it's based off of fanfiction really

Josh Dun -- Single Dad

 This is based off an experience I had once that I thought was very cute and figured would work well with your au. I think this is a really cute idea, and would love to see other peoples interpretations of it. Sorry about being MIA as well guys, but I already made a whole thing about that. Thanks for all the support.

Words: 852

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Five times Mickey Milkovich didn’t say “I love you” and the one time he did

So I decided to write a little something based off of this edit

Word count: 2,168. Explicit language, obviously, because it’s Mickey.

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signs as types of fanfiction

aries//one sentence per chapter

taurus//lowercase intended

gemini//joke fics

cancer//trigger warning fics

leo//feminine!*insert name here* punk! *insert other name here


libra//poetic asf 


sagittarius//the cliche, basic af ones, that we read even if they’re boring bc fluff

capricorn//the ones that are so good they get converted to a real book and published

aquarius//the ones where its a really nice, original plotline

pisces// the one where they both die at the end

*all of these are based off gay fanfiction js*

Fanfic reader problem #2

Ok is it just me or does everyone else feel like they can give really good relationship advice even thought they’re single and its because of all the fanfiction you’ve read. Like I’ve been single my whole life and all of my friends have boyfriends, but I keep giving them advice even though I have no experience. But I give them advice based off the stuff I’ve read in fanfics. And I understand their relationships better because of fanfics… Fanfics are really valuable and wow this is actually weird now that I write this down.

/so this is based off of that post where its like ‘since gay marriage is legal now in nevada imagine two bros accidentally getting married in vegas and then just going with it…and i sorta warped it yeah oops dont really like it much but whatever. plot holes everywhere fuck it/

The last time Dean had visited Vegas, he’d left with a couple bruised ribs and a hangover the likes of which he hadn’t seen for a decade neither before nor after the trip, so it wasn’t difficult to see why he wasn’t too keen on coming back. Besides, Vegas liquor was frickin’ expensive, he told Sam, “dunno why we can’t get drunk locally”.

But Sam had insisted; now that Cas was human, they owed him the full ‘human experience’, which apparently, in Sam’s book, included a weekend trip to Las Vegas, the land of debt and infidelity.  

For all that Dean’s complaining was worth, he sits himself down in a bar stool on Friday night upon arrival.

“Thought you would’ve been out looking for a girl by now,” Sam jokes over his second glass of whiskey, rolling his eyes as Dean winks at him.

The eldest hunter smiles at his brother’s reaction and turns to face the former angel sitting at his left side, numbly sipping at a beer.

“What’s up, Cas?” he asks, nudging Cas with his elbow. “You look like crap.”

The former angel cocks an eyebrow and shoots Dean an appraising look. The hunter chuckles.

“C’mon, don’t be like that, I’m fucking with you,” he says gently, watching Cas as he returns his gaze to the bottle of beer in his hand.

“I feel…as you’d say…’buzzed’,” Cas mutters, just loud enough that Dean can hear him over the dinge of the bar. He snorts and gives Cas a light smile.

“What’s the problem with buzzed?”

Cas sighs heavily, rolling the bottle between his hands.

“When I was an angel, I used to be able to drink 15 shots of liquor before I began to feel any of the effects associated with intoxication. Now, this bottle will be enough,” he frowns down at the beer bottle as though it has personally offended him.

An uneasy silence settles over the three of them. It’d been three months since Cas had ripped out his grace and fell to earth and in the span of time he’d been living with the Winchesters, he’d shown little discomfort in his newly human state. Aside from the occasional show of disappointment with how slow transportation had become for him, Dean hadn’t heard Cas complain much, hadn’t had much of an idea about how much his fall from grace was affecting him.

“Guess you’re a sad drunk,” Dean tries to joke. He turns from Cas and raises two fingers into the air to get the attention of the bartender.

“Three shots of tequila for me, and same for my buddy over here,” Dean tells him and he nods and moves away before Cas can open his mouth.

“Dean…” he begins, but the hunter cuts him off.

“15 shots, Cas. Wings or not,” and the conversation ends there.


Sam watches them take the first round of shots with an amused smirk on his face. Dean’s still stable but Cas is tilted sideways on his bar stool, eyebrows furrowed and voice low as he tells Dean about a nature documentary he watched last week as though it’s the most important secret he’s told anyone of late.

