it.” Lucifer grimaced. After carefully inspecting the flower crown, he announced, “It goes in the reject pile.”

Sam gave his husband an “I love you but come on” look. “Luce, you already have six crowns on the reject pile and none on the accept pile. I don’t see why you keep rejecting them. They’re all pretty.”

Lucifer began gathering daisies from his basket for his next creation (which was probably going to end up in the reject pile, too). “They have to be perfect, Sam, not just pretty.”

“Why are you being more of a perfectionist than you usually are?"

Lucifer pulled on a daisy’s stem a bit too hard. It broke. It was immediately decided that the whole damn thing was ruined. The archangel huffed angrily, “It has to be perfect because it’s for you, Sam!”

“Oh.” Seeing the way his husband frowned and pouted, the King of Hell realized Lucifer was one-hundred-percent serious about making the perfect flower crown. He grabbed the last crown the archangel had completed —it was made with orange spray roses— and placed it on his head. “I don’t know what makes a flower crown perfect, but the fact that you made it is enough for me, Lu.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “You’re just saying that because you are a big softie.”

“That’s true.” The law book was closed and placed to the side, and Sam effortlessly picked his husband up by the waist. “C'mere.”

Making himself comfortable on Sam’s lap, Lucifer grumbled, “I miss when I was way stronger than you.”

Sam raised his eyebrow. “Do you, really?” he asked in his deepest, kingliest voice.

A faint blush appeared on the Morningstar’s cheeks. “Shut your face.”

“What a rude little- okay, no, I’m too tired to do this right now.” The Boyking pressed his head against the tree trunk and let his hands drop with a sigh. “Too tired…”

Lucifer burst out laughing, and Sam loved it. It wasn’t the sarcastic chuckle that happened almost every day, or the controlled giggle Sam was managing to cause more often. It was the rare laugh, uncontrolled and happy. “You… you can’t get me all… all winded up… a-and then…” Lucifer snorted when his laughter prevented him from talking. As he stared at the love of his life, Sam swore the whole place grew brighter. Maybe it really did. Maybe the little stars that had been created from Lucifer’s Grace were responding to his mirth.

The laughter slowly died down, and Lucifer caught Sam staring.

“What? Did I smudge my eyeliner or something?”

“Nah, I’m just stupidly happy.” Sam rubbed circles on the archangel’s hip. He had this feeling in his chest, a feeling of bubbling, tickling joy, like a balloon about to burst. He skimmed his hands over Lucifer’s ribs, wanting him to feel at least another sort of tickles and giddiness.

“Cut it out!” Lucifer whined as he squirmed.

“Don’t want to.”

As much as Lucifer tried to stay upright while he was assaulted, he ended up sliding off Sam’s lap and landing on his back. Sam didn’t give him a second to breathe; the King was on him immediately and the tickling continued. The flower crown almost fell off Sam’s head, but it somehow stayed on. Crooked, but on. At some point, Sam began adding kisses to the mix, sprinkling them all over Lucifer’s throat and collarbone. The tickles gradually stopped until only the kissing remained. Lucifer finally relaxed and played with a lock of Sam’s hair. “Strange place to be happy,” he sighed.

“Your garden?” Sam asked between kisses.

“Hell. I know you didn’t want this life.”

The Winchester slid down until his head was pillowed on Lucifer’s stomach, careful not to crush the roses on his crown. “I didn’t want Azazel to twist me into his perfect Boyking. I didn’t want to be one of the monsters Dean and I hunt. I didn’t want to be cruel and heartless. This is different. I like this, and I’m pretty sure I like you, too.”

“Thank goodness for that. It’s good news that you like me, especially considering that we’re married and all.”

Sam pinched his husband’s tummy. “You know what I mean. I love you. You keep me pure.”

“You keep me pure, too.” Lucifer tried to pull Sam up for a kiss that would seal his words, but the King didn’t budge.

“Too tired…” Sam joked, burying his face in Lucifer’s stomach so he wouldn’t see the smile tugging at his lips.

“Even for just a little kiss?”

“Yep. Too tired.”

Lucifer pursed his lips, almost achieving the bitchiness of Sam’s infamous bitchfaces. “You’re working yourself to… not death because you are immortal, but you get my point.”

“I’m being a good king.”

“And a neglecting husband,” Lucifer sighed and tossed his head to the side.

“Drama queen.” Sam crawled up Lucifer’s body until their lips met. The kiss was absolutely delicious. Sam’s weariness vanished as he slid his tongue over Lucifer’s bottom lip. The archangel retaliated with teasing nips that felt like a challenge. A King should never let challenges like that slide by with impunity…

Unfortunately, right when Sam was about to warn Lucifer about his insolence, someone cleared their throat behind him. “Sir,” the demon began hesitantly, “your next appointment is here. Would you like me to dismiss her?”

It took a lot from Sam not to start cursing everything and everyone. “No. She’s here to brief me on this month’s Oceania deals.” He gave Lucifer a sad look. “It’s important, angel, I-”

Lucifer cut him short. “I get it. Go.”

