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destielhasmedead · 3 years

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this is the first part to a story i started - thoughts?

It had been two hours in the Impala for Cas to suddenly crack, he cleared his throat,

“Uh, Sam.”

“Yeah?” Sam turned around to see the angel. Cas made a head-nodding motion towards Dean and pointed to his ears.

“What y’all playing charades now? What is it Cas?” Dean laughed and took his eyes off the road for a minute to look at the two passengers,

“What…..”

“Dude, we’ve been listening to the same song for the past hour, and the same album for the past two, even Metallica isn’t that good,” Sam said.

“You watch your mouth Sammy, I'm the one driving here!”

“Dean, I do too thoroughly enjoy the melody, but perhaps we could hear something else?” Cas piped in from the backseat nervously. Dean moved his attention to the rearview mirror, took a good look at Castiel, then back to his brother, and with a deep sigh begrudgingly agreed. Sam grabbed something from his feet,

“An aux cord? You have to be kidding me”.

“Dean, unlike you I enjoy living in the 21st century. You should try it, upgrade from your cassette tapes.” Sam scoffed, but let out a soft chuckle.

“Fine let’s see what garbage you listen to.” Said Dean annoyed and skeptical. Cas moved eagerly towards the space between the two front seats to get a good look at all the commotion. Sam plugged the wire into his cell and proceeded to scroll through till he found the playlist he was looking for.

Sam had always been a soft rock, jazz, and even pop kind of guy. Though, he was sure to always have a playlist that wouldn’t get him kicked out onto the side of the road. Soon, Lodi by Creedence Clearwater Revival came on through the speakers. Dean's face fell flat but remained silent. They were on their way to the beach, so Sam knew he had some leeway and extra room to play with, and Dean was fully aware of the opportunities Sam had. It had been years, decades even since they had a proper visit to the beach. The only times they’ve been there was on a case. Sure, when the boys were younger John had let them stay a couple of days afterward from time to time, but even then it was stress-filled and tense.

A few songs in, Cas reached, sitting up higher, and pointed out the sign that read of the hotel they had booked. Cas had all the windows of the Impala opened, his hair flopped about as the salty air flowed around him. The hotel was located on a quiet street, just a short walk from the shore. It was nicer than the places they typically stayed at.

Sam helped his brother find a parking spot, and closed the doors almost simultaneously. Sam stayed back for a minute grabbing their bags, while Dean and Cas ventured inside. It was quaint, a typical beach hotel. Whiffs of sunblock, the squeaking of damp flip flops, bright lights, and inspirational signs filled their senses.

“Hi, we have three rooms booked.” Dean leaned on the counter and put down a credit card that wasn’t his.

“I see only two on the reservation list..” the clerk said clicking on his computer. Dean looked at Cas nervously, searching for a response to give to the man. Sam strolled in with their bags.

“What’s going on?” Sam butted in on the conversation.

“You only booked two rooms,” Dean said, glaring at his brother. Sam shrugged and turned back to the desk for answers.

“I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do, there aren’t any extra rooms”

“We could stay somewhere else..” Sam started to say but was interrupted.

“No! The reviews said this joint has great water pressure in the shower and I’m not giving that up!” Dean exclaimed passionately. Suddenly Cas cleared his throat,

“Well, I could um share a room with Dean. I don’t sleep anyway.” Cas’s face grew flushed and he shifted his weight on his feet.

“Ok, that works for me. I’m sick of sharing with you anyway, you snore real loudly.” Sam commented about Dean. Though Dean didn’t respond. His eyes had glazed over, staring at the wall deep in thought. He felt his heart in his throat as if he had been chasing a vamp. He gulped it down and felt a soft palm on his shoulder that pulled him away from his thoughts.

“Are you ok?” Cas looked him in the eyes.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine just thinking” Dean gave him a smile, and Cas’s head straightened once again out of its tilt. Both of the men were visibly flustered from the string of events that just occurred. Sam cleared his throat,

“Ok, wanna find our rooms and get some rest, I for one would appreciate getting more than four hours of sleep for once in my life.” The guys nodded, now aware of the time. Dean bunched up his sleeves till they reached his elbows, and looked at his watch. It was eleven pm, which in hindsight made sense since they had arrived when the sky was darkening.

They started towards the elevator and to the 4th floor. Dean had been iffy about not getting their usual spot in the corner on the base level. But Sam just poked fun at him saying,

“Dude quit overreacting, we aren’t on a hunt, and we’ve saved the world like 12 times. We can survive two nights in a room that doesn’t look at a parking lot.” But Dean had just rolled his eyes. Soon, he found himself following Cas into their room, and Sam walked down the other end of the hallway to his.

