“You’re not my brother.”

One moment Castiel had been gazing out of the Impala’s window, calm and at ease as he watched trees, and houses, and the other cars that were passing by. The next, Dean broke their comfortable silence to drop a bomb that instantly made Castiel feel nauseous and cold, his head turning so fast that it made him feel dizzy as he looked at Dean. 

All of these feelings, emotions that should be entirely too human for an angel to even feel them, were an unpleasant reminder of how far Castiel had fallen for this man. Dean’s eyes weren’t on the road, they were already on Castiel, and as soon as he had Castiel’s attention, he elaborated.

“I said that to you, a while ago, that you were our brother. It was a lie, Cas.”

He remembered it, them having a similar moment in this very car, just the two of them. It was months ago, at a time when the end of the world had seemed closer than on the average day. And even though Castiel’s feelings for Dean undoubtedly crossed the line of ‘brothers’, in Dean Winchester’s book, that was the most important title that someone could earn. Which is why Castiel had tried to ignore his disappointment at the term, because it at least meant that Dean cared deeply about him, and the angel could appreciate that for what it was.

But to hear him taking it back now, supposedly because the world hadn’t ended and Dean had only said it because he’d wanted to make Castiel feel better at the end of everything… That was possibly more agonizing than being stabbed with an angel blade.

“I see. I understand, Dean.” Castiel replied, almost mechanically, attempting to turn off his emotions, not wanting to give away how much this was truly affecting him. “You assumed that we were all going to die soon, and you saying it was a source of comfort for me back then, even if it isn’t true.”

Dean slammed the brakes so abruptly that Castiel had to hold on to his seat, then parked the car at the side of the road.

Castiel stared at him, wide-eyed. Dean was staring right back, conflict in his eyes, indicating that he was fighting some kind of internal battle.

“Look man, if I’m not going to say it now, I will never say it.” Dean muttered after a brief silence, speaking to himself rather than addressing Castiel, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath before looking Castiel in the eye again. “You’re not my brother, because you’re… You’re something else.”

“Your friend.” Castiel supplied coolly, not sure where this conversation was going. “I hope you at least consider me a friend.”

“Yes, of course I do!” Dean blurted out loudly, his tone bordering on hysteric. “Don’t ever think that you’re not my friend, or not part of the family. Sam thinks of you as his brother, it’s just that for me you’re also… You’re it. For me… You’re it. ”

Castiel blinked at Dean, stunned. Dean blinked back, not moving either. Did Dean mean…

“Oh…” Castiel whispered, praying that he wasn’t reading this wrong. “You mean I’m… it?”

Dean nodded, looking nothing short of relieved, those eyes that Castiel admired lighting up. “Yeah…”

“So by it, you mean…” Castiel didn’t finish that thought, but timidly reached for Dean’s hand.

When Dean welcomed it, calloused fingers covering Castiel’s slender ones, the angel cracked a smile.

“I’m not your brother.” He stated, his eyes never straying, holding Dean’s.

With a gentle smile, Dean leaned closer, experimentally pecking Castiel on the lips once he was close enough. Castiel rewarded him with a peck of his own, right at the corner of Dean’s mouth.

Dean smirked, already crawling to Castiel’s side of the car.

“No, Cas. You’re not.”

Dear Diarist

High school AU where Dean finds a diary, and it just so happens to contain his name - and details of the mystery writer’s intense crush on him. But Dean’s also got a crush… it’s too much to hope for that the diarist is Castiel, right?

happy birthday to @destieldrabblesdaily!!! love you Shirley <3

(read here on AO3 if you prefer!)

Dear Diary,

I think I’m a ghost. No one ever seems to see me at all.

Dean frowned, staring down at the first page of the book that he’d found on top of the lockers, pushed back out of sight. He’d never have found it at all, if Sam hadn’t taken his Physics textbook and hidden it up there, just to show off that he was taller than Dean now.

I don’t talk to anyone and no one talks to me. It’s not that they don’t like me, it’s that they don’t seem to see me at all. I swear I really am a ghost.

Dean stopped reading, frowning. Was this supposed to be an actual diary, or some kind of story? He checked the front cover of the book for a name, a clue to whom it might belong - but found nothing. He opened it up again.

One day, I think I’m just going to stand up and walk right out of class. And no one will even look up. I’m going to walk out of class and never come back and not one person at this school will miss me. And I won’t miss any of them, either. Except…

Dean leaned back against his locker and flipped the page, his attention caught. He wondered briefly whether he should stop reading - but then he got a glimpse of the next few words, and his curiosity escalated out of control.