Sam nodded and stood up. He put his suit jacket back on, buttoned up his shirt, and tightened his tie. His face became expressionless and impassible. Sammy the Big Softie was being tucked away and the King that made Hell tremble and bow was coming back. With one last smile for his husband, Sam made his way out of the garden, his demon minion scurrying behind him.

While they were still in his line of sight, Lucifer heard the demon say, “Sir, if I may… you… you have a… a…” He shyly pointed at Sam’s head.

“Yes, I do,” was the cool reply. “My husband made it. Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful, sir,” the demon mumbled.

“Yes, it is. I told him so myself.”

[wholockeddruid-writes]

A/N: @heavenspariah​ made a really good drawing with this idea:

au where luci took a lot of sam’s madness from him before he even left the cage (s7) bc he knew sam would die instantly if he didn’t and the brothers release him in s11 to help with the darkness and find mad!lucifer

and I decided I was going to write a fic based on it and here it is *jazz hands*

“You fell asleep in my car; I drove the whole time, but that’s okay I’ll just avoid the holes so you sleep fine…”

“Okay, he’s definitely making this one up,” Dean muttered. “That can’t be a real song.”

The devil was singing again. He was surprisingly good at it. His voice reached the lowest and highest notes with smooth ease. It sounded human enough, but the Winchesters were certain that there was something angelic about it, that his vessel’s vocal chords had nothing to do with it. They watched him from the door as he sang and pasted magazine clippings on the wall to the right of his bed.

“You fell asleep in my car…” Lucifer repeated the odd verse, making the accents and pauses more pronounced. He waved his left hand, the one holding the glue, to the beat of the song while he selected his next clipping from the pile. He had started this little project when Sam had mentioned that newspaper clippings were great help during an investigation to track down a powerful supernatural force like, for a completely random example, the Darkness. Somewhere in Lucifer’s mind, “newspaper clippings” had transformed into “magazine clippings”, and “research” had become “making a colorful mural with things I can find in a magazine”.

Keep reading

[wholockeddruid-writes]

A/N: @heavenspariah​ made a really good drawing with this idea:

au where luci took a lot of sam’s madness from him before he even left the cage (s7) bc he knew sam would die instantly if he didn’t and the brothers release him in s11 to help with the darkness and find mad!lucifer

and I decided I was going to write a fic based on it and here it is *jazz hands*

"You fell asleep in my car; I drove the whole time, but that's okay I'll just avoid the holes so you sleep fine..."

"Okay, he's definitely making this one up," Dean muttered. "That can't be a real song."

The devil was singing again. He was surprisingly good at it. His voice reached the lowest and highest notes with smooth ease. It sounded human enough, but the Winchesters were certain that there was something angelic about it, that his vessel's vocal chords had nothing to do with it. They watched him from the door as he sang and pasted magazine clippings on the wall to the right of his bed.

"You fell asleep in my car..." Lucifer repeated the odd verse, making the accents and pauses more pronounced. He waved his left hand, the one holding the glue, to the beat of the song while he selected his next clipping from the pile. He had started this little project when Sam had mentioned that newspaper clippings were great help during an investigation to track down a powerful supernatural force like, for a completely random example, the Darkness. Somewhere in Lucifer's mind, "newspaper clippings" had transformed into "magazine clippings", and "research" had become "making a colorful mural with things I can find in a magazine".

When things like this one happened, Sam's need to know what happened in the Cage grew. He had always thought there was something fishy about how easily he had gotten his soul back, and those doubts were returning with full force now. From what Dean had told him, his brother had been terrified of what would happen when Sam got his soul, along with his memories, back. Death had recovered Sam's soul and placed it back in him, as he had agreed to do. When Dean asked him what would happen when Sam remembered what the Cage was like, Death had answered that the soul didn't have any memories of Hell. He didn't explain why and how the memories had been erased. Cryptic bastard. The brothers didn't give this too much importance; it was better if Sam didn't remember. They didn't even try to speculate what had happened in the Cage.

Until now.

Lucifer had snapped. Somewhere along the six years since the last time they saw him, the archangel had finally snapped. He had gone completely bonkers. For some reason, he had survived eons in Hell before his '09 release, but hadn't withstood the six years after that. It's not that he had been completely sane during the Apocalypse, but what the Winchesters were seeing right now was a whole new level of cuckoo. The only reason they had freed him from the Cage was to get some useful help against the Darkness.

This wasn't useful.

The singing, crafting archangel who didn't seem to be bothered by his psycho aunt was definitely not useful nor a threat to anyone. Nevertheless, they had tied him to the bed by the foot with a sturdy, well-warded chain, just in case. The fact that Lucifer had a bed to be tied to and a bedroom of his own to ravage with art projects was a bit of a "Sympathy for the Devil" sort of act that the Winchesters refused to acknowledge. The fact that they didn't throw his ass back into the Cage when they realized he was useless was another act of that sort. Dean was sure Sam had started this "he's really crazy and not in the murderous way so we should be nice" campaign. Because of this, he had decided that Sam should be the one that tried to get as much information about the Darkness from Lucifer as possible.

