Blasting 'Come Back... Be Here' By Taylor Swift In My Ears For A Very Special Someone (Ao3)

Blasting 'Come back... Be here' by Taylor Swift in my ears for a very special someone (Ao3)

Zaarnael

Y'know what, it could've been worse

Find your REAL Angel name

• First two letters of your last name • First vowel of your first name • Third letter of your middle name (or parent’s first name if you don’t have a middle name • Last consonant of your last name • Add IEL or EL to the end!

Imagine Dean screaming to Taylor Swift songs when driving alone (never in front of anyone, he has a reputation to keep) and then one day Cas randomly drops by to pass on information for a case or smthg and he accidentally witnesses Dean absolutely screaming his heart out to 'Death by A Thousand Cuts' or 'Shake it off' or smthg and he just freezes for a second because Dean looks so care free and happy. but then Dean notices him and the moment's over but Cas is still so curious as to what song by which singer made Dean so happy so Cas searches up some of the lyrics he heard and thus stumbles upon Taylor Swift. Next time Cas sits in the passenger seat of the Impala he plays something like Cruel Summer (he does not give a shit about the driver picks the music rule ofc) and sings along word to word. Dean's just there with his mouth open and completely in love (he does eventually picks up his jaw from the floor and sings alongside Cas)

My favorite destiel headcanon is that Dean LOVES Taylor Swift and through him Cas gets dragged into being a Swiftie

Dean absolutely would do this with Cas

Based on this excellent prompt by @saintedcastiel. It's such an amazing concept and I can't believe it hasn't been done (that I know of). And many thanks to @alleiradayne because this fic wouldn't exist if she hadn't shared the post in our writing group.

Breaking News

Being one half of a semi-popular morning news duo in New York’s fifth-biggest media market comes with certain advantages.

Having to wake up at 4 a.m. every weekday is not one of them. It’s simply not a reasonable time to be awake, and Castiel is not a morning person to begin with. In fact, he’s so spectacularly disagreeable before he’s had his first cup of coffee that three separate college roommates mentioned it as their reason for moving out. 

(Which is why the only real luxury item he keeps in his apartment these days is a professional-grade coffee maker whose hot, fragrant product usually renders him halfway human by the time he arrives at the studio.)

Also not an advantage: Meg from makeup, who is maybe, occasionally, on some days, a friend but is really just a lot to deal with before sunrise. 

“You look like shit,” she tells him this morning as he flops into the swivel chair in front of her mirror — managing as always to sit right on the part of the chair that has an odd, hard bulge on it. (A loose spring maybe? Do swivel chairs have springs in their seats? Probably a mystery to solve when he’s not half-asleep.)

“Good morning to you too,” he mumbles, holding his travel mug close enough to his face that he could latch onto the rim with his teeth if someone tries to take his coffee away before he's ready.

When the moment of coffee separation arrives (much too soon), Meg pries his clutching fingers off the mug one by one with insultingly obvious glee.

“C’mon, grumpy,” she says, her sharp grin as reassuring as a storm cloud. “Let’s make you pretty.”

Castiel emits several disgruntled noises to register his disapproval, but he’s ultimately powerless here, so he obediently closes his eyes while Meg starts applying makeup to his face. With any luck, he’ll be halfway presentable by the time Dean gets here. 

The thought of Dean makes Castiel smile. It’s only a little, but sufficiently disruptive to makeup application that Meg scolds him to “Hold still, for fuck’s sake.”

Alright. So if Castiel is being entirely honest with himself, there’s really only one advantage to being half of a semi-popular morning news duo in the fifth-biggest New York market: the other half of the duo.

That other half arrives about two minutes later, a little late as always, all smiles and back slaps and warm touches to Castiel’s shoulder. 

“Heya, Cas,” Dean says as he slumps into Meg’s other chair (the one without any odd protuberances, as far as Castiel knows).

Castiel risks a sideways glance at the vision that is Dean Winchester even at 4:30 in the morning, pre-makeup. I love you, he thinks. “Good morning, Dean,” he says.

