Spell’s incomplete when it gets tossed at Dean by the witch to try and slow him down, leading to only Dean getting affected, and to him ending up with the ability to scent people like something out of an urban fantasy novel.
Since Dean’s not hurt, they aren’t too worried by it- even if Dean tends to follow Sam around or even get mad because “Fucking hell, Sam, you smell like a damn bakery. I need something with cinnamon now.”
Sometimes the smell has obvious meanings no one mentions, like how Mary smells like a burnt pie- love that turns into disappointment.
Sadder still, and a secret he keeps to himself, is when Dean digs out Charlie’s left behind duffle he’d kept just in case… just in case. He cries when he smells her. Cries like he never got to when he lost her.
Coming into the library to see Castiel seated in one of the chairs, Dean’s eyes sort of glaze over, and the next thing he knows there’s a hand on his shoulder and one at his waist (not the same person) and two people saying his name in concern, and Dean blinks and pushes himself up and back, like dragging himself awake from sleep- though he knows he’s awake- with a gruff, “What?” and Sam can’t seem to even make words, though his face does a series of odd things, and then he hears a low, “Dean" soft and pointed and near, and Dean finds himself blinking in confusion into blue eyes aaannnddd Dean has somehow crawled into the chair to straddle Cas’ lap and basically bury his nose at Cas’ neck and shoulder smelling him.
He kind of wants to get back to that, actually. Sam shifts around, brows furrowed and hazel eyes more worried than amused. “Dude, are you high? Cas, I think you got him high. Look at his pupils.”
Dean feels high, actually, and snickers with the realization. And kind of want to lick a stripe up Cas’ neck. From the flush of heat on the angel’s face, Dean thinks he might have already. And, oh yeah, aside from giggles, that’s another side affect when Dean and drugs mix, which he can feel very evidently as he shifts to try and shove himself away.
“Sam, get him away from me. Or me from him,” a laugh, “He’s catnip and I wanna climb him like a tree,” followed by more giggles.
Sam drags him away, barking orders for Dean to both stop fighting him as well as to stop talking, herding him out into the garage, and Dean nearly purrs when he scents the Impala, happily climbing into the car and lounging back in contentment.
“You… better now?” Sam asks worriedly. He’s breathing heavily like he had to practically drag Dean the rest of the way, scared and aggravated in one.
Dean can only chuckle and wave him away, before settling back to sleep.
The next time he wakes, it’s to fingers gripping his chin and turning his head, and Dean is suddenly very alert at the sight of Rowena and Sam, eyes zeroing in on her.
She waves his brother away. “Run along, Samuel. He’ll be fine.” Standing, she offers out her hand, which he immediately takes, letting her lead him from the garage. “We’ll be in the library.”
Dean’s obedient as she tells him to sit on the end of the table, eyes studying her as she moves, pulling things from a carpet bag and setting them on the table near a bowl.
“It smells like Lysol,” he says softly.
“They wanted to make it safe for you to come back in the bunker.” She glanced at him with a coy smirk. “Heard you made quite the display.”
He can’t stop staring, fingers reaching out to pluck at one long curl. “You don’t, though.”
She falters with a blink, expression going guarded as she busies herself. “And what do I smell like?”
“It’s… complicated. Sweet, like sunlight and honey on the tip of your tongue,” he answers a little dreamily, like he’d been laying out in the sun and wanted a nap. “It’s warm like tea. Flowers in springtime. It suits you somehow.” There’s pink on her cheeks even as he releases the coiled lock. “What’s wrong with me?”
She pats his knee. “Nothing serious,” she comforts, voice soft and, for once, genuine. “Your body is under the effects of an incomplete spell for a sixth sense and psychic abilities. Your brain is interpreting partial readings of the world around you using the senses you have- all well and good, so long as you’re dealing with a mortal.” Straightening, she tapped the tip of his nose with her finger. “The supernatural on the other hand? You smell magic on me. Things a bit warm and fuzzy at the edges? Feel a wee floaty? Like a dream?” He nodded. “Aye. That’ll do it.”
