comment_fic | Friday Free-For-All

Friday Free-For-All

TGIF, everyone! That means today we get to play in whatever sandboxes we want, posting whatever prompts we want with no themes!

Just remember to follow the rules:

Only three posts per fandom, and only five total. If one of your prompts is answered, you may go ahead and post another.
No spoilers for new shows/seasons until a week after airing.
If your fill is spoilery, WARN accordingly and leave enough space for people to pass on by

Please also honor and respect our code monkeys by following the correct format:

Inception, Eames/Arthur/Ariadne, domestic is overrated

Leverage/White Collar, Author's Choice, sometimes the best need an extra hand

And as always, please feel free to look over our lonely prompts and fill any that tickle your fancy!

theme="freeforall"

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OMG OMG OMG

I love this, and I love you for writing it! You should definitely write a sequel where Chuck and Sarah are waiting for Neal in his apartment, or some baddy goes after Neal and says he's there for Bryce Larkin or something. Because this is simply fantastic!

Thanks for writing it.

I'm so glad you like it!

--

“You are doing it wrong! The eggs will burn - ”

“Oh, like you’d know how to make an omelet! You’ve been eating nothing but diner food since your feathery arse touched base on the planet!”

“My ass is not – “

“Would you two idjits shut up already?” Bobby asks. He can only lie in bed and listen to them argue for so long, and when he finally manages to make it to the kitchen, he can practically see Castiel’s feathers bristle up in surprise and anger (Bobby’s seen it happen before, he knows what they look like).

“Crowley is attempting to set your house on fire with his cooking of insufficient caliber,” Castiel says, whirling to face Bobby. He points an accusing finger at Crowley like a petulant child. “He will also not allow me to assist!”

“I’m hardly going to set the house on fire by using the stove,” Crowley scoffs, glaring at Castiel. “Here I am, trying to be nice for once – don’t you two scoff at me – and this is the payment I get?”

“Would you prefer Bobby’s soul?” Castiel asks darkly, narrowing his eyes.

“One time! That was one bloody ti- “

It takes every ounce of Bobby’s self-control not to whack the angel or the demon across the head like he used to do to Sam and Dean (and Jesus, what would those boys think if they could see this now?). “Crowley, stop whining like a two year old,” Bobby says, exasperated. When a smug smile flitters across Castiel’s face, Bobby scowls at him too. “You too, Cas. Knock it off and grow up already, before I get my shotgun and shoot you both.”

“A shotgun would do no damage – “

“That isn’t the point,” Bobby grinds out. “So would you just shut up and tell me what the Devil is going on?”

Castiel’s brow furrows in confusion and he looks from Bobby to Crowley. It takes a minute for Bobby to realize Castiel is trying to puzzle how to shut up and explain at the same time, and the hunter would laugh if it wasn’t such a common occurrence.

“We were attempting to make you breakfast,” Crowley says coolly, prodding at the slowly burning omelet on the stove. “It was going fine until Castiel had to try and take control again.”

“If you weren’t always so insistent on binding my hands – “

“Oh, so now you’re saying you don’t like it? Because I could have sworn – “

“You are a manipulative, controlling bastard – “

“You are a self-righteous, self-centered, spoiled brat – “

“ – incorrigible, spiteful, unnecessarily crude and mean – “

“Don’t make me gag you, Cas. Wouldn’t want you to choke - “

Bobby just stares and he can practically feel his blood pressure rising. Shaking his head, he turns and leaves the kitchen before grabbing the keys to his truck. It might only be nine in the morning, but he can sure as Hell use a beer and a moment that is somewhere not here.As much as he (God forbid he ever mention it) loves the two prissy bastards arguing in his kitchen, there’s only so much he can handle.

It occurs to him, idly, while he’s driving that Sam and Dean were due to check in today, and Bobby can only hope Castiel and Crowley are still at each other’s throats so someone else can see what he’s suffering through.

Not that he’d consider it suffering, most of the time. Well, half the time. Maybe fifteen percent of the time. Castiel and Crowley had a lot of issues to work through.

*dies* I saw the pairing and went o.O but THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME!

I think this is one of those pairings I could only ever accept in a crack!fic circumstance. I mean, I get Bobby/Crowley, but all three of them? I nearly died.

Mostly, thank you!

Yeah, I've read some Bobby/Crowley (mostly crack) and some Crowley/Castiel, but I've yet to come across Bobby/Castiel.

Christian scowled which only made Steve laugh harder, made Steve hold him tighter. They both knew that Christian could easily pull away from Steve if he wanted to, no effort needed, not really. But this had become something of a ritual, a performance; Steve wanting to cuddle, Christian refusing, Steve pulling Christian close, holding him tight, kissing him thoroughly.

It was a game they both loved and Christian was fighting to keep himself from smiling as he was pulled down; sprawled half on the couch, half on Steve's lap. He huffed and opened his mouth to protest but then Steve's lips were on his, tongue sliding between them, kissing him.