Fine. If Castiel is being really, entirely, completely honest with himself, Dean is not just the sole advantage of Castiel’s current job, but also the main reason Castiel has stuck around in the fifth-biggest New York market for as many years as he has, getting up at the ungodly hour of 4 a.m. 

He may in fact be utterly, hopelessly in love with his co-anchor. 

“We still on for movie night?” Dean asks, reaching over from his chair to ruffle Castiel’s hair. Castiel pretends that it’s because Dean enjoys touching him, but he knows the real reason is that it will annoy Meg. Annoying Meg is one of Dean’s most closely held personal ambitions. 

“For fuck’s sake,” she growls at him, and Dean cackles. Mission accomplished.

Ignoring them both, Castiel says, “Yes, of course,” because Friday has been their standing movie night appointment for years now, and tonight is Castiel’s turn to host. He’s going to order pizza from Dean’s favorite pizza place as a surprise. 

Dean claims it’s not his favorite pizza place, but Castiel knows this to be a lie. The only reason Dean always gets pizza from the other place, the one near the station, is because the pizza is cheap and Dean doesn’t like to spend money on himself. But Castiel has no qualms whatsoever when it comes to spending money to make Dean happy. (Especially since it’s the only way he can make Dean happy. They’re both bisexual, both perpetually single, and yet Dean has never expressed an interest in anything more. If it hasn’t happened yet, a decade into their friendship, it never will.)

As Meg moves on from working on Castiel’s face to Dean’s, Castiel asks, “Mystery Science Theater 3000?” 

It’s a childhood favorite for both of them, and they’ve been making their way through all the old episodes. Dean’s delight at the antics of Joel and his bots, heckling one awful movie after another and making hopelessly dated ‘90s pop culture references, is… well, it’s everything. 

“Yeah, man,” Dean says, turning away from Meg to look at Castiel and earning himself an enraged snarl from her. “I think we’re up to Manos: The Hands of Fate. That one’s my favorite.”

“Mine too,” Castiel says, and Dean rewards him with a smile so dazzling that Castiel can feel himself blushing even through all his layers of makeup.

“Knew you had good taste, Cas,” Dean says happily.

“I do,” Castiel answers. I love you, he thinks. 

***

That morning’s show goes very much as it always does. They cover the more serious news items first: a new state law taking effect today and a multi-car pileup on I-87. At this point in the broadcast, their give-and-take is serious and professional. Even though Dean is a goofball at heart, he has impeccable on-camera gravitas when the situation calls for it. 

But gravitas and hard news aside, the main reason why people keep tuning in to “Dean & Cas in the Morning,” according to the market research, is their banter during the less hard-hitting portions of the show. (“Husband behavior” is what more than one focus-group member has called it. If only.)

By hour two of the show, they’ve both settled into that bantery comfort zone: Dean is the charming jokester and Castiel is his straight man (ha!) who lets the occasional bit of smooth humor or sarcasm shine through, just to mix things up and give Dean something interesting to play against. 

As they wrap up the broadcast of a piece by reporter Kelly Kline about a dog show coming to town that weekend, Castiel smiles winningly at the camera. “Well, that was the definition of a fluff piece, wouldn’t you say, Dean?” he asks.

I love you, he thinks. 

Dean is all boyish enthusiasm as he grins first at Castiel, then at the camera, completely ignoring the teleprompter that’s offering him a segue into a piece about a talented local raccoon. “What my devastatingly handsome co-anchor means to say is that you’d have to be a sick puppy to miss that dog show.”

Castiel wants to laugh, but just about manages to glare disapprovingly instead. He’s had a lot of practice at pretending he isn’t impossibly charmed by Dean. “That was genuinely awful, Dean.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Would you say it was… ruff?”

Castiel can’t help it: he bursts out laughing. “Let’s just say,” he manages, between hiccuping breaths, “you won’t be getting any… a-paws from me.”

Dean’s smile has grown so big, it must actually hurt. “Well, I think I’m labrador-able.”

You are, Castiel thinks. “I love you,” he says.

Wait, what? Fuck. No. Abort. 