Well, that was one reason. The other reason was that Lucifer really, really loved talking to Sam.

Dean nodded towards the singing archangel. "Go on, then," he mouthed.

Sam answered with a bitchface. Lucifer wasn't really keen on sharing information that wasn't in some way related to art or goats. He could really use his brother's help on this one, but nooooo. Dean had to be a jerk about it. Dean flipped him off and walked away. Gee, thanks. The younger hunter knocked hesitantly on the already open door.

"It's very pointless to knock feigning politeness when you have been standing at my door for a while, watching me and talking about me behind my back." Yup, the sass was still there. Sam's theory was that Lucifer off his rocker couldn't decide if he wanted to pretend that nothing had gone wrong with his life and he was still a happy little angel or if he should be the grumpy devil Sam had met six years ago. The result was a very confusing personality.

"We were just-"

Lucifer cut his sentence short with a raised eyebrow. When Sam gave up on making excuses and sat down on the edge of the bed, Lucifer returned his attention to figuring out where he wanted to place the potted cactus. The pot had to touch the section with all the other browns, of course, but he didn't know if he wanted the cactus with the greens or on top of the oranges for contrast... "Did you know that the old man in American Gothic is based on the artist's dentist?"

No I didn't, and I honestly didn't need to know, Sam thought. Obviously, Lucifer heard his thoughts. The archangel didn't know if they were thoughts or words, but either way he thought that Sam was being quite rude. He forgave him instantly, of course.

Lucifer decided he didn't want to mural anymore. He placed the bottle of glue and the cactus clipping on his nightstand as he sang the last notes of Tear in My Heart and sat down on the bed. The angel pulled his legs up to his chest and confessed with a sigh, "I know you really need my help with Aunty Amara..." Sam perked up. Never before had Lucifer talked about the Darkness without enough prompting. The archangel looked at his bare feet, wiggling his toes. "I know you need me," he continued, "but I don't think I could fight anyone right now. I'm not really interested, to be honest. I like being here. It's peaceful." He glanced at his mural fondly. "If you really need help, you should ask someone else. Like Gabriel," he suggested with a lopsided grin.

Sam inched closer to the devil, his interest piqued. "Gabriel? He's alive? Do you know where he is?"

Lucifer gave him an admonishing look. "Why are you asking for his whereabouts, kiddo? Your head is in the clouds. I know his vessel's small, but not that small, and he hasn't exactly been quiet lately." The archangel regarded a chair in the opposite corner with annoyance. "All he does is nag and bully me."

Sam followed Lucifer's gaze to the empty chair. Seeing nothing, he flicked his eyes back to the archangel, who was shooting daggers at the poor piece of furniture. "So... um... He's..." Sam stammered while thinking, Oh, God, do I tell him or do I play along?

"He's a pain in my ass, that's what he is. Maybe if you busy him with a Darkness-related task he'll leave me alone."

Fuck, I have to tell him. Sam rubbed his jaw. "Listen, Lucifer, Gabriel is- he's- he's not- uh... can you... Can you stop staring at me like that?"

Lucifer's eyes were locked on Sam's face. He wasn't blinking, either, and that made it creepier. "You have a beautiful soul," he breathed reverently. Great, now that Sam knew that he was looking straight into his soul, it was even creepier.

The hunter squirmed. "Uh, thanks. About Gabriel-"

Lucifer suddenly leaped out of the bed. "Don't move!" he ordered, and Sam obeyed, more out of surprise than anything else. The fallen angel hurried around the bed, heading towards the wall on the left side, where another art project awaited. This part of the wall was decorated with several sketches and drawings made with the colorful pieces of chalk Sam had gotten for him (and yeah, maybe the youngest Winchester was going a bit too far with his kindness for the devil, but he couldn't help himself). It was a cheap set of twelve color chalks, but Lucifer managed to make some pretty nice things with them.

Lucifer sat down on the floor, stretching his right leg to the side so the chain attached to it wouldn't get in his way, and opened his box of chalks. He took out the black chalk, the one he used for outlines, and tapped it against his lips as he inspected his workspace. When he made up his mind on what he wanted to draw, he began working. A curve, a slope, a dip. Sam kept trying to look over the angel's shoulder and see what he was doing, but Lucifer was moving too much.

Sam finally got a clear view of the picture when Lucifer finished tracing the outline with his black chalk and walked towards the hunter, brown chalk in hand, to compare the chalk's color with Sam's hair.

"That's... That's..." Sam began as he stared at the familiar face drawn on the wall.

"That's you," Lucifer confirmed. He was frowning because the browns didn't match, and that was quite upsetting. The angel found a small piece of paper lying around and he drew a quick circle with his brown chalk on it. Then, he used his black chalk to add hints of black to the brown circle and compared the mixture to Sam's hair once again. "That's more like it." Satisfied with his discovery, he returned to his place on the floor and kept on drawing.