He struggles to remember, earlier in the library when he’d had a bad- or very good reaction to- “Cas.” He looks at her. “What happened with Cas?”
Her lips purse like she’s trying not to smile. “Apparently, your bonny angel is- well, Samuel says you were immediately intoxicated and quite giddy. Whether from, ah, feeling not exactly platonic or just sensing the divine, I’m afraid I don’t know. Perhaps a mixture of cause and effect. Drink this.”
Obeying, he pulls a face at the taste, and hands the container back. She’s studying him. “What?”
“You… you just did it. No suspicion. No threats. You obeyed.”
She starts working on another concoction, Remedy Part II, he guesses.
“You’re not here to hurt me,” he answers. “Why wouldn’t I?” Something spikes in the way she smells, tangy like orange slices, and he think he may have embarrassed her, but then is immediately distracted again, reaching forward once more. “I like your hair.”
Two concoctions later, the room loses the dreamlike quality for something more real, before he starts feeling very heavy and sleepy.
“Samuel!” Rowena calls, stepping to the side as Sam rounds the corner, catching Dean as he slumps forward, half-asleep already. “The rest is sleep,” she soothes, fingers gentle where they touch him.
He comes only partially to, later, awakened by the sense of a familiar presence that has him reaching out blindly, index finger hooking around the tips of Castiel’s that hang over the arm of the chair.
Material shifts, and Dean can tell his patient waiting is replaced with alert relief. He cracks open a eye, trying to focus even as he feels himself drifting back under.
“Sorry…’bout before.” He yawns and snuggles more comfortably into his pillow and memory foam mattress, settling. “You still smell nice, though. I like it. Like you.” Sleep saps strength from his arm, making his hand fall away. “You always smell nice… Catnip.”
If he was going to say more than that, he doesn’t get to, and he doesn’t remember it when he wakes up. He buys Rowena some specialty tea as a thank-you, and sends it with a card.
He still zones out sometimes. At the scent of coffee or flowers or as light refracts brightly and it’ll take him a moment to come back to himself, shaking away the fog like a forgotten dream.
Green eyes drift to the angel that had been walking beside him, then down to the bouquet of sunflowers he vaguely remembers selecting from the cart. “They’re you.” Cas clearly lacks all understanding in his meaning, which is drifting so quickly, Dean hardly remembers it himself. “They look like you,” he tries, knowing it’s not right, and grip loose as Castiel takes them from him.
A flush spreads across the angel’s cheeks and Dean wonders at it and then down at the flowers he’s holding, gesturing to them and trying to remember when they stopped. “…you like those or something? We can get ‘em for the bunker if you want.”
Cas angles his head, smiling. “I do like them.” He steps forward, gaze dropping to Dean’s mouth and then back up. “And, you don’t remember this conversation, but… I like you, too, Dean.” His brows knit as he tries to remember the exact wording. “Like catnip.”
Dean doesn’t remember, but something beyond memory does, something that has him smoothing a hand up the line of Cas’ neck to cup his jaw and slot their mouths together.
Could you maybe do a little thing where harrys little girl wants to
hangout with her daddy but he’s busy on the phone and gets frustrated
and is stern with her? And she’s so little and hurt and he feels so bad
because she’s upset.
He hadn’t meant to be sharp with her. Looking back on it, she really wasn’t being a bother to him at all, other than the fact that he was on the phone with Jeff and trying to solidify some last-minute details for an upcoming meeting.
His daughter, however, hadn’t been aware of that when she came bouncing into Harry’s office, overcome with excitement about something and wanting to share it with one of her favorite people.
It had been a lot of very exuberant, “Daddy, lookit! Look at my kitty, daddy! Daddy, do you see him? Daddy!”
Harry had put a hand up to try and calm her while he apologized to Jeff, but she wasn’t having any of that. She jumped closer to him and started trying to climb up into his lap, the way she often would when Harry was working on something and invited her to join him in doing some “important” drawing with the basket of crayons he kept at his desk.
Today though, Harry really needed to pay attention to this call and it was not the time to have a three-year-old monkey climbing over him and trying to get his attention.