Next to him, Dean is frozen, eyes wide with shock. He’s no longer smiling. The entire studio has fallen silent, even more so than the time one of their weekend anchors said that horribly racist thing. 

They’re officially broadcasting dead air now. Castiel needs to salvage this. He needs to say something. Anything. 

Dean beats him to it. A horribly forced rictus grin appears on his face as he turns to the teleprompter. “In other news, you’ve heard of Punxsatawney Phil, but have you heard of our very own local weather-predicting mammal? Stay with us to meet Coxsackie Cathy, after these messages.”

As soon as they’re off the air, Dean leaps up from his chair and storms out of the studio, leaving Castiel utterly humiliated and thoroughly overwhelmed. 

God, he didn’t mean to say that. He never meant to say that. Is it too late to play it off as a joke? The look of abject pity on the face of Kevin, their cameraman, suggests that the answer is probably yes. 

“What the hell was that, Castiel?” their producer, Amara, demands as she stalks up to the anchor desk with an echoing clack of high heels. She doesn’t mean to sound unkind, Castiel knows, but Amara does tend to go through life with a general attitude of why must you inconvenience me?

Castiel sighs. “I don’t know,” he says. “I really don’t know.”

“Well…” Amara hovers, fingers twitching around her clipboard. For the first time in the ten years Castiel has known her, she looks like she genuinely doesn’t know how to proceed. In the end, she settles on, “Just don’t do it again.”

Much too soon, the ad break ends. Dean gets back to his chair with five seconds to spare, acting like nothing untoward has occurred. But he won’t meet Castiel’s eyes while the seconds to live broadcast count down in front of them. 

Somehow, by virtue of years of practice, Castiel makes it through the rest of the show. He reads off the teleprompter, not taking in a word of what he’s saying, and he doesn’t look at Dean. 

The final hour of the broadcast feels long enough that it might as well be an entire day, but then finally, they get to sign off. 

Once again, Dean jumps out of his chair before Castiel can say a single word to him.

“All our social media accounts are blowing up,” Amara informs Castiel as he tries to make a semi-dignified retreat back to the makeup chair. “Actually, it looks like you’re trending on Twitter: hashtag Destiel.”

“Hashtag what?” Castiel asks miserably as he sinks into the chair. For once, he doesn’t land on the uncomfortably bulging bit of the seat, but he’s feeling too defeated to celebrate this rare victory. 

Dean didn't even bother stopping to get his makeup removed before he left. That's how badly he wanted to get away.

“Destiel,” Amara repeats distractedly as she scrolls through her phone. “It’s a portmanteau of yours and Dean’s names.”

“Ah.” Castiel sighs as Meg sidles up to him with a giant, soaked cotton pad. “Any chance we could stop talking about my complete and utter humiliation on live TV?”

“For now,” Amara pronounces ominously as she walks away, still scrolling. 

“You know, I never liked him,” Meg says, as she gets to work taking off Castiel’s face (in a metaphorical manner, but with sufficient vigor that Castiel is sometimes concerned she’s trying to make the metaphor literal).

Castiel grunts despondently. 

“But,” Meg continues as she scrubs at his face, which is no doubt an unflattering shade of pink by now, “you know he’s just as besotted with you as you are with him, right? It’s kind of disgusting, actually.”

Castiel scoffs. “Not a chance. You saw him: he didn’t want anything to do with me after.”

“He could’ve just been overwhelmed,” Meg says. She peers critically at him, then nods her satisfaction at what she sees. “... aaand you’re done.”

“Thank god.” Castiel gathers up his travel mug and the tattered shreds of his dignity, then makes his escape from the studio.

***

Castiel can only assume that he and Dean are no longer on for movie night. But he’s always had a melodramatic streak a mile wide, so he orders Dean’s favorite pizza anyway. After the day he’s had, he’s earned the right to have a cathartic cry while eating delicious, overpriced junk food and certainly not checking his phone. Just in case he’s still trending on Twitter.

The pizza arrives about five minutes before Dean usually would, but Castiel very deliberately doesn’t watch the clock as he opens the box and takes out an annoyingly perfect slice to begin his evening of lonely wallowing.