Sam couldn't keep his eyes off Lucifer while he drew. The archangel's hand was fast and precise. Occasionally, he would mutter to himself. There was a particularly large amount of muttering when he couldn't get the right color for Sam's skin, no matter how many chalks he used in the mix. The final result was reached by accepting that that's the closest he was going to get rather than actually being happy with said result. Lucifer even added shading when he was done coloring, giving the picture a more realistic appearance.

"It's done."

"It's great," Sam praised Lucifer. "Beautiful."

"Doesn't beat the original," the angel answered slyly, glancing at the human sitting on the bed. There was something unsettling about the emptiness in his blue eyes. After Sam's small laugh, there was silence. It felt like comfortable silence until Lucifer's shoulders drooped, his arms fell limp at his sides, and the chalks slipped away from his hand. "I know he's not real," he whispered. "I'm sorry that I offered him as someone who could help you, but I- I get confused sometimes. Forget who's here and who's not. I sometimes believe again that he's real and say stupid shit."

Sam nodded hesitantly. He didn't know what to do or say. It must be awful, he thought, to hallucinate someone who you feel guilty about and start getting confused with what's real and what's not.

Lucifer stood up, brushing chalk dust off his jeans and white T-shirt. "Go back to your books, Sam Winchester," he said without looking at Sam. "You'll find more answers there than you will ever find with me."

"Okay," Sam replied quietly. "I will. Thanks for trying and for the picture."

Lucifer still refused to meet his eye. He didn't know why Sam had thanked him for trying. He hadn't tried. He couldn't do anything. He was useless. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam reach towards the archangel as if he wanted to turn him around. He didn't, though, probably because he remembered that Lucifer was still weirded out by skin-to-skin contact. The hunter's hand dropped and he left the room.

Oh, well.

Lucifer let out a defeated sigh and sat down on his bed.

"Anything new?"

"Nope."

"C'mon, Sammy, did you even try?"

"Yes, Dean, I tried, just-"

"Just not hard enough."

"Dean, in his condition, he'd probably tell us to fight the Darkness with pink elephants. I don't think he remembers for certain how to beat her."

"You'll see how he does remember. I'm going to go talk to him."

"No punching."

"No punching or any sort of violence. I promise. Just a regular guy and a nut job talking about how to kill his aunt."

The devil was sitting cross-legged on his bed with his eyes closed, like he was meditating or something. And he was singing again. Well, humming, actually.

"Knock, knock, can we talk?" Dean said, interrupting the song.

Lucifer opened his eyes and smiled. The smile, as always, didn't reach his eyes. "Michael! Come in!" No matter how many times Dean tried to correct him, Lucifer still stubbornly believed he was Commander Asshat himself.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Listen, Lucifer, I need answers. I don't care if you're too mopey to give me some. I want to save the Earth and I want to do it sooner rather than- is that Sammy?" Dean didn't mean to get sidetracked, but Holy Pozole and Guacamole, that was a pretty damn good drawing. And it was made with fucking chalk.

The Morningstar beamed when Dean noticed his work. "Yes it is, and I made it. Do you like it?"

"It's-" Dean really didn't want to compliment the devil. "It's okay, I guess." Okay his ass. In the drawing, Sam was smiling, and fuck Lucifer and fuck his talent, he had drawn the dimples.

"You love it," Lucifer teased. standing up, he picked up a red chalk from the floor and began drawing a red circle around Sammy's head. "Needs a background, though." As his right hand ran the chalk against the wall, he rubbed his left hand over the circle to give it a softer, cloud-like look.

"Why red?" Dean inquired. Dammit, he was getting to distracted by this.

"Strength. Passion. Warmth. Love. Sam. Corn chip?"

"Red is a symbol of corn chips?!"

Lucifer giggled. "No, there's a bag of corn chips on my nightstand, under the magazine clippings. Want one?"

Dean, in fact, wanted corn chips and helped himself to a handful while muttering, "Freaking nut job."

"Isn't it nice that he's safe?" Lucifer asked in an awestruck voice.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked back with his mouth full.

"Sam. He's safe. After I," Lucifer stopped drawing to make a wide fanning motion towards himself, "absorbed it all. All the nasties."

"Absorbed the nasties?"

"Yes, Mika, try to keep up. I knew that when Sam got his soul back, all of the memories of his fucked up times in the Cage were going to destroy him. Even if he and Dean found a way to somehow block them, the block wouldn't last and Sam's brain would turn into pudding. I didn't want Sam's brain to turn into pudding, so I took his memories for good, and it worked! Sam's brain is still okay! The bad news is that I didn't know that absorbing the memories and potential madness would make me mad, but who cares. Sam's safe and I'm mad as a goat. The whole crazy package, complete with two imaginary brothers." He gestured at Dean and an empty chair in a corner. Dean didn't even want to ask.

