syruptitious
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Not unlike Washington state, the land Vancouver slept on was absolutely beautiful, and a low mist of morning winter fog crept through the urban sprawl from the water that surrounded them. It was still in the low 50s and chills crawled up the back of his loose shirt, bringing with them memories of being ill-dressed for the weather on the east coast as a child. He shook the feeling off and drained the rest of his drink. Tossing the cup into a waste container on the street, he took off down the sidewalk, letting his morning run wash away the poetry that still swam in his mouth.
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A short, three-chapter cockles fic from a Misha Collins POV. An imagined perspective from Misha Collins that lead him to write "Men in Woods" in his poetry collection book, "There Are Some Things I Still Can't Tell You." iykyk.
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It started as a small moment, like every moment in life that tips into the next, leading to big things. Maybe other decisions that day helped build this avalanche – it could have been the record playing, the thin t-shirts they both chose that day. The unseasonable warmth from a recently used kitchen. The last beer they both had, now buzzing at the base of their skulls, bringing heat behind their ears. Both of them here, alone, with everybody else gone. Four years of seconds piled up – small touches, lingering glances, silences on the phone.
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Quick one shot, first kiss, good moments.
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Misha wasn't there.
If this had been then, before, Jensen's face would have broken out into a smile. He would have leaned up against the prop dresser, chuckling, unfolding the paper to read the note that now haunted his buried fingers. He felt far away from that version of himself. Now, he felt a weight on his chest.
He didn't want to be here.
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Jensen and Misha have played a game, passing notes to each other. But with Misha gone, and one more note found, Jensen finds his feelings a bit adrift. When Misha returns on a late flight for another episode, weeks later, Led Zeppelin hums through the house and those feelings Jensen had are a constant companion.
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"Cas, come on, get out here." Dean stood at the edge of the cornfield, the Impala's engine cooling quietly behind him. His eyes growled at the ground.
A beat. No response. Dean signed and looked up at the sky. "Alright, we're doing this right now? Alright." Dean turned around to slam the passenger door closed, which was still hanging open uselessly. "We're doing this, then."
Dean walked around to the trunk and swung it over his head with a small grunt. Rummaging through his tools, he found a machete. He smiled as a car whizzed by on the otherwise lonesome highway, kicking up the back of his shirt. This sight will be a story for their kids.
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When Dean gives Cas a mixtape on a long drive, Cas has feelings. Written for the Suptober 2022 fic challenge.
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- Part 1 of Suptober Challenge 2022
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"Castiel, too?" Sam asked, sounding happy. “I really thought he was gone.”
Dean felt his pulse do a strange dance in his chest as ice seeped through his veins. He hadn't heard Sam bring up Cas for… a while. It was a subject that was not brought up – a silent contact between them. The few times Sam had broached the subject, Dean’s composure of playing it cool had crumbled, and the name became a source of pain in their life that was avoided at all costs. Sam must have forgotten. Dean struggled to sound casual.
"Yeah. Yeah, of course," Dean said. Like it was obvious. "Jack got him out and… Cas… helped rebuild heaven for everyone, whatever that means. You know. Angel stuff." The name felt like torture in his mouth, ripping new holes where old scars had formed.
“I cared about the whole world… because of you.”
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Dean comes to grips with Heaven, fighting intrusive thoughts and grief he's kept buried. Like Bobby said, it's a Heaven that Dean deserves. But as we all know, Dean deserves more than he got.
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He was speaking again before he even realized it, “That’s not all, Mafuyu. I’m so, so proud of you for just about every reason there is to be proud of someone. Sometimes, it’s overwhelming how much I’m inspired by you.”
Mafuyu stared and Ritsuka stared back, trying confirm he wasn’t sad. “Shit, that was really sappy. I’m sorry.”
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The boys are perpetually sleepy per usual, but Ritsuka more so this time. Mafuyu thinks he can somehow cure his sudden onslaught of insomnia by changing their sleepover spot to his place. He also cures their raging hormones, if only temporarily.
Bookmarked by syruptitious
01 Mar 2024
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get him alone by congee4lunch
Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston, Red White & Royal Blue (2023)
05 Nov 2023
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Alex looks at him, like Henry’s a speck of dirt on his pristine chinos. “Why would June send you to check up on me?”
“Because I’m her best friend and you’re her brother?”
“I always said she has bad taste.”
“Well,” Henry smiles. It feels as placid on his face as it probably looks. “I would say the same thing, but family doesn’t account for one’s taste, unfortunately.”
in which henry fox is june’s childhood best friend and alex claremont-diaz is june’s younger brother. as the years pass, they tolerate each other at best and are downright destructive at worst. until they begin falling into each other's beds.
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Bookmarked by syruptitious
11 Dec 2023
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Cas’s fingertips held in his own, Dean brings the angel’s hand to his mouth, and presses his lips to Cas’s weathered knuckles.
It’s just a thank you. It’s just a way of saying thank you.
Of saying 'thanks, I know that having to do this shit all the time must annoy you, and I know that for some reason you’ve chosen to worry about me and I’m sorry that you have to, and also, I appreciate it.'
It took Dean years not to resent the help of Cas healing him. But slowly the resentment melts into tolerance, and again into thankfulness. And every time Cas touches Dean to heal him, he starts saying his thanks by repaying in touch. It starts with grazing his lips against Cas's knuckles, squeezing his hands, kissing the soft skin of his wrist.
It’s a way of saying thanks. And, he guesses, sorry.
Of saying, 'Sorry for scaring you. I don’t know how me being hurt could scare you like it always seems to. But it always seems to. And that scares me.'
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Bookmarked by syruptitious
17 Mar 2023
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Castiel slips from his chair to kneel at Dean’s feet. He takes Dean’s hands in his, and there on the floor holding something with devotion, he understands Communion. He understands Eucharist. He understands believing in someone so deeply that to shelter a piece of them within yourself is an act of untempered faith, love and prayer and deep-wide trust.
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Cas comes back. Dean can’t stop touching him.
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Bookmarked by syruptitious
14 Mar 2023
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“There you are,” the Empty says, in Dean’s voice. It’s cold, like Dean’s eyes are cold, his expression set in contempt. It’s the expression Cas feared, he realizes, all the times he thought about saying it. Revulsion. It makes him feel sick in the way that goes beyond physical, here where there is nothing physical left.
The moment before it happened had been so sweet it covered up all the hurt. For years, Cas had been holding back those words, biting down on his tongue to keep from saying them. And now he had said it, and he knew that it was good, knew that it was worth it. But on the other side there is only this.
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In the Empty, Cas dreams of his regrets, until someone comes looking for him.
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Bookmarked by syruptitious
04 Mar 2023