Except then the doorbell rings. 

It’s probably the pizza man again. Maybe he’s forgotten to collect an exorbitant service charge, or he’s going to ask for a selfie because he belatedly recognized Castiel as the man trending on social media for humiliating reasons.

But when Castiel opens the door, it’s not a pimply, scrawny teenager he finds on the other side. 

It’s Dean.

Dean, smiling at him somewhat awkwardly as he holds up a plastic bag. The smell emanating from the bag is unmistakably Castiel’s favorite curry. From the Thai place that’s all the way at the other side of town.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other, slowly lowering his offering of curry, as if he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. “Um… I'm here for movie night?”

Oh. Dean has apparently decided to pretend Castiel’s embarrassing on-air confession never happened. Castiel should be grateful, but all he can muster is a kind of exhaustion. Can he really do this? Can he sit next to Dean every day for another decade, pretending he never poured out the contents of his heart for the world to see?

Apparently unbalanced by Castiel’s silence, Dean starts to babble. “I brought your favorite curry. The one from Bodhi. ‘Cause I know it’s kind of a hike, and so you never go there, even though you really like it, but you don’t treat yourself enough, so I figured maybe—” He breaks off with a pleading, puppy-eyed expression. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

Wearily, Castiel says, “You don’t have to be sorry for not being in love with me.”

Dean looks just as stunned as he did the first time Castiel said the words: lips parted, a slightly dazed look in his eyes. This time, however, he recovers more quickly. “That is how you meant it then?” he asks. “You’re in love with me?” 

Dean’s voice sounds a little rough, and there’s an undertone that Castiel can’t quite pin down. It sounds almost hopeful, but that can’t be right. 

Unable to form a coherent response, Castiel simply nods and swallows down his own urge to apologize. He shouldn’t need to be sorry for having feelings any more than Dean needs to be sorry for not having them.

Opposite him, Dean is also nodding, but there’s something convulsive about it, like he’s using the rhythmic bob of his head to work his way up to something. Finally, he stops and sighs. He straightens his shoulders, tipping his chin up proudly like a condemned man facing a firing squad. “I… um. Me… me too.”

Castiel stares at him. He’s at a complete loss. Dean seems to be saying… but that’s not… that can’t… what? “What?”

Dean scratches nervously at a spot behind his ear. “Yeah. For a while now. Years. I just didn’t think that you… felt that way. About me. Too.”

“What?” Castiel repeats. It’s the only word he seems capable of forming anymore. Except no, wait, there’s another: “Years?”

“Yeah,” Dean admits, leaning slightly sideways to peer past Castiel into his apartment. “Oh wow. You got pizza from Pepe’s? I love Pepe’s.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Castiel crosses his arms and widens his stance, blocking Dean’s view of the food. “If all that’s really true, then why didn’t you say anything? You let everyone think you didn’t reciprocate my feelings! I’m a laughing stock. Someone’s started a fundraiser in my name, for fuck’s sake.” (Alright, so maybe Castiel did check his phone just the one time.)

Dean flails his arms in a manner that can’t possibly be good for the structural integrity of the curry container inside his bag. “I don’t know, man! I was overwhelmed, alright? Do you know how many times I’ve pictured you saying that to me? And then you do, but of all the goddamn ways to do it, you pick saying it on live TV?”

Annoyingly, Dean has a point about Castiel’s declaration being quite poorly timed. Still: “I didn’t exactly mean to say it,” he says, aware that he’s looking somewhat petulant, scowling at Dean with his arms crossed in his own doorway. “If I had, I… I would have done it differently.”

Dean’s expression grows quietly thoughtful. “Okay. So, like… how?”

All day, Castiel has felt painfully vulnerable, his most closely guarded secret exposed for the world to see. But this is Dean, and in every respect but this, Castiel has always trusted Dean with his secrets. “I used to picture that I’d tell you during a quiet moment,” he admits, slowly uncrossing his arms. Lowering his defenses. “Maybe on the couch, during a movie night. We’d both be laughing at something. We’d be relaxed and easy, and I’d just… say it.”

