Dean’s blade presses into his neck, and he barely feels his blood drip down his neck in a slow rivulet. It’s nothing compared to the rest of his body he supposes. Nothing to worry about.

He raises weary eyes.

They are

so tired.

He thought he knew what fear, pain, 

what being exhausted down to your very /soul meant.

He learned,

like about so many other things,

that he was wrong.

So again

in the fires of hell

that lick at broken wings

blue

meets green.

And Cas

stops breathing then.

Because there…

there is /green looking at him.

Green that looks like it’s /bleeding pain

and apologies

and

and /love.

And that

that is when Cas knows

there is hope.

He’s dragging his hands through his hair, and frustration does not /begin to scratch at what he’s feeling. 

There’s an itch, deeper than skin and sinew and bone, and it’s starting to hurt.

He’s picking at anything in his reach- scabs, loose tendrils of now greasy hair (unbelievable he can’t even take care of /that now), chewing at his dirty nails and foot tapping on the same crack in the cement that had first prompted him to sit down and start to draw, something primal driving him. He looks only half the disaster he feels like as he scratches away with first pencil, then ink, then charcoal.

And 

there it is.

Hands.

At his shoulders,

treading as lightly as the spaces between atoms that he used to sift his true form through.

And the touch,

clears

everything

clears away the thorns that snake into his thoughts, his mind, his body, his body now he reminds himself, as there’s no Grace anymore

just

gently

sweeps them aside

and Gabriel paints

like he is possessed

like it is his one

sole

function.

With shoulders

that press him down

press him in

contain him

but don’t cage him.

He breathes

and he sees how 

what five hours

and 8 minutes ago

had been the cause 

of all his pain

was now him

in all his glory.

He breathes.

Laces his fingers in between the ones on his shoulders.

This is fine.

This is maybe….

maybe even good.

It’s not meant to be Gabriel says as he scratches at the words on his arm that say a flirty ‘Hey handsome’ and not the shy ‘Hello’ he so desperately /needs them to be.

It’s been years he thinks. Years of watching Sam go out with other people, years of handing him the ice cream he eats down his breakups with and not grabbing his hand instead. 

Years of not looking at the mark on his arm that dooms him to love anyone else but the bright, engaged, /loon of a man he had /actually fallen in love with.

It had taken time, but he had come to terms with it. He knew it couldn’t happen, it wouldn’t be fair to the either of them, to rip them from the people they were meant for.

…And yet he feels his heart /burn and skip beats every time Sam smiles. Feels it /soar and run marathons and forget its only function every time Sam winks, or touches him or stares at him with slightly drunken eyes as he genuinely /thanks Gabriel for being in his life.

But he feels it give out when he hears the tires screech, feels it freeze over as he watches Sam get hit, feels it become useless when it loses who it was beating for.

He swears it doesn’t beat again until he feels Sam’s hand stir in his at the end of the second week, after 2 heart surgeries, during one of which the doctors had already come out to offer his condolences before Sam’s heart had come bck online.

“///Samshine.” He breathes out on a voice coarse from disuse.

Sam’s eyes slowly open, and the haze slowly clears when he looks at Gabriel and /smiles.

“Hey handsome.”

And Gabriel feels his heart stop again as he pulls at Sam’s other hand which has been under the covers. He realizes too late that he had, in all his ridiculousness, never asked what Sam’s first words were.

The nickname he had just let spill from his lips is curled gracefully on Sam’s skin.

He climbs onto the hospital bed, and their first kiss is one of chapped lips, tears and is one of millions more to come.

Our love may not have been written in the stars or on our skin since the start, but since when have we let destiny do what it wants?

/////////////SOBS INTO THE SUN I LOVE YOU NONNY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR A SPAMANO PROMPT

flat what

alright we’re doin it

Lovino takes a look around the yard, his eyes sharp and attentive. He leads a ruthless gang here, one that treats each other like family and lets no disrespect go unpunished. His eyes stray to the bus that pulls up to the front gates, ready to identify the easy pickings.

Bingo, he thinks, his eyes settling on a messy mop of hair and tired looking eyes. The man...did he just /wink at the officer who was attaching his cuffs? Fucking idiot. He wouldn’t last two minutes in here.

He did. He lasted 2 minutes, then 2 days, then 2 weeks, all without attracting anyone’s attention. This was /ridiculous and he wasn’t standing for it.

So he ends up cornering him one day in the yard, motioning his famiglia off with a coarse hand gesture so he can play with his new toy.

“So look what came in with the rest of the trash.”

The man looks towards him with sleepy eyes, waving at him with no presumptions, no hatred, no malice. It makes Lovino’s steps miss a beat, though he’s back at him almost immediately, leaning up into his space and wrapping fingers into his collar.

“I’m fucking talking to you stronzo.” He brings his face closer to his and then /stops.

There’s a dangerous, /attractive glint in the man’s eyes as a smile curves up his mouth.