Christian returned the kiss, looping his arms around Steve's neck, tongue meeting Steve's. He wriggled til he was fully on Steve's lap, kneeling to straddle him.

Steve smiled, one arm wrapping around Christian's waist, the other cupping his face.

"Hi." Christian's lips trailed along Steve's jaw, kissing and nuzzling his skin. His hands slid up into Steve's hair and be broke the kiss resting his forehead against Steve's.

"Hi yourself." Steve kissed Christian softly, before rearranging them so Christian was against his side. He gestured at the snacks on the table and picked up the remote, turning the tv on. "Bones is about."

"Bet Dave don't get forced to cuddle," Christian groused half-heartedly, popping a cube of cheese into his mouth.

Steve chuckled and squeezed Christian's shoulder. "Then he's not a real man."

"Real men cuddle?" Christian raised an eyebrow, but didn't look away from the screen, instead relaxing against Steve, smiling at the feel of his arm around him.

"Real men cuddle," Steve confirmed.

Of course they do!! *loves*

*giggles and awwwwwws* Oh Chris, we all know how much you love to cuddle Steve really! ♥

Michael is pressed into the ground, whimpering in refusal of how gentle Lucifer's hands are, how delicate his fingers are as they sort through Michael's feathers.

Lucifer is kneeling on his back, a solid weight that Michael can't shake off, can't bring himself to even try.

His wings are being cleaned, feathers are being unbent, and Lucifer is so gentle that Michael wants to cry.

Hell shouldn't be gentle hands and soft words, the cage shouldn't be comfort offered even when Michael lashes out.

Lucifer shouldn't be sharing a love that he has long hidden, and one that Michael can't accept, not after everything, not here.

Michael turns his face to the ground and tastes dust, and if the dust is wet with tears he says nothing.

*wibble* And also guh!

-

It was Sam’s idea for the two of them to slip out into the night and get away from the rush and hubbub of, well, everything. Dean wasn’t really sure what they were going to do or go, but he vaguely remembers the way the strange male had been at comfort near the sea, so he borrows a small boat from the docks and they just kind of drift away from civilization.

It’s crazy, Dean knows, to be spending all his time with a man he knows nothing about. A man who can’t or won’t talk. A man who Dean doesn’t even have a name for. It’s just that, he can’t help it. Every time he looks into those deep blue eyes something stirs inside of him and giddy warmth spreads through his veins. Being together makes Dean feel like he’s a teenager again, young and headstrong and madly in love, and Dean kind of likes feeling like that.

If nothing else comes from tonight, well, Dean likes the way his companion’s eyes up when they watch the reflection of fireflies and stars dance across the surface of the water. He likes the blue tinge the water reflects on his companion’s skin. Mostly, he likes the way the chapped lips tug up into a shy smile and the way the silent man looks at Dean like Dean is the Alpha and Omega and everything in between.

It occurs to Dean in an idle thought that he would really, very much like to kiss those lips. They’re so close, their knees are already bumping with every rocking motion of the small boat, and Dean’s almost positive his companion would let him. If the way the silent man is starting at Dean’s lips when he wets them with his tongue is any indication, than he wants Dean to kiss him, too.

“I don’t even know your name,” Dean says. It’s a tragedy, to be sitting across from someone so beautiful and not even know what to call him. It’s even worse than being blown off by men and women he meets on the street because no one has ever looked at Dean like this strange, quiet man does, and no one has ever depended on him so much (except for Sammy, but it isn’t the same, nowhere near the same).

The slighter man hesitates, before holding out his hands. His fingers curl and crook, gesturing for Dean to do the same, and Dean doesn’t hesitate before covering the other man’s smaller palms with his own. For a minute, they just sit there, and Dean lets his hands be held before the blue eyed man turns his palms up towards the sky. With one hand, he starts tracing delicate letters.

“C – A – S – T – I – E – L. Castiel? Castiel?” Dean asks. Castiel makes a face as Dean continues to butcher his name, shaking his head. Dean just sighs heavily. “How about I just call you Cas?”

Castiel flushes and nods his head slowly. He doesn’t drop Dean’s hands even though they’ve finished the spelling, and the next time there knees bump together, they stay pressed together. Castiel stares at him then, his blue eyes dark and intense, and Dean gets the feeling he’s waiting for something.

Licking his lips again, Dean sucks in a sharp breath before leaning forward and closing the distance between their lips.

Thanks!

D'awwwwww. &hearts

:D Thanks!

Warnings: depressingness & suicide

Lucifer finally leaves him, and Nick just…doesn’t know what to do. Sarah and Emily are gone, his whole life is gone. He’s been away from any sense of normalcy from a year. No family, no friends, no job, nothing.