Dean takes a small, shuffling step closer to Castiel. “And would I say it back?”

Castiel swallows, almost bizarrely aware of Dean’s proximity. The warmth lifting off his skin like fog on a beautiful spring morning. The comforting, familiar smell of him. “Sometimes,” he whispers. Why is he whispering? There’s no one else around to hear them. “And then we would…”

“What?” Dean is whispering too, so maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s right. Because this moment was always meant to be just for the two of them. 

Kiss, Castiel means to say, but he doesn’t seem to be able to speak. Not with Dean moving in closer still, close enough to nudge their noses together. One of his hands comes up to cradle Castiel’s jaw.

And then they’re kissing.

As kisses go, this one is far from perfect. Their lips are too dry to start with, it takes them an age to find the right angle and Castiel is almost certain that the warm trickle he feels down the side of his jeans is curry leaking out through the bag in Dean’s hand. But that’s fine. Better than fine. Because finally, after all the many times he’s imagined this, he’s really, actually kissing Dean.

A few seconds into the kiss, Dean performs some sort of magic trick with his tongue against the seam of Castiel’s lips, and all of a sudden, it actually is perfect: wet and fervent and full of promises. 

Worth getting up at 4 a.m. every day for the rest of his life. 

***

“Alright, you two,” Amara says the next morning, glaring sternly at them both from behind the camera. “We’re expecting our biggest ratings ever today, so you better make this a fucking spectacular show.”

Castiel glances over at Dean, who smiles back at him with all the ease and affection in the world. On the monitor in front of them, the seconds to broadcast are counting down. 

5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

“Good morning, Poughkeepsie,” Castiel says as the intro music fades. “And good morning, Dean.”

“Morning, Cas,” Dean answers, every inch the smooth and professional newsman. “We’ll start off the show with some breaking news today.” He turns to Castiel. “I love you.”

Without missing a beat, Castiel says, “And I you. Now, for the rest of this morning’s headlines.”

THROUGH A RAPIST’S EYES” (PLS TAKE TIME TO READ THIS. It may save a life, It may save your life.)

An Article from Neena Susan Thomas

“Through a rapist’s eyes. A group of rapists and date rapists in prison were interview…ed on what they look for in a potential victim and here are some interesting facts:

1] The first thing men look for in a potential victim is hairstyle. They are most likely to go after a woman with a ponytail, bun! , braid, or other hairstyle that can easily be grabbed. They are also likely to go after a woman with long hair. Women with short hair are not common targets.

2] The second thing men look for is clothing. They will look for women who’s clothing is easy to remove quickly. Many of them carry scissors around to cut clothing.

3] They also look for women using their cell phone, searching through their purse or doing other activities while walking because they are off guard and can be easily overpowered.

4] The number one place women are abducted from / attacked at is grocery store parking lots.

5] Number two is office parking lots/garages.

6] Number three is public restrooms.

7] The thing about these men is that they are looking to grab a woman and quickly move her to a second location where they don’t have to worry about getting caught.

8] If you put up any kind of a fight at all, they get discouraged because it only takes a minute or two for them to realize that going after you isn’t worth it because it will be time-consuming.

9] These men said they would not pick on women who have umbrellas,or other similar objects that can be used from a distance, in their hands.

10] Keys are not a deterrent because you have to get really close to the attacker to use them as a weapon. So, the idea is to convince these guys you’re not worth it.

POINTS THAT WE SHOULD REMEMBER:

1] If someone is following behind you on a street or in a garage or with you in an elevator or stairwell, look them in the face and ask them a question, like what time is it, or make general small talk: can’t believe it is so cold out here, we’re in for a bad winter. Now that you’ve seen their faces and could identify them in a line- up, you lose appeal as a target.

2] If someone is coming toward you, hold out your hands in front of you and yell Stop or Stay back! Most of the rapists this man talked to said they’d leave a woman alone if she yelled or showed that she would not be afraid to fight back. Again, they are looking for an EASY target.

3] If you carry pepper spray (this instructor was a huge advocate of it and carries it with him wherever he goes,) yelling I HAVE PEPPER SPRAY and holding it out will be a deterrent.