“Antonio. Please.” He works Lovino’s fingers from his shirt gently, leaving the Italian confused where he stands, watching his new mark walk away.

He grins.

This would be /fun. 

It's been a couple months since the guy's started coming into the library Bucky works at, he thinks. The stranger started out by checking out a giant stack of books a week. He knew the type. The 'I want to impress the librarian so I'm going to heft home the largest stack I can and then bring them all back the week later because I overestimated myself'. But Steve kept coming back with a finished stack and a conversation on his lips, ready to talk about the newest adventures he's devoured. He was a walking stereotype Bucky thought: blonde hair, blue eyes, a smile that stops a crowd and a mouth that runs a mile a minute. It made Bucky furious.Steve comes in just on Fridays now to read to the kids, who are all hanging off his arms as he pretends to struggle under the weight. He's gotten up to 6 before. Bucky turns his attention back to his magazine, making his eyes skate over the words to maintain the illusion of him reading while really letting his hearing focus in on the deep voice now booming out into the library.He's /magnetic, he thinks. And as the weeks have gone on, it's gotten harder and harder to pretend he's not listening in.He ends up startled when Steve snaps the book he has closed, to loud whines from the kids."Now now guys. I'll be back next week." He says with a curve to his lips as the kids disperse to find their moms.Bucky barely has any time to grab at his magazine before he notices that Steve’s heading right for him."So." He starts, leaning on the opposite side of the counter."I've noticed that there's one person who's listening to my stories who's not /really in the age group its intended for..." He starts, the grin quickly turning into a smirk.Bucky starts and can't stop himself from retorting."You the gatekeeper to children's books now?" He leans into him, returning his smirk. He's not gonna lose out now, come too far, gone on too long."No...but I figure if you wanted to hear me talk more you'd have asked me out months ago." He says as he slides a card across the desk with a phone number as he starts moving out the door. Bucky stares, slightly in shock, largely in awe, partially at his ass.Damn he was going to have to step it up for this.

gyDO

//rolls up sleeves

wOW FUCK YOU

Dean’s fucked. In every sense of the word. Because he’s looking at the date that Sam dragged to this stupid family get-together…

and he’s fucked.

The guy looks like he’s sculpted directly from a reference of Adonis, and it shows, even under the suit he’s sporting. 

Who even wears a suit to a family dinner? He thinks bitterly as he pastes a smile on his face and extends a hand towards the guy who’s definitely going to be the main feature in his extremely X-rated dreams tonight.

The man grins as he unwraps the scarf from around his neck, and Dean swears he feels his knees buckle a bit at the sight of his smile. He barely gets himself together enough to remember to squeeze and shake the guy’s hand once it joins his.

He manages to look up from their joined hands just in time to notice the guy’s pupiils dilate.

Wait.

What?

And all his arousal instantly flips into /rage. No brother of his was going to be dating cheating scum like that. He tells the rest of his thoughts about how exactly he’d like to take the chance and just go for it to shove off.

The dinner party goes relatively well, but he can’t stop himself from glaring daggers at the blue eyed stranger every couple of seconds. The guy looks genuinely confused, turning to Sam and discussing his business instead of paying attention.

Maybe it’s because Dean ends up having too much eggnog, maybe he finally gets fed up of the guy’s eyes travelling despite his attempts to keep them on Sam, but he ends up dragging the guy outside for a stern talk.

He claps a hand on the guy’s shoulder and says, in what he hopes is a threatening sounding tone:

“Lissn. I love my brother. And I’m nt gon stand fr you makin goo-goo eyes at other people.”

The guy looks outright baffled as he tries to sort through his words.

“I…I’m sorry? What does your brother have to do wi-”

“YUR NOT LISSENIN.” Dean continues over him. “M’not about to let you jus cheat on ‘im just because I look damn good in what I got on.” He waves a hand down himself as he talks, like he’s presenting a prize.

Something looks like it clicks into place as the confusion fades into /smugness.

“Dean…did you…think that Sam introduced me as his /sexual partner?”

That throws a wrench in Dean’s train of thought.

“Wha-?” He tries to search his memory banks for another meaning as he feels all the blood drain from his face.

Cas drapes a hand around Dean’s shoulder now, pressing a line of now /delicious heat along his entire left side as he speaks.

“Dean…I’m Sam’s /business partner. We’re opening up a store together next month. Did you pay /any attention at dinner?”

No he thinks. I was too busy trying to decide if I wanted to punch you in the teeth or kiss you senseless.

…And judging by the reddened tint to Castiel’s cheeks, that thought did not just stay a thought.

“Fuck ‘msorry I didn’t-”

Cas points up to the doorway that they’re standing in and Dean blanches again at the white berries hanging there.

Cas’s voice sounds /deeper, /needier as he leans into Dean’s ear. 

“Mistletoe.”

…Maybe this Christmas dinner wouldn’t have to suck after all.