… there is one boy. Dean Winchester, his name is Dean Winchester. 

Keep reading

When Dean allowed himself to think about it, he always imagined it would take something major to shift the status quo between him and Cas. 

Their lives had never exactly been routine and their relationship never what could be called normal, but it was what it was. There were some things they just did not talk about, lines that they didn’t cross. If something were to give, Dean figured, it would be because of some drastic circumstances. Maybe another apocalypse, though god knew they’d gone through enough of those without anything changing.

In the end, it wasn’t anything so dramatic.

They were in the bunker’s library, returning books to the shelves after a heavy research session that had yielded no results. Cas was talking, airing his theories about what kind of monster they could be facing, with Dean contributing the occasional nod and grunt.

Their eyes met by accident. Any other person would have dropped their gaze but Cas held it, of course, and Dean found he didn’t want to look away either. Cas trailed off, clearing his throat with a self-conscious smile.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure we can handle it,” he concluded.

“We always do,” Dean added uselessly, mostly just to have something to say, because his tongue felt dry and heavy in his mouth.

They both fell silent, still not tearing their eyes away from each other, and Dean was suddenly struck by how short the distance between them was. Bridging it would be so easy; he wouldn’t have to step forward, really, just lean in. At the moment, he couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

Cas drew a sharp breath as Dean moved forward, such an achingly human gesture, and Dean was smiling by the time their lips met, heart beating a wild tattoo against his chest and palms sweating but his entire being overwhelmed by a sense of right

When Cas responded to the kiss it felt natural, and there was none of the hesitancy or uncertainty Dean would have expected. He kissed Dean like he’d been doing it forever. 

They parted, Dean stumbling just slightly backwards. Immediately, Cas’ hand was on the small of his back, steadying him.

“Um,” Dean said, licking his lips.

“Yes,” Cas agreed, and then he was diving in, their lips meeting for a second kiss.

Honey and Spaghetti

It’s @iddayidnight‘s birthday today and so I thought I would write her a little something. Happy Birthday, sweetheart! I hope you like first kisses and pining because that’s what you are about to get!

“What did you just say?” Derek tries to keep his breathing steady, looking at the plate of food he’s dropped on the floor. The plate of spaghetti. His mom is going to kill him.

Stiles doesn’t even hesitate as he asks again, bounding towards Derek to help him pick the pasta up, scooping it back onto the plate carelessly, before shrugging and eating a few strands. Derek grimaces.

Stiles’ motto in life is dirty food deserves a home too. Well, Derek’s never actually heard him say that, but he’s seen Stiles eat food off the cafeteria floor, okay? He’s pretty sure his gravestone will read ‘Stiles Stilinski: loving son and friend, died of unnecessary food poisoning due to his unsanitary habits’. Okay, so it probably won’t say that, but even so, the point still-

“I want you to kiss me.”