4] If someone grabs you, you can’t beat them with strength but you can do it by outsmarting them. If you are grabbed around the waist from behind, pinch the attacker either under the arm between the elbow and armpit or in the upper inner thigh – HARD. One woman in a class this guy taught told him she used the underarm pinch on a guy who was trying to date rape her and was so upset she broke through the skin and tore out muscle strands the guy needed stitches. Try pinching yourself in those places as hard as you can stand it; it really hurts.

5] After the initial hit, always go for the groin. I know from a particularly unfortunate experience that if you slap a guy’s parts it is extremely painful. You might think that you’ll anger the guy and make him want to hurt you more, but the thing these rapists told our instructor is that they want a woman who will not cause him a lot of trouble. Start causing trouble, and he’s out of there.

6] When the guy puts his hands up to you, grab his first two fingers and bend them back as far as possible with as much pressure pushing down on them as possible. The instructor did it to me without using much pressure, and I ended up on my knees and both knuckles cracked audibly.

7] Of course the things we always hear still apply. Always be aware of your surroundings, take someone with you if you can and if you see any odd behavior, don’t dismiss it, go with your instincts. You may feel little silly at the time, but you’d feel much worse if the guy really was trouble.

FINALLY, PLEASE REMEMBER THESE AS WELL ….

1. Tip from Tae Kwon Do: The elbow is the strongest point on your body. If you are close enough to use it, do it.

2. Learned this from a tourist guide to New Orleans : if a robber asks for your wallet and/or purse, DO NOT HAND IT TO HIM. Toss it away from you…. chances are that he is more interested in your wallet and/or purse than you and he will go for the wallet/purse. RUN LIKE MAD IN THE OTHER DIRECTION!

3. If you are ever thrown into the trunk of a car: Kick out the back tail lights and stick your arm out the hole and start waving like crazy. The driver won’t see you but everybody else will. This has saved lives.

4. Women have a tendency to get into their cars after shopping,eating, working, etc., and just sit (doing their checkbook, or making a list, etc. DON’T DO THIS! The predator will be watching you, and this is the perfect opportunity for him to get in on the passenger side,put a gun to your head, and tell you where to go. AS SOON AS YOU CLOSE the DOORS , LEAVE.

5. A few notes about getting into your car in a parking lot, or parking garage:

a. Be aware: look around your car as someone may be hiding at the passenger side , peek into your car, inside the passenger side floor, and in the back seat. ( DO THIS TOO BEFORE RIDING A TAXI CAB) .

b. If you are parked next to a big van, enter your car from the passenger door. Most serial killers attack their victims by pulling them into their vans while the women are attempting to get into their cars.

c. Look at the car parked on the driver’s side of your vehicle, and the passenger side. If a male is sitting alone in the seat nearest your car, you may want to walk back into the mall, or work, and get a guard/policeman to walk you back out. IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO BE SAFE THAN SORRY. (And better paranoid than dead.)

6. ALWAYS take the elevator instead of the stairs. (Stairwells are horrible places to be alone and the perfect crime spot).

7. If the predator has a gun and you are not under his control, ALWAYS RUN! The predator will only hit you (a running target) 4 in 100 times; And even then, it most likely WILL NOT be a vital organ. RUN!

8. As women, we are always trying to be sympathetic: STOP IT! It may get you raped, or killed. Ted Bundy, the serial killer, was a good-looking, well educated man, who ALWAYS played on the sympathies of unsuspecting women. He walked with a cane, or a limp, and often asked “for help” into his vehicle or with his vehicle, which is when he abducted his next victim.

Send this to any woman you know that may need to be reminded that the world we live in has a lot of crazies in it and it’s better safe than sorry.

If u have compassion reblog this post. ‘Helping hands are better than Praying Lips’ – give us your helping hand.

REBLOG THIS AND LET EVERY GIRL KNOW AT LEAST PEOPLE WILL KNOW WHATS GOING ON IN THIS WORLD. So please reblog this….Your one reblog can Help to spread this information.

THIS COULD ACTUALLY SAVE A LIFE.”