By the second round of shots, Dean’s losing his cool a little too. His bar stool has gravitated infinitely closer to Cas’ and if they could jam their chairs any closer together, they’d be sitting on each other’s laps.

Cas runs a finger over the curve of Dean’s jawline and the eldest hunter leans into the former angel so that his breathy laugh flutters hot over Cas’ neck and Sam takes that as his cue to take his leave. It’s not the best idea, actually it’s sort of an asshole move: leaving his brother and his friend drunk at a Vegas bar, but it’s late and he’s exhausted and bordering on drunk so he leaves a couple twenties at the bar to cover their drinks and bids both Dean and Cas goodbye. They’re much too focused on each other to really respond.


Dean’s drunk on Cas, the shots don’t have much to do with it. Sure, he’s properly drunk for the first time in a long time, but his head is spinning because of Cas: Cas’ hand on his thigh, his wide eyes looking up at Dean’s from underneath his lashes.

“Thank you,” Cas slurs suddenly, moving his other hand from where its index finger is chasing the curve of Dean’s cheekbone.  

“What for?”

“For this,” Cas jerks his head at the row of empty shot glasses littering the bar. “For everything. You’ve no idea how lonely I’ve been.”

Suddenly there’s a pull in Dean’s gut, nothing to do with the way the bass is blaring on the dancefloor. He wants to push closer to Cas, wants to touch him, reassure him, crawl inside him and make him feel safe. Instead he just ducks in closer and presses a gruff kiss to the ex-angel’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he mutters into the crook of Cas’ neck, blindly searching for his hand, which he grasps and squeezes. He kisses Cas’ shoulder again and laments the fact that he can’t go any further than that. “I’ve got you, I’m here,” he repeats and Cas nods his head wildly.


They don’t make it to the fifth round of shots. In fact they barely make it down the aisle and Dean is holding Cas so close it almost hurts and focusing, glaring, at the bright mosaics behind the priest who’s grinning at them.

They don’t have wedding bands, they don’t need them really. Dean lets go of Cas for long enough to pull the worn ring from his right ring finger; he’d just began to get used to the weight of it since he’d rediscovered it rolling around in the bottom drawer of his nightstand a month ago. He slips it onto Cas’ finger while the priest is still talking and it takes a few tries because his hands are shaking and his vision is blurring but his thoughts are calm and Cas is smiling, eyes trained on Dean’s face.

There’s no ring for Cas to give him so instead the former angel palms at his neck and struggles with the chain as it comes up over his head. On the iron chain dangles a cylinder and it’s full of Cas’ grace, fluttering blue and silver all at once and suddenly it’s all so fitting that the most vulnerable part of Cas should be hanging on an iron chain. Because Dean’s that iron chain and that’s what he’s there for, to protect, to protect Cas, and that’s all I can give you he thinks, touching the necklace gently as Cas fits it around his neck, praying that’s enough.

They ignore the priest, ignore the bright mosaics, ignore the floor melting away underneath them, and Cas kisses Dean until he’s dying for air.


Dean thinks he might turn to ashes if even an inch of his body separates from Cas’, but being this close to the ex-angel makes him feel as though he’s going to shake apart completely. He slots his thigh between Cas’ legs as they fall to the bed in Cas’ separate motel room, and breathes out angel against Cas’ skin as the man lands on top of him.

“Don’t,” Cas hisses immediately, then whines as Dean shifts his hips up. “Please, don’t.”

“My angel,” Dean stutters, “always my angel,” he murmurs and Cas’ face is wet in the crook of his neck. He breathes Dean’s name and digs his fingers into the flesh of Dean’s arms.

“Stay,” he says, and his words are slurred so badly that Dean can barely understand him, “stay close to me. Please.”

Dean kisses him, again, and again, groans into the crook of his neck and kisses him once more.

Cas comes whispering…I love you I love you I love you.


The hangover Dean wakes up with is worse than any he can ever remember having. On his right is a bottle of Advil, courtesy of Sam probably, and on his left is Cas, soft breaths and ruffled hair, a curved waist that Dean wants to drape his arm over.

And he does, because he’s allowed to now. He ignores the throbbing in his temples and slips his arm across Cas’ waist, kisses the bend of his shoulder. Drifting off to sleep is easy.