Keep reading

Awkwardly Personal Update Lol

Okay so everyone and their personal trainer is asking me about my weight lately haha. Some people have gotten used to me being a bit thinner than I used to but some are still surprised by it so I wanna update y'all on my progress haha. Last year some of you know I had bad anxiety in the beginning of the year and it caused strong appetite loss and vomiting periodically, like a few times a week whenever I had an anxiety attack. I didn’t even know what anxiety was until the beginning of last year, I had never experienced it. It took me a while to put it together but I realized it was all triggered by dating/hanging out with guys/feeling like anyone was trying to get close with me romantically/feeling like someone I had feelings for might abandon me, just to lay it all out there haha. Let’s just get REAL personal for a hot minute. It was really bad throughout January/February. In March I let go of this reckless guy I was talking to who was making me so anxious and things got better for a while. I had lost 10 pounds through this experience but gained it back by July. August-December I started boxing about 3 times a week, eating really healthy and gained a lot of muscle, I was in the best shape of my life. Then around Christmas time I started dating someone else and the anxiety came back, I guess I’ve been so closed off my whole life it’s just really hard for me to open my heart like that to people. I’ve managed to do it in friendships really well but romantically I had no experience for the longest time being emotionally close with someone so it just really takes a toll on me, the stress and fear. This time it was much better, I did lose my appetite for a few weeks on and off and still lost sleep and was worked up but first of all it was a much better situation with this guy so I wasn’t on an emotional roller coaster wondering if he liked me that day or not lol, second I only felt anxious about it for a few weeks and then it calmed down and I was able to just push through my fears and let him in. As time went by that fell apart and I realized it wasn’t as perfect as I thought, I’m definitely happier and a lot less stressed now but I’m still so glad I had that experience and got to see myself actually get close with someone and not burst into flames haha. Anyway those few weeks I lost probably five pounds and was back down to my lowest weight which wasn’t good but I didn’t dip below that and eventually came back up a bit and maintained there for a long time and that’s where I’m at now. I’m about 126 lbs, I used to be 132 and then when I lost weight I was 122. I also stopped the high carb vegan thing, though I do still eat a lot of fruit/raw foods whenever I can, because I was developing a protein deficiency as I found out recently, thank you Christina haha. I was constantly tired, I got sick for two months straight and couldn’t recover, my hair was starting to thin a bit and I lost SO much muscle. Mainly from the appetite loss but that’s also what caused my protein deficiency. I know you can get protein through vegan foods too lol but I chose to start eating meat again because it’s just a lot easier for me to maintain my weight and muscle that way. Respect to all my vegan and vegetarian followers tho lol. Anyway I recently went to counseling and the therapist told me the cure for my particular anxiety is exposure, which I kinda already realized but she helped me put it together how each time I date someone new and open my heart it’s a lot less stressful than the time before. Like I’m talking to someone right now and I was anxious about it for two weeks and then it subsided completely yaaayyyyy. No, I still have not had a boyfriend haha haven’t made it official with anyone but I’ve actually met people I would consider for that title which is huge cuz before I LITERALLY had not met anyone I would consider being in a relationship with before last year. So that’s cool!!! Haha oh and also, I had my first kiss. Last summer. Didn’t wanna tell everyone cuz I was really disappointed in myself, it was a bad situation and this guy was AWFUL. So short lived, so pointless, so numb. I was planning to save it for my wedding day and I still think that would’ve been so cool and beautiful but oh well, life goes on. I’m strongly considering restarting on that path because I know it’s never too late to restart and you’re not ruined if you made a bad choice, no matter how tiny or huge. Last summer I was in a really stressful, hopeless, dark, fearful place and I guess I just felt like nothing about me mattered so I might as well throw it away. I wrote a song about it called The Love Of A Man which you guys will eventually get to hear but yeah, that song is legit the only good thing that came out of that experience. There wasn’t some positive message, I didn’t learn about myself except what I already knew which was that I don’t want meaningless interactions with people I am not even close with. But I already knew that and I wish I didn’t have to confirm it the hard way. If you’re on the path to saving yourself for marriage, especially your first kiss, STICK WITH IT. It’s so beautiful and so meaningful. If you’re not, that’s you’re choice and no judgement here but I’ve learned that’s definitely not a path for me. So anyway yeah. That’s a huge extremely personal update on my life hahahahahaha hope you enjoyed 😂

DomPC interview with Rama Screen

Rama’s Screen: "Was Katherine a good kisser? Do you consider yourself to be a good kisser?“

Dominique Provost-Chalkley: ”(laugh) Absolutely! Who doesn’t think they’re a good kisser (laugh) It was very interesting because I had never done a screen kiss with a female before. We were a little bit nervous because we’ve become very good friends by this point. It’s always exciting, the prospect of screen kiss, you want it to be truthful, you want it to be believable. And we were adamant that we were going to get it right. But of course I hadn’t thought of the differences of kissing female and male, in terms of… she had a mint just before, she was so well-prepared, she smelled nice, she had lovely perfume on, and I was like this is great you guys! (laugh) Guys you need to take some tips from the ladies here, put a mint in before and we’re ready to go so yes it was a fun day.“

After reading that I want to light myself on fire. 🔥🚨

Everyone always feels like an asshole when they go to kiss someone for the first time. It’s such a WEIRD and FUNNY thing. So, embrace the awkward and just remember that at the end of the day you will, at the very least, have a hilarious story to share with your friends and, at the very best, you will have a hilarious story to recount with the girl who won’t stop making out with you.
—  Kristin Russo on Kissin’ [x]

anonymous asked:

I wish you would write a fic where ... the boys pretend to be boyfriends for the sake of one of their parents.