He walks out of the apartment in Detroit and heads down the street blindly. He has no destination in mind, only to get away. He can still feel the devil in his head, that cold slick over his soul, and hear the whisper of his smooth voice as he spoke to him, said horrible things, all of them true.

He finally falls, exhausted, in some dirty back alley and sleeps. Visions of hellfire fill his subconscious mind, and he wakes screaming what feels like only minutes later.

He huddles there for awhile longer, arms wrapped around his shivering form, until he makes a decision. He knows what to do now, what will make everything better, and it’s like a beacon of hope beckoning him on.

Nick has never hitchhiked before, was always aware of how silly and dangerous it was, but now he does. He has no money, and he has a long way to go; there’s really no other choice. A nice elderly woman picks him up and takes him to the border.

From there, he’s lucky. There are a surprising number of people traveling the highway who are willing to give him a lift, and he makes good time. After three days, he reaches Pike Creek.

The house is so empty. All of their belongings are still there, but there’s no life to the place. The front door creaks open on hinges that haven’t moved for more than a year. The air inside is stale, and dust covers every surface.

Still intend in his purpose, Nick takes one last walk through the place that used to be home. His and Sarah’s bedroom, one full of good memories, now stained by the vision of blood. Emily’s room, and he holds back a sob. Laundry room, bathroom, den. In the garage, he finds a length of robe, then returns to the kitchen.

Slowly, deliberately, he steps up onto a chair and ties one end of the rope around the chandelier - one of the points that had really sold the house for Sarah.

It won’t be long now. Just another few moments, and it’ll all be over. None of it will matter to him anymore. Not the bittersweet memories of his family, or their bloody remains, or the constant screaming inside his own head. There will be peace.

He slips the other end of the rope around his neck and takes a deep breath.

He hovers on the precipice for a moment, a tiny voice in his head warning Sarah wouldn’t want you to do this! She wouldn’t- But he squashes it mercilessly.

One step, a kick to the chair, and he’s finally free.

&hearts x 10,000.

Hee! Poor Bobby. Of course he brought it on himself but then at least his life will never be dull! (And he won't have to worry about angels or demons or monsters coming after him, because Cas and Crowley would just rip them apart). Thank you BTW for filling so many of my prompts!

Dean’s still half asleep when he realizes that Castiel has forced himself into the curl of Dean’s body. His head is tucked up under Dean’s chin, one arm slung around the hunter’s middle and fingers skimming the surface of Dean’s skin, just under his shirt, and a knee is shoved between Dean’s thighs.

For a brief moment, Dean can feel something burning at the back of his eyes and a lump form at the back of his throat. It’s stupid to get worked up over this, this thing that used to be between Dean and Castiel but the angel left him, he didn’t the right to just crawl back into Dean’s bed.

“Cas,” Dean says, trying to stop his voice from quivering. “Don’t you have a civil war to stop?”

The fingers on Dean’s back stop tracing comforting circles and Castiel just forces himself closer to Dean’s body. When he speaks, it’s almost too muffled to hear. “Dean,” he sighs, clutching at Dean tighter. “Please.”

Dean doesn’t know what Castiel is asking for, what he wants, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious what the angel needs. Heaving a longsuffering sigh, Dean just wraps an arm around Castiel and tries to ignore the fact there is a trench coat under his fingertips and not the sleep warmed skin he misses.

“Sleep,” he orders. He doesn’t miss the way Castiel huffs a breath of laughter against his neck, or the way Castiel’s eyelashes bat against the soft skin of Dean’s throat. “For once in your life, just listen to me, Cas and sleep.”

Castiel presses a soft kiss to Dean’s throat before nuzzling closer, and the way his breath and eyelashes tickle Dean’s skin sends something warm pulsing through his veins. Gentle fingers start tracing circles on Dean’s back again and the hunter lets himself be lulled back into a dreamless oblivion while Castiel attempts to follow.

Ah!

Awww, now this is sweet! I love the ending how Cas does attempt to sleep like Dean asks him to! Bless Cas! Thank you for filling my prompt - I enjoyed that!

Sam had a great idea, sending these two out. Thank you, Sam. ♥

Castiel, he's got that wide-eyed wonder & adoration like Ariel, and he's also got that controlled, intense way about him like he always does (when he's not kicking ass). And Dean... I love that he's kind of a romantic here & still Dean. Heh, basically I'm saying "good blending!"

I love love LOVE moments-leading-up-to-a-kiss fics. Just... SO damn much. And everything in here is just so sweet. :') And your imagery with the ocean... and Dean's inability to pronounce Cas' name XD

OK I'LL STOP GUSHING JUST KNOW THAT I LOVE IT & ILU & THANK YOU BB

This is going in the bookmarks cos it's awesome. I love the hints of Neal being Bryce and Peter being so observant. Your Chuck description of him as an adorable puppy is wonderful.

Thank you so much!

LOL! Poor Dean but at least Cas tries.

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