The Trickster — or Gabriel, as everyone called him now. The name alone had weight. You’d heard enough to know he wasn’t someone to underestimate — an archangel wrapped in sarcasm and charm, the kind of being who could make entire worlds blink out of existence with a snap of his fingers… and then smirk about it afterward.

You’d missed his first few encounters with the Winchesters, caught up in your own hunt at the time, but his reputation had a way of preceding him. Stories of candy bars appearing out of thin air, of cosmic-level pranks, of impossible power cloaked in the easy swagger of a man who looked like he’d never taken anything seriously in his life.

But apparently, things were different now. Gabriel was helping them — actually helping them. Dean sounded wary when he told you, Sam more optimistic, but both agreed that having an archangel on your side was better than the alternative. That’s how you ended up here: in the Men of Letters bunker, the air thick with the hum of fluorescent lights and something sharper — something divine.

And then you saw him.

Gabriel stood casually near the war table, his weight shifted onto one leg, hands tucked into the pockets of a leather jacket that looked far too good on him. His golden eyes flicked up as you entered, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. There was a spark in his gaze — mischief, amusement, and maybe just a trace of curiosity. His smile was polite, but you could tell it was just a mask. There was a storm of playfulness behind it, wild and unpredictable, like he knew every secret in the room and wasn’t telling a single one.

Okay, you thought. He’s cute. No — scratch that. He’s gorgeous. In that effortless, dangerous way that made you wonder whether you should be walking toward him… or running the other way. His energy was magnetic — the kind that made the space between you buzz, made your pulse skip in a way you didn’t appreciate but couldn’t ignore. He didn’t even have to try; he just was. And you hated how much you wanted him already.

“Hey there, sugar.”

The words rolled off his tongue like silk dipped in sin — smooth, teasing, self-assured. It wasn’t just a greeting. It was a test. His voice carried a subtle challenge, daring you to see through the charm, to bite back, to play his game.

You caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watched your reaction — as if he already knew what effect he had on you. And maybe he did. He was an archangel, after all. But still, there was something in his smile — something just for you. A spark of intrigue. Of interest. Of promise.

And you couldn’t help it.