Oh, I like this! Thanks, nonny! Hope this is what you had in mind…

“Sherlock?” John clenches his jaw, relaxes it, and clenches it again, fingers twitching at his side. Sherlock glances up from his microscope, frowning. His eyes flit over John’s rigid form, making him squirm.


“My parents are having a celebration this weekend. Will you come with me?”

Sherlock sighs, hands fiddling with the coarse focus of his microscope. “John, you know that social settings are not my preferred environment.”

“I know.” John rubs at the back of his neck, feeling nerves bubbling in his belly, hot and cold. “It’s just…they’re expecting you.”

Startled, Sherlock’s head jerks up. “Why on earth would they be expecting me?”

John’s can feel his cheeks flushing an alarming shade of red and he clears his throat, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze. “Harry, well, she may have told them that we’re…dating.”

Sherlock sits there and blinks at him, his face taking on the same pinched, confused look he had work when John had asked him to be his best man. 

“Sherlock?” John waves a hand in front of him, sighing when there’s no response. “Right. Okay, then.” He turns the kettle on, making two mugs of tea, and taking the seat next to Sherlock just as he clicks back on line.

“Harry told your parents that I’m…”

“Dating me,” John confirms with a nod.

“You’re boyfriend?” 

John blinks at him, smiling softly. “I said it’s all fine, yeah?” 

“But why?”

“It’s their anniversary. Harry got a bit ahead of herself. So, will you come?”

Sherlock nods slowly, staring down at the floor between them. “I…yes. Of course.”

“Good. That’s good. I’ll just go and start packing, then.” John sets his mugs aside, trailing out of the room and up the stairs, missing the way Sherlock’s eyes follow him even after he’s out of sight.

The journey out to his parent’s place is uneventful, Sherlock deducing the other passengers on the train to pass the time, whispering in John’s ear and putting him in danger of snorting his tea from his nose more than once. Harry is there to meet them at the station, a perfect replica of her brother from the sort hair to the awful jumpers, painfully sober, but cheery enough to give Sherlock a salacious wink as she jerks her chin in John’s direction. They pile into a small car, Harry prattling away as they wind through the empty roads, pulling up to a sturdy brick house covered in ivy and window boxes filled with all manner of greenery. 

“Welcome to the ol’ Watson abode,” Harry crows, leaping from the car and darting around to the boot. She passes John and Sherlock their cases, leading them up the gravel path and through the front door. John breathes in the smell of his childhood home, smiling at the memories that linger there. 

“Johnny!” He turns and is promptly smothered by his mother, her silver hair mashed against his face.

“Hi, mum.” John peels himself away, pressing a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek.

“And this must be Sherlock!” His flatmate is treated to the same barrage of kisses and hugs, looking properly stunned by the whole ordeal, just managing to press a polite kiss to John’s mother’s cheek before she bustles away in a flurry of floral apron ends and flour. “Charlie! Charlie! The boys are here!”

John’s stomach drops and he squares his shoulders, raising his chin to meet his father’s gaze as the man himself rounds the corner. Charles Watson is stocky like his son, with the same severe set to his jaw and the dour slant of his eyebrows, but there’s a steeliness to his gaze that John’s own blue eyes are missing, a harshness to the set of his mouth where John’s lips are prone to smiling.


“Hullo, dad.”

“And you’re Sherlock?” Sherlock stands next to John, nodding, his posture impeccable. Charlie looks him up and down before turning away and sauntering into the kitchen without another word.

“Yeah,” John whispers, leaning against Sherlock with a sigh. “He’s always like that.”

Dinner is a quiet affair with John’s mother providing most of the conversation, filling John in on all of the local happenings as the names of the relatives who will be attending the small party. John nods dutifully, smiling when he should and making vague noises of interest to keep the conversation flowing. Sherlock participates quietly, asking polite questions and laughing at Harry’s crass jokes. It’s distressingly normal, and John wishes that it were real, despite the frostiness on his father’s part. He helps clear the plates, smiling when Sherlock joins him, leaning into the gentle touch at his waist.

“Alright?” Sherlock murmurs against his ear, body warm and solid against John’s.

“Yeah. Thanks. This…means a lot.”

Sherlock offers a small smile, setting his stack of plates on the counter. “Anything for you, John.” He leaves without another word, ducking back out to gather more dishes. Ellen bustles in, giving John a knowing smirk.

“He’s a nice young man. Pity it took you so long to figure things out.”

“Mum,” John groans, fiddling with the kettle.

