#reverse!verse

Like I just imagine Cassandra’s hair is SO heavy, a side-effect from the moonstone power that our regular Raps never experienced with her own lengthy locks. The weight of it slows Cass down, forcing her to perform a sort of waifish femininity that she LOATHES. She’d kill to wield a sword or spear. Instead she’s made due with a small dagger — little enough to sneak, light enough to wield. Finding out Raps uses a crossbow fills Cass with like, such a potent cocktail of warring emotions. She’s annoyed Raps’ parents allowed this, she’s jealous that Raps has this power, she’s annoyed that Raps is able-bodied and opts to use something so basic, she’s desperate to get her hands on that bow.

~⚔🌹⚔~ Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young Princess named Belle lived in a shining castle. Although she was beautiful and had everything her heart desired, the Princess was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. Nothing but her appearance matched her name. But then, one winter’s night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered her a single Rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the Princess sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned her not to be fooled by appearances, for Beauty is found within. And when she dismissed her again, the old woman’s ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful Enchantress. The Princess tried to apologize, but it was too late, for the Enchantress had seen that there was no love in her heart. And as punishment, she transformed her into a hideous Beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there. Ashamed of her monstrous form, the Beast concealed herself in her castle with a magic mirror as her only window to the outside world. The Rose the woman had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom for many years. If she could learn to love another, and earn their love in return, by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, she would be doomed to remain a Beast for all time. As the years passed, she fell into despair and lost all hope, for who could learn to love…a Beast? ~⚔🌹⚔~

On a cold and rainy night in late Autumn, the Beast–for she would no longer think of herself as Princess Belle in this monstrous form with which she’d been cursed–received her first visitor in years: an old man seeking shelter from both the rain and the wolf pack that lived in the woods surrounding the castle. It was the Beast’s servants who allowed the stranger into the castle and gave him a blanket and tea and led him to sit in her chair by the fire.

The Beast, however, didn’t want visitors. Upon returning home from a hunt to find her servants doting on a stranger, she was enraged and dragged the stranger up to the tower dungeon, threw him in a cell, and locked the door.

Of course, only a day later, another strange man--this one much younger, and, if the Beast allowed herself to think it, really quite handsome--somehow found her castle and let himself inside. This time, the Beast was watching from the moment he stepped into the great hall. She watched from the shadows, padding silently behind as, yet again, her servants took it upon themselves to help this intruder and opened the door that led to the tower where the old man was being held.

It didn’t take long for Dean to fall in love with food and movies and sleep and then, after a particularly bloody hunt, sex. He healed each of Cas’s injuries with a kiss and then exploded every lightbulb in the shitty motel room with a violent flap of wings when he came for the first time.

Cas worries. He stays awake while Dean sleeps, sitting between the door and his angel as if Dean needs his protection. He wonders if Dean dreams, what he dreams about, but never asks. He encourages Dean to eat a vegetable every now and then, because he’s not sure if Dean’s vessel can wither away from malnutrition. He puts up with cheesy cowboy movies just to see Dean smile.

When it comes down to it, it’s the fucking that worries Cas most. Dean is so tender, so sweet in his touches, the flutter of his eyelashes so vulnerable. Cas drinks him up with a quenchless, reverent thirst, but not everyone will. Some people will see that shy smile and take pleasure in ripping it to shreds.

Both of them are still sticky with sweat but hazy enough in pleasure not to care. Dean tucks himself against Cas’s side, fitting into his arms like he doesn’t belong anywhere else. Cas squeezes him close and listens as Dean’s breath starts to slow down and even out, the arm thrown across Cas’s belly going lax.

With Dean warm and heavy in his arms, Cas drifts into a fantasy of a future he’ll never see. Hunting is a til-death-do-us-part job, and duties to heaven last for infinity, but what if—a little house in the country, drinking coffee at sunrise, making love all day if they want, no worries about vampires or skinwalkers or fucking dragons, maybe they get a dog and name it Indiana Jones.

Cas smiles a little. Runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, soothing himself with the feel of silken strands against his palm. With Dean sleeping, Cas is brave enough to kiss his forehead, gently. Adoring touches are part of the fantasy.

Dean stirs and murmurs, “What was that for?”

Stupidly, Cas’s heart pounds. He’s put his mouth on nearly every inch of Dean’s skin, so it seems absurd to react to a forehead kiss with a racing pulse, but he thought Dean was sleeping. He thought his affection was private, locked away in a nesting doll of compartmentalization. He thought he could take anything Dean offers without revealing the truth.

“I wanted to,” Cas says.

Dean sits up on an elbow, staring down at Cas. Cas wonders what he sees—his charred soul? His longing? Nothing at all?

“I want to do something too,” Dean says.

“What would that be?”

After the briefest of hesitations, Dean cups Cas’s jaw in his hand and kisses him.

This isn’t some Pretty Woman arrangement where they don’t kiss. They kiss, hard and deep and frantic and needing, all the time when they’re fucking, but they don’t kiss like this. They don’t kiss when the sex is over and it’s time to start thinking about the next hunt. They don’t kiss just for the intimacy of mouths touching and tongues brushing together.

At least, they didn’t used to kiss like that. Now they do, and Cas slides his hand around to the back of Dean’s neck to pull him even closer. The longer the kiss lingers, the more Cas thinks Dean must be able to see how golden and glowing he feels.

Dean stares at Cas again when the kiss breaks, like he’s searching for something in the planes of Cas’s cheekbones or the circles under his eyes. “Was that ok?”

“Yes,” Cas says. He could say more, something about how kisses like that will string his heart on the rack and shatter it, but decides he’ll take his chances.

“I want to do it again,” Dean says. “I don’t mean right now—I mean, yes, right now, but other times, too.”

“What do you mean?” Cas asks. There’s a glimmer of hope in his chest, something he hasn’t felt since he was too young to know better.

“I think I’m about to make an ass of myself,” Dean says, “but I have to say it, ok? Because I don’t want to wait until it’s too late.”

“Just say it, Dean,” Cas says.

“I—I love you.”

Cas’s heart stops, then gallops to catch up.

“I’ve tried to say it before,” Dean says. “Guess I’m a coward.”

“You’re ridiculous. You’re the bravest person I know.” Cas takes a careful breath, squeezes Dean’s shoulder. “You must know that I feel the same.”

Dean’s eyes widen a bit. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Of course not.” Another careful breath. “I love you, too.”