“Have fun you two!” Sam teased. The new roommates' faces reddened. Cas swiped the key card over the black square and pushed the door open.

“You have to be kidding me,” Dean said under his breath, yet still audible for Cas to hear. He tossed his duffel bag a few feet away from him and rubbed his hands through his hair until his nails dug into his neck. Before them, they saw a couch, a TV, other typical Hotel amenities (bathroom, mini-fridge), and one queen-sized bed. But, looking back on it, the man at the front desk hadn’t said there would be a second bed in that room.

“Dean, I don’t sleep much anyway, you have the bed and I can hang out on the couch.”

“You sure Cas?”, Cas nodded. Dean felt his eyes getting heavy, he tugged at his duffel and got out his Men Of Letters robe, Led Zeppelin T-Shirt, and his hotdog pajama pants. Meanwhile, Cas had found the TV remote and started channel surfing. He paused it on a show called Lucifer, which he had found very amusing. Dean walked back in to find Cas hunched over in front of the screen pointing at the different characters and saying how inaccurate they are.

“You having fun over there?” Dean said through a smirk as he drew the blanket toward him.

“Though it’s ridiculous, it’s also very comical!” Cas nodded to himself with a smile, maintaining his focus.

“Alright, well you two have fun, just turn the volume down a bit so I can sleep? We’ll come up with a plan for tomorrow in the morning.” Dean kindly shook his head.

“Alright goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Buddy.”

--------

chapt 2 (not completed?)

It’s 9 am and Dean awakes to Castiel pulling the curtains open, letting the effulgent sunlight bounce around the room, filling Dean’s face with the brightness. He cups his hands by his eyebrows, grabbing at the covers while doing so. Once Dean’s eyes stopped ping-ponging and the static washed over, he grumbled “good mornin.'' and tossed around the clothes in his bag till he found what he called his “summer flannel” and shorts. Cas moved out from by the windows and shuffled over to Dean’s ill-made bed and began to meticulously tidy it up.

“Alright, you ready? Sam’s meeting us downstairs for bacon. Well, he’ll probably have some fancy-schmancy healthy smoothie, but I’m having bacon.” Cas turned towards the bathroom doorway where Dean was still a few feet away from, nodded to Dean in agreement, and walked towards their room’s door.

“Wow wow wow there champ, you’re wearing that?” Dean held out his hand in a stop motion, running over to block the door from him.

“Y- Yes?” Cas replied, unsure of the question.

“Okay, I know it’s your outfit and stuff, but it's the beach! it’s hot outside!”

“But, you’re wearing your summer flannel, and this is all I have.” Cas gestured to Dean’s extra layer and then proceeded to look down at his overcoat.

“Well, that’s different.” Dean said, slightly defensive, and followed up with “We’ll ask Sam downstairs, but I for one am starving”. Dean swiveled, now facing the door holding onto the round silver knob, letting Cas walk through first.

Once the two arrive in the food court, they find Sam already set up with, as his brother had predicted, a bottled smoothie and eggs.

“Hey! Bacon’s over there, Dean.” Sam’s head tilted in the direction of the food. There were lifted metal container-looking platters lined up each with lids to keep what was inside warm. Excitedly, he grabbed a plate and piled on his food.

Castiel joined Sam at the circular table.

“So, how was last night?” Sam asked, showing genuine curiosity.

“It was fine. I did what Dean refers to as channel surfing, and I read all of the brochures on the table.”

“Oh yeah? Find anything interesting?”

“Not particularly, I saw a couple of different restaurants, there is an ice cream place down the street though.” Yes, Cas didn’t need to eat, but recently Rowena cast a spell for him so that he could at least taste it without feeling every single molecule. He hadn’t gotten around to trying Ice Cream yet though, he was still getting used to the sensations.

“What’d I miss? Oh, Sam! Cas refuses to change his clothes. The son of a bitch wouldn’t listen to me.” He had put emphasis on the word “refuses” to get his point across. Cas rolled his eyes at him, recalling the interaction and being fully aware that there hadn’t been anything he would refer to as a refusal.

“Cas only ever wears that trench coat though. And you on the other hand,” Sam turned to Dean,

“Are wearing your summer flannel which by the way does not exist.” Sam lightly laughed as Dean bites dramatically into his bacon.

“Well, this is a vacation, remember? So, if I even see your asses walking to the beach without wearing bathing suits, or at least not long sleeves, I swear I will shoot you.” He waved his fork in the air as he spoke. The men in question, who had been sitting next to each other, locked eyes. The two, without talking seemed to come to the consensus that Sam would in fact shoot them in the leg. Sam himself had been wearing dark purple swim trunks and a T-shirt. Having spent part of the night reading about the town, Cas mentioned a nearby store for him and Dean to walk down to.