"You did that?"

"Of course I did. It's a bit strange of you to be so surprised after all the whining you did in the Cage about me being «too overprotective and strangely attached to my vessel.»" Lucifer put down his red chalk and picked up the blue one. He ran his thumb over the smooth surface as he inspected the drawing. He never added any blue, though. He just stood there, looking at his work, and singing. "If I could begin to be half of what you think of me, I could do about anything. I could even learn how to love..."

Rolling his eyes, Dean headed out and towards the kitchen. "The attention span of a fucking goldfish," he grumbled.

[wholockeddruid-writes]

anonymous asked:

hi, could i request a destial prompt? basically castiel has panic-induced asthma and something scares him enough to set it off, so sweet &a caring bf dean helps him through it. it's ok it u don't want to do it thanks tho cc:

A/N: Sorry I took so long but I hope you enjoy it :3

They had been dating for months. Months, and Castiel had never mentioned it. Not once. Dean was upset.

Upset and worried.

More worried than upset.

Nothing about the way their afternoon started warned the Winchester boy about what was going to go down in just a few hours.

"I have some honey that I bought at the farmer's market this weekend that I need you to try on toast," Cas said. They were walking to his house from school, hand in hand. "It's delicious, I promise."

Dean liked honey, and even though he didn't really trust the farmer's market (if Sammy liked it then surely there was something wrong with it), he liked Cas a thousand times more. For Cas, he would eat a rock. "If you say so, I believe so." Dean pulled Cas towards him and peck his cheek. "My bee nerd."

Castiel blushed. "Shut up," he mumbled.

When they arrived at the Novak house, they installed themselves on the living room sofa. It was their favorite spot to hang out and study. The garden was too unkempt and its only bench was rotting and covered with weeds. Cas's room was comfortable enough, but its curse was that siblings (i.e. Gabriel) would constantly stop by and tease Cas with phrases like, "Remember, kids, use a condom," or, "At least wait until Dad leaves the house, Casio, you naughty thing." The kitchen was nice for snacks, but it wasn't as cozy as the living room, which wasn't too far away from the kitchen anyway so they could still easily get munchies.

Cas placed the tray on the coffee table. Dean was lounging on the couch, watching him. He noticed that the black-haired teen stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth when he balanced things like a tray with a jar of honey, a plate with four pieces of toast, and a knife. Cute. "Here you go. Eat up." As Dean helped himself to a slice of toast with honey, Cas rummaged his backpack for his Geography textbook. When he finally found it, he let the backpack drop to the floor. Some books spilled out, including a red and yellow one that caught Dean's eye.

"Castiel Novak, please tell me this bookmark is on the wrong page and you are not barely starting chapter two."

Cas cocked his head in that very particular way of his and blinked. "Oh... that. I had forgotten about it."

Dean shook the book under his boyfriend's nose. "The test is in three days, man! Plus, how can you just forget about it after reading this?" He opened the book one page before the spot where Cas's bookmark rested. "«Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time,»" he recited. "Doesn't that make you want to read the whole thing?"

Cas couldn't help but smile. "My Vonnegut nerd," he said fondly.

"Oh, shut up," Dean huffed. He threw the book at Cas, finished spreading honey on his toast, and ate the whole thing in two bite.

Cas caught the book, laughing, and sat down. "Maybe you can help me like it just like I helped you like Biology."

Dean shook his head. "No, I tolerate Biology now. Don't stretch it, angel."

See? It was just a regular afternoon. How was Dean supposed to know he was about to be scared shitless for his boyfriend?

It started when Dean heard the front door open. Whoever opened it made sure the door opened and closed as quietly as possible. Barely a click-creak-click in the quiet house. It was six o'clock, way too early for someone to be sneaking in after a party (unless Balthazar was sneaking in after a party that had started yesterday). Curious, Dean glanced up. No one was walking out of the tiny hallway that went from the door to the living room, but the blond could see a shadow.

"Hello?" Cas had apparently noticed, too, and was calling out to the mysterious silhouette.

The shadow slowly became a man. He was tall, blond, wrapped in black clothes, rocking back and forth on his heels, and not supposed to be here. "Just dropped by for a few things I left behind, 'kay?" he drawled.

Dean felt Cas tense next to him. "You said you would never return," his boyfriend said with a small voice.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "I did, but I need to get my shit. It's probably still in my room, so if you'll excuse me-"

"Actually it would be in the storage room because that's what your room has become, but it's not there because it's in the trash, where it belongs." The fact that Gabriel's voice was unusually devoid of mirth made the whole situation more tense. The young man was standing at the top of the stairs that led to the second floor, where the bedrooms were.

"You threw them out?" Lucifer growled dangerously. Cas squeezed Dean's thigh. Without taking his eyes off the two older brothers, Dean inched closer to his boyfriend and wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders.

"Nope, he did." Gabriel nodded towards the first door to his left. Michael's bedroom.