“I may be pants at technology, Johnny, but I followed your blog. You were mad about him and then…”

“I know.”

“How is Mary?”

John’s jaw twitches and he leans back against the counter. “Fine. Doing well in the States.”

“I never liked her. Too secretive. Your father thought she was some sort of spy or the like, the way she just popped up out of nowhere.” John laughs bitterly. Close enough. His father has always been terribly shrewd. “But Sherlock…well, I like him.”

“I do, too,” John murmurs, finally admitting it aloud, a weight lifted from his chest. “Pity dad can’t accept stuff like that.”

“Oh, Johnny.” Ellen pats him gently on the arm, her hands damp from the dishwater. “He’ll come around.”

“Right. I’m just going to…” John gestures vaguely in the direction that Sherlock disappeared in, leaving the kitchen and his mother’s prying behind. Harry smiles at him from the sitting room, nodding her head in the direction of the back porch. John waves in thanks, shuffling towards the door and pausing at the low hum coming from the patio.

“So, you and John.” Charlie’s voice is low, rough with cigarette smoke, but thankfully crisp and clear, not slurred with drink. John can see the faint outline of Sherlock’s profile, a lit cigarette clasped between his fingers. Charlie stands beside him, a pipe clenched in one hand.

“Yes,” Sherlock replies, taking a drag and blowing smoke up into the chilly night air.

“So which one of you takes it up the arse?” John groans inwardly and Sherlock chokes on his inhale, coughing violently. 

“I hardly think that’s any of your business,” Sherlock rasps, wiping his eyes. Charlie laughs, puffing on his pipe.

“You’re a sharp one, good lad. Better than that wife of his. I may not like the way you live, but I’m glad you make him happy.” Sherlock blinks down at Charlie, mouth hanging open.

“I…thank you.”

“You care. I can tell. You watch him like I watch my Ellen.”

Sherlock looks away, taking a drag from his cigarette to stall for time. He lets out a slow breath, pale plumes of smoke tumbling from his lips. “I do. Deeply.”

“Good.” Charlie pushes off the railing, bringing his pipe inside for a cleaning. He catches sight of John hovering in the shadows and gives him a firm nod, the smell of tobacco lingering in his wake. Taking a deep breath, John steps outside, strolling over to stand beside Sherlock.

“Those things will kill you.”

“Consider it an incentive for me given the strenuous social gathering I’ll be forced to endure tomorrow,” Sherlock drawls, stubbing the but out in the ashtray perched on the railing.

“Thank you for this. It means a lot.” John leans his head against Sherlock’s arm, starting at the tremors that make Sherlock’s form shake. “Alright?”

“I want it to be real, John,” Sherlock whispers, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

“It is. Has been for a long time, I think.” John reaches up and pulls Sherlock down by the collar of his dramatic coat, kissing him deeply, nose wrinkling at the taste of cigarettes lingering on Sherlock’s eager tongue. He pulls back with a smile, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s nose. Sherlock blinks down at him, lips moving silently, hands clinging to John’s hips.


“Yeah.” John settles his head under Sherlock’s chin, listening to the frantic beating of his heart. “But you’ll have to lay off the cigarettes if you want me to keep kissing you. Bad for your health and all.”

Sherlock chuckles, stooping to press a chaste kiss to John’s lips. “Only a fool argues with his doctor.”

Tag, you’re it: @consultingpurplepants @sherlockedtjlc @andithoughtiwasspecial @green-violin-bow @mzdisdain @byebyefrost @missdeliadili @hubblegleeflower

Send me an anonymous ask completing the sentence “I wish you would write a fic where…”

So imagine: John and Sherlock finally kiss. It’s the first time, and they’re in 221b, and it starts off hesitantly until Sherlock just barely opens his mouth, and that’s all John needs to reeeally start kissing him, parted lips and slick tongues, John’s hands cradling Sherlock’s face while Sherlock’s hover hesitantly at John’s waist, and Sherlock is drowning in it, he can’t think past the feeling of John’s mouth on his, John’s body pressing closer to his own, and when John gently eases him back against the wall he breaks away with a gasp of “John, I–” but John just shakes his head, skimming his lips along Sherlock’s jaw, murmuring against his skin, “Can’t talk, I’m not done kissing you yet,” and then he’s pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down along Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock’s hands are clenched in John’s jumper, his head falling back against the wall, and his eyes screwed shut as he tries to process everything but can’t.