#original writing #deancas fic #mine #spn #work in progress so please don't hate me #deancas #destiel

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lifblogs · 3 years

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#SPNAdventCalendar2020 | Cooking and Baking | @bend-me-shape-me

READ ON AO3

The thick, white pages of the brand-new book sitting on the metal counter in the middle of the bunker’s kitchen rustled as Castiel flipped through them. He thought he’d seen instructions for what he was doing somewhere near the front of the book. He was wearing one of Dean’s T-shirts, and had foolishly chosen a black Metallica shirt. It now had various white powders decorating it. Truly, it hadn’t been Castiel’s fault. How was he supposed to know that dry ingredients didn’t need to be whisked so vigorously? He’d never done this before.

What he was looking for now was what it meant to “cut the butter into the flour mixture.” Surely he would’ve seen Dean do it at some point?

He sighed, thinking maybe this had all been a bad idea. He just didn’t know how to do these kinds of things, even with the cookbook, it would seem.

You’re four-hundred million years old, he chastised himself. There’s no reason you can’t learn.

After finding the instructions he was looking for, he managed to painstakingly teach himself how to do what the recipe said. The eggs decided to be difficult. The shells kept getting in the mixture, and he’d had to hunt them down and remove them. Eggshells did not like being grabbed. Yolk was just such a strange substance, and as he continued with this task, he wondered why humans even liked eggs. Then again, humans liked a lot of strange things.

Dean walked in while Castiel was staring down at the bowl, poised to crack another egg. He’d been attempting to do this in the middle of the night so it would be a surprise for his family, but perhaps he’d been making too much noise.

Dean paused in the entryway closer to the bedrooms, and he stared at him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice gruff with sleep. But there was no mistaking the alertness beginning to light up in his eyes.

“Baking.”

Castiel raised the egg, ready to crack it on the side of the bowl, and Dean rushed over, hands outstretched.

“No, don’t!”

“Why not? This is how Sam does it.”

“And that is exactly why you shouldn’t do it. Now put the egg down before you hurt yourself.”

Castiel did as he said, and, intrigued, he watched Dean get a little bowl down from a shelf. Then he grabbed the egg, rinsing it in the sink as he explained, “Eggs are like fruit.” Castiel tilted his head at him. He was about to say that, no, they weren’t, because they didn’t grow on a plant, but Dean went on, “They can get all nasty stuff on them in the store, so you gotta rinse ‘em off.” He came back over to the counter with the clean egg, and the bowl, and then said, “This is how you do it.”

He cracked the egg in the smaller bowl.

“How come?” Castiel asked, seeing as the egg’s innards just ended up in the mix anyway.

“This way,” Dean explained, “you crack them one at a time, and you can pick the bits of shell out — if there are any — without having to go crazy with sticking your hands in the mix. Now, what’s next?”

“We need the vanilla extract.”

Dean leaned down, hands on his hips, peering at the book. He was sucking on his bottom lip in concentration, and he seemed so serious about it all. With the way his pants were twisted about wrong on his body from his sleep, and his hair a subtle mess, Cas couldn’t help staring. Dean Winchester was many things, and cute was definitely one of those things. He didn’t know if he could tell him that though.

“Did you preheat the oven to 375 degrees?” he asked.

Cas gave him a blank look. “What?”

Dean pointed at the first line of instructions. “Here. It says you’re supposed to preheat the oven.”

“I’ve never used the oven before.”

Instead of sighing or seeming tired and exasperated, Dean just led him over to it and showed him how it worked. He let Castiel then finish the work of setting the temperature and hitting start.

Dean guided Cas through the recipe, and in no time at all, they had gotten the sugar cookies in the oven. Cas crouched down to watch, wanting to see the neat circles of dough turn gold.

Dean whacked at him with a towel, and it gently slapped across his ass. Castiel straightened, turned, and glared.

Dean pointed a reprimanding finger at him, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. There’s still more work to do cookie boy.”

“Cookie boy?” Castiel asked with a laugh, going to embrace Dean from behind.

“It was either that or egg man,” Dean reasoned.

Cas shook his head, smiling in amusement.

Dean gently shoved himself out of his arms, and then set about gathering up various items and ingredients from the kitchen. He was so fast that Castiel twirled, and twirled again as he watched him. His boyfriend informed him, “We have to decorate them. So that means icing. I’m thinking we do a border icing, and then a flood icing.”

Castiel had questions about what those words meant, but he knew they’d be answered as they worked. Instead he asked, “Where did you learn all this?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at him from where he was grabbing some kind of powdery sugar from a shelf. “Taught myself,” he answered.