Lucifer stormed up the stairs and past Gabriel. He banged on Michael's door with enough force to make the sturdy wood shake. "Open up, you bastard! You had no right to touch my things, you son of a bitch! There was important stuff among them, okay?!"

The door swung open. "Then maybe you shouldn't have left them behind after you flipped your entire family the bird," Michael deadpanned.

Lucifer pushed his oldest brother to the side to get into the bedroom. The door slammed behind him. Gabriel's jaw tightened and he went back to his room without acknowledging Dean and Castiel's presence. The house was almost as quiet as before except for the muffled screams coming from Michael's bedroom.

Poor Cas, Dean thought. The other boy had confided in him that every single fight that broke within his family made him nervous, especially when they involved Lucifer. The Novak black sheep was... unstable, to say the least. Dean had once overheard his parents discussing Lucifer. "Therapy, that's what that boy needs," Mary had said. "He was closer to his mother than any other of his siblings. She was the one who taught him how to paint. And then he lost her, and he practically lost his father, too. Chuck is too harsh on that boy. He sees too much of her in him." Dean didn't care if Lucifer ended up getting therapy or moving to the other side of the country. All he wanted was Cas to be safe from him.

Cas was slapping his thigh insistently.

"Angel, what's the m-?"

Castiel flapped his hands frantically. He was taking short, wheezing breaths, but his chest wasn't rising and falling the way it should.

Dean felt his mouth go dry. "Cas, baby, what's wrong? What can I do? How can I help?"

Cas tried to speak but only a rough, gasping sound escaped his lips. When explaining verbally failed, he pointed at his backpack. Dean launched himself towards the bag and opened the main zipper. Shaking his head, Cas softly kicked Dean's side to get his attention.

"What? What am I looking for?" Cas mimicked using his inhaler. "An inhaler? Why do you have- not the time, sorry. Where is it?"

Castiel toed his backpack's front pocket. Quick as a flash, Dean unzipped it and dug in. It was a small pocket, but Castiel always left his inhaler hidden under a packet of gum and his old headphones so no one would see it. The moment Dean's hand emerged holding the blue tube, he snatched it and put it to his lips.

Push.

Breathe.

Hold.

Cas relaxed as the medicine filled his lungs. "Thank you, Dean," he said. His voice was rougher than usual.

"Thank yourself," Dean snapped. "You've got some explaining to do."

The look in Castiel's blue eyes was pure guilt. "I-I used to have terrible asthma when I was a kid," he explained. "I got better when I grew up, but sometimes, when I'm frightened, it comes back."

"And you got scared when Lucifer walked in and you didn't know what he was going to do."

"Exactly." Cas paused. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Don't apologize, you doofus. I'm not mad at you. I just got scared because I didn't know what was going on and I thought I was going to lose you, baby. I was really worried." The Winchester cupped his boyfriend's cheek and pressed their foreheads together. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you need anything, baby?"

"A kiss would be nice." Grinning, Dean complied. After the kiss, the blond returned to his place in the couch and let Cas crawl onto his lap, chasing after his lips. Dean made sure to stop the slow and molten kisses every now and then to make sure that Cas was breathing normally. This annoyed Cas to Hell and back.

A dull thud, followed by a muffled curse, brought them back to reality. Lucifer would be out soon, pissed and bordering on psychotic. Michael, too, would be snappy and dangerous in his own way, and Dean didn't want to even think about Mr. Novak's mood once he got home and his eldest son told him what had happened.

"Hey," he whispered against Castiel's raven hair. The older teen had curled up against Dean's chest. "Wanna go to the Roadhouse? Jo's working double shifts tonight so we can go get on her nerves and make her afternoon even worse."

"Sounds nice," Cas mumbled. He untangled himself from Dean's lap and stood up. "I'm going to leave Gabe a note on top of his Jumbo bag of M&Ms."

As his boyfriend left the note, Dean packed his things and grabbed the inhaler. When Cas returned from the kitchen, he took the brunet's hand and slammed the inhaler on his palm. "You're taking this with you."

Cas sighed, "Dean, I don't need it. I keep it in my backpack so I'll have it at school, but I never take it anywhere else."

"I'm pretty sure you should have it with you at all times. You can't know when you might get another scare."

Cas melted under Dean's concerned green eyes. He put the inhaler in the pocket of his hoodie with an eye roll. "There. You win. You're starting to sound like Gabriel when he gets serious. Or like Balthazar, when he's sober. Or like Hannah, every single day."

"At least you are listening to one of us." Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel's waist and began leading him out of the house.

"I don't think I'll ever get another scare, though," Cas mused. "Not now that I know that have a strong and wonderful boyfriend that takes care of me and protects me."

Dean nosed his cheek. "Nice try, idiot, but you're still keeping that inhaler with you no matter where you go."

Cas groaned. "But I flattered you and showered you with compliments!"

Dean laughed. "You can keep doing that if you want. I don't mind."

The Novak boy dug his elbow into his boyfriend's ribs. "You're a dick."