“(Y/D/N), daddy’s trying to talk,” he said, putting an arm out as she continued trying to climb, in fear that she would topple to the ground, “Can you go play with mummy until I’m done?”
She was holding something up and Harry quickly glanced to see that it was some sort of drawing.
“Sweetheart, please,” he said, a bit firmer this time, “Just give me a few minutes and then I can look.”
He managed to get a few more words out to Jeff while his little girl continued to climb on him.
“Daddy! I wanna sit here with you; can I sit here? Daddy, where’s the crayons? I wanna color!”
“(Y/D/N) Styles, stop it! That’s enough!” he finally boomed.
Imagine: Being a female Werewolf, you’re dating Klaus and you’re in heat and bothered, when Klaus gets home, you decide to play a little game with him. (Requested ~Smut~ Being in heat is my idea, the rest was requested!)
You rubbed your legs together trying to get friction on your swollen clit, having no such luck and groaning in frustration. You had been in heat all day, wishing you weren’t a Werewolf and wanting to be a normal girl who could have a period instead. Being a wolf wasn’t so bad, but being in heat made you sexually frustrated and you wanted to fuck everything in sight.
Klaus would be home soon, your lover. Since he was a male hybrid, he never had to worry about being in heat, it made you scoff. Even though he was horny all the time, that was because of his personality. Maybe he could help you out though, fuck you until you’re exhausted. The thought made you tingle, your legs spreading and hand trailing down your swollen breasts to your throbbing core. Your eyes shut, a gasp escaping you and your other hand cupping your large breast.
A warm and fluffy Christmas morning full of surprises with the Gri- I mean, everyone’s favorite angel. :)
Word Count: 2092
“What the hell-”
“-Welcome to my little winter wonderland!” I cheered, pulling Warren inside my apartment. “Took you long enough.” My roommate went home for the holidays, leaving me all alone to celebrate. We’d decorated the place from ceiling to floor and before she left, exchanged gifts; I got a ticket to go see one of my favorite artists speak at a nearby college next month, a couple rolls of film, and a gift card to Wilson’s Art for whatever supplies $50 could buy. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“What the hell is that?” He pointed to the corner of the living room to the scrawny branch that was our Christmas tree.
“I could never get off from work or outta classes in time to go pick a decent tree; it was slim pickings when I finally got around to it.” I jabbed him playfully in his side. “Wanna go climb up and sit on top of it, Angel?”
“Ha ha,” he replied sarcastically with an eyeroll. “Where’d you pick it up from, the city landfill?”
“Shut up, I love my little tree! Besides, big or small, it’s about what goes under it that’s important; Santa doesn’t discriminate.”
“Yes. Speaking of which come help me finish baking these cookies.”
“You’re not serious… are you?”
I pointed to my “Kiss the Cook” apron in its flour-coated glory before dashing back off to the kitchen. “Hope you aren’t afraid to get your hands dirty.”
A/N: I think I broke my own heart writing this.
Let me know what you think! xx
the happy couple twirl around on the dance floor, both of them sporting big,
goofy grins on their faces, clearly hopelessly in love.
groan quietly to yourself, feeling a pang of jealousy in your chest. You were
incredibly happy for the newlyweds, Louis deserved to be happy and his lovely
wife was just what he needed to be his best self, but the couple had only been
together for a few short years.
when Harry came home and that day and announced that his best friend had popped
the question, but they anything but happy tears, even though that’s what you’d
told your very concerned boyfriend. Truth be told, they were big, ugly jealous tears
rolling down your cheeks, but you’d never admit it.
You know it’s
childish to think this way, and you know that Harry doesn’t ‘believe’ in
marriage, but after eight years of serious dating, a part of you can’t help but
hope that he liked it enough to finally put a ring on it.
Angel,” A deep voice purrs into your ear, making a smile appear on your face, “You
look dead on your feet, you ready to head up to our room?”
nod, turning your head to him and leaving a kiss on his stubbly chin, “I can’t
wait to get this dress off so I can breathe again.”