Castiel grinned, showing his teeth.

“It’s very impressive.”

Dean shrugged and brought the last of the items over. “It’s just baking, sunshine.”

“Yes, but it’s creating something.”

“I mean, lots of people can create.”

Cas let out a sigh he felt in his entire body, and rolled his eyes so hard he ended up tilting his head with it. Dean was glancing at him now, pink lips parted slightly. It was hard to resist kissing him when he looked like that.

“Dean, just let me compliment you.”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut, and a blush filled in his cheeks, making his dusting of freckles pop out.

Then they set to work on the different icings, Dean explaining everything. The cookies apparently had to cool or else the icing would melt right off of them, and Dean got impatient, so he put them in the fridge once they were done. Even with the oven off now turned off, the kitchen was nice and toasty.

Soon, there were a few bowls of icing sitting before them, and in three different colors: white, red, and green.

“First step of decorating,” Dean began, before sharply cutting off, digging a few of his fingers into a bowl of green flood icing, and slapping them to Cas’ face.

Cas retaliated without a thought.

Soon, Cas had a spoon, and Dean a spatula, and they each had their respective bowls and were flinging icing at each other.

Dean slipped on some of his red icing he’d gotten on the floor, and Castiel reached out to help… consequently dropping his bowl. Dean landed first, on his back on the floor, howling with laughter, and then the bowl hit, and icing splattered on Cas.

Ignoring the icing, he rushed over, and knelt by Dean, feeling him over. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Dean just continued cackling, so Castiel took that as a good sign. He grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down into a kiss that Castiel easily returned.

“You know, we have to make more icing now,” Cas pointed out.

Dean shrugged, pushed the upper part of his body up towards Cas, and leaned into him, tongue finding his face.

Cas flinched back in surprise, and Dean growled. “I want the icing on you, god damn it!”

Castiel just responded by wiping icing from Dean’s face and forcing his finger in his mouth.

“There. Icing.”

Castiel stood, and Dean started laughing again.

They laughed until suddenly, Sam was standing in the doorway, arms out in frustrated shock.

“What the hell is happening in here? You’re gonna wake Jack.”

Cas just glanced at Dean, and Dean did the same. They smiled, and immediately, they were moving. Dean grabbed the bowl of white border icing. Cas grabbed the spatula, and they shot a large glob of icing right at Sam. Apparently too tired for this, Sam left, grumbling and swearing. Castiel just sat, pulled Dean into his lap, and fed him what was left in the bowl.

“At least we did decorate something,” Castiel said.

“What?”

“The kitchen.”

Dean leaned against him as he let out a hearty laugh. Cas held him, joining in.

#SPNAdventCalendar2020 #Day 4 #Cooking and Baking #Destiel #Destiel fanfiction #Supernatural #Supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fanfiction #tw: food #food #fanfiction #writing #my writing

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thebuckleydiaz · 3 years

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Dumbest headcanon, hm...

After Cas becomes human and finally starts wearing other stuff than the trench coat, he adopts the Winchester attire, but only that he wears the plaid shirt BENEATH a tshirt, which are usually vintage band tshirts of bands he doesn't know and that irks Dean so much (but he secretly loves lecturing Cas about them).

I have this whole idea about og!Charlie taking Cas shopping for normal clothes, but I could never form a coherent enough thought to actually write it

It drives Dean up the wall; if Cas wants the band shirt to be visible then just leave the flannel unbuttoned like a regular-ass human. And lately it’s not even vintage band t-shirts, hell, it’s not even respectable modern band t-shirts. It’s Billie Eilish and Taylor Swift and whoever the fuck Radio Company is. Dean has, on more than one occasion, had to manhandle the former angel out of a despicable One Direction tee, and into one of his own Metallica shirts and—

Oh.

Cas was doing it on purpose.

y’all, send me your dumbest headcanons and I’ll, idk, respond with a five-sentence-fic or something (x)

#feralgosto #destiel #human!cas #castiel #dean winchester #original text post

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cockslutpadalecki · 4 years

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may I please request a really really rough Sam x sister!reader smut Sam finds out the reader and dean are hooking up she suspects he would be grossed out but he just wants to have his turn they end up having really rough smut (with him dirty talking about him showing her how much better he is then dean etc.) it is 100% okay if you can't and I am sorry if this is too much

Keep It In The Family

Words:1419.

Warnings: brother/sister relationship, incest, sister wincest, rough sex, choking, spitting, degradation,

A/N: Turns out I have a massive kink for Sam when he’s being filthy so sorry not sorry. Hope you enjoy anon - basically nothing is too much for me, ha