[wholockeddruid-writes]

Dean and Lucifer anon here; I loved it and it was oerfect and much much thanks!

Anytime anon 😘😘

[wholockeddruid-writes]

anonymous asked:

Sam trying to get Dean and Lucifer to get along, because his brother and his lover are constantly butting heads and getting into arguments and it's stressing him out, and eventually he realizes, this is just how the two of them show that they /are/ getting along.

A/N: I hope you like it, anon :D

"Oh, look. The biggest piece of crap in the world made its way to our kitchen." Dean slammed his mug on the table and pulled out his chair, making sure its legs screeched loudly against the tiled floor.

Lucifer didn't even look up from his book. "Dean, you don't have to announce your entrance, you know," he replied calmly. "You made your way to the kitchen. Congratulations. There's no need to boast."

Lucifer had verbally turned the tables, but Dean was ready to physically grab the table and slam it on top of the archangel's head. "Listen here, you boatload of shit-"

"Morning, Dean," Sam greeted, a little too sharply. Dean shut his mouth and began pouring cereal into his bowl. "Hey, Luce." Lucifer put his book down and beamed at Sam. Laughing, the younger hunter pulled out the spoon hanging from Lucifer's mouth and bent down to place a quick kiss on his nose. "Did you even remember that this," he returned the spoon to the angel's bowl, "was still in your mouth or did you forget altogether that you were having breakfast?" Sam teased.

"Who needs breakfast, anyway?" Lucifer pouted.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Spoiler alert: you do. I mean, I would let you starve, but Mr. Heart of Gold here treats you like a rescued puppy. At least a puppy would be thankful that it got rescued and not complain about it."

"I did not need rescuing! I was doing fine on my own!"

"Fine my ass! You had no idea how to be human! You were close to death before Sam welcomed you into our bunker, where, I remind you, you made yourself at home in less than a day. By now, I would've kicked you out if Sam hadn't had the wonderful idea of welcoming you into his bed, too."

As the argument continued, Sam sighed and made his way to the coffee pot. It was, indeed, a miracle that Dean hadn't kicked Lucifer out of the bunker yet. He was quite thankful for that, but he'd be even more thankful if they tried to get along. Sam was always the one explaining to Dean that Lucifer was doing his best to adapt and that the archangel wasn't all evil and death and destruction. He was the one that told Lucifer that Dean was having a rough time trusting him, but that it would pass. On both sides, he always got gruff "I know"s as a reply, but he had never seen them trying to approach the other in a civil manner. He loved his brother dearly, and a small feeling in his gut told him he was close to falling for Lucifer, so nothing would make him happier than the two of them talking without making death threats of any sort.

"I'm going to go talk to Cas, an angel who knows some manners." Dean picked up his breakfast and walked out of the kitchen.

Ah, Castiel. Sam still didn't understand Cas's point of view on all of the arguing. At first, Sam had thought he was going to side with Dean. This had changed when Castiel had started to warm up to his brother. The fallen angels had formed a friendly bond over their similar situations, and Sam thought this meant that Cas would take a stance similar to Sam's and would try to convince either party to get along. That didn't happen. What Cas did was act as if the arguments weren't there. When a spat broke out between Lucifer and Dean near Cas, the black haired angel appeared unbothered by its hostile nature. What puzzled Sam even more was the odd expression on Castiel's face whenever this happened. He couldn't figure out what Cas was feeling, and it stressed him out almost as much as the argument itself.

"Sam?" A cold nose was pressed against his neck.

"Hm?"

"Penny for your thoughts?" Lucifer asked.

Sam finished pouring his coffee, took a sip, and turned around, placing his free hand on the archangel's hip. "You look beautiful today; coffee tastes like toilet water; my feet are getting cold; I should check on my laptop if there's a case nearby. Those thoughts?"

Lucifer toed his hunter's bare feet. "Not those thoughts. The ones that were bothering you. And I've told you you shouldn't go around barefoot during the winter."

"I don't like sleeping with socks. I'm going to finish my coffee and then I'm going to take a shower, in case you want to join."

"I'd love that, but you didn't answer my question."

Sam kissed Lucifer's forehead. "Nothing's bothering me."

There was a case nearby. A rawhead. It didn't seem like a difficult case that would need all four of them, but they all went anyway. It was going to be good practice and a good way to blow off some steam. All the crap they'd been dealing with lately called for a good, old-fashioned monster hunt to soothe their nerves.

Everything went well until God's brightest angel was knocked out by a large piece of wood.

After being thrown off track by a couple of false hints and a family denying that they had a basement, they tracked the rawhead to its hiding place: an old tornado shelter that had been abandoned and forgotten. Tasers in hand, they went down the stairs. Lucifer went first, then Dean, then Cas, and finally Sam. Sam, who was in charge of the rearguard, was shining his flashlight through the broken steps of the shelter to make sure the rawhead wasn't hiding there when he heard the crack. He turned around just in time to see his boyfriend fly across the room and hit the opposite wall. Lucifer crumbled to the ground.

Mouth twisted with anger, Sam sprinted towards the rawhead. It swung the wooden beam it was holding, but Sam ducked on time. Before it could strike again, the hunter pounced. The rawhead lost its balance and landed on his back with Sam on top of him. After giving it a well-deserved punch on its face just for the hell of it, Sam struck him with his taser right on the chest. It was dead in a matter of seconds. Sam stood up to check on his angelic lover, and he realized Dean had beat him to it.

"Hey. Earth to stupid. Wake up." Dean snapped his fingers in front of Lucifer's face. When this didn't work, he slapped his cheek not so gently. "Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!"

Lucifer groaned. "Who are you calling stupid, stupid?" Rubbing his neck, he sat up. "I almost had him. I just didn't realize he was going to rip a fucking beam out of the ceiling or that it was going to hurt so much."

"It's a piece of wood, dumbass. Why the hell wouldn't it hurt?" Dean snapped. "You're lucky we were here. I'm telling you, I don't know how you survived Graceless on your own. You're a fucking mess."

"Dean," Sam warned. He turned to Cas for backup, but surprise, surprise! Castiel was watching the scene with that stupid smile of his that Sam couldn't figure out and with no intentions of intervening.

"You're the fucking mess," Lucifer growled. "Maybe you should just leave me on my own and make bets on how long I'll last. It would be something fun to do in your incredibly boring life, don't you think?"

Sam was definitely going to jump his brother if he accepted that challenge, which was probably what he was about to- "Except I wouldn't do that because you're family, fuckface. I think the blow killed your last brain cells. We should hold a funeral for them."

Realization dawned on Sam like a bucketful of cold water. It came with that word, that six-lettered word that Dean never threw around like it meant nothing. Family.

Lucifer laughed. "Fuckface? Running out of words to paste together and use as insults, are we, Dean-o?" He put his hand up and waved it in front of Dean. "Help me up, will you?"

With a firm grip on Lucifer's arm, Dean pulled him to his feet. "Up you go, Satan, you big baby." Lucifer wobbled after letting go of Dean, so the hunter put his hand on his shoulders. "Steady. It was a nasty hit. You need to rest."

Yup. He, Sam Winchester, was an idiot.

"I don't wanna rest."

"It's not a question, you dick." Dean gave Lucifer a small shove, demonstrating that he was back to his usual rude self. Lucifer shoved him back.

Sam's eyes met Cas's. The angel just shrugged. With his newfound enlightenment, Sam could finally decipher what that shrug and those blue eyes were telling him. Our brothers have strange ways of showing affection, don't you think? Sam could only agree.

"Let's get moving," Dean instructed. "I want to have a cold beer in my hand in less than an hour."

The small team moved out of the shelter into the night, past the sleeping family's house —they would never realize what had been done to protect them— and into the Impala. After some grumbling from some and a victorious grin from Cas, Dean took the driver's seat with Cas riding shotgun. Sam and Lucifer went in the back. Sam placed his hand on Lucifer's thigh, and the archangel rested his head against the hunter's shoulder. A warning look from Dean through the rear view mirror told them they better not try anything else.

"Okay, I'm making a better offer," Lucifer said softly.

Sam frowned. "Huh?"

Lucifer smirked. "A dollar for your thoughts. How's that?"

Sam laughed and ducked his head. "Nothing's bothering me," he replied. Not anymore. The fallen angel didn't enjoy not being able to look at his boyfriend's face, so he slid off his shoulder and laid down with his head on Sam's lap. Sam seemed amused by this. Dean probably wasn't. "Luce, I mean it. I'm okay."

Lucifer was reluctant to accept this, but after Sam smiled at him, he nodded slowly. "I believe you." He tucked a lock of Sam's hair behind his ear. Before he could remove his hand from the hunter's face, Sam placed a soft kiss on his wrist. Lucifer decided he didn't want to move his hand anymore. What he did want were more kisses.

"You're getting too damn cuddly back there," Dean grumbled, breaking the spell.

Pissed at the interruption of his gooey couple moment, Lucifer sat up and glared at the eldest hunter. "I'm sorry, but was my undying love for your brother bothering you?"

"It's not the undying love crap that was bothering me. I just didn't want you to blow my baby brother in the backseat of my car while I'm driving, okay?"

"Not all demonstrations of love have to be sexual, you ape."

"Your head was nowhere to be seen and possibly in the general area of his groin. What the hell was I supposed to think, huh?! Or did you want me to wait till I heard slurping noises before stopping you?"

Sam grimaced. "Oh, c'mon, Dean. Did you have to get so graphic?"

Lucifer crossed his arms. "I do not slurp when I'm-"

Dean let go of the steering wheel to make "Whoa, whoa" gestures. "I'm going to stop you right there. Too much information, dude."

"Maybe you shouldn't make crass assumptions without expecting crass answers, dude," Lucifer shot back.

Sam knew it was going to be a while before the argument died down. He didn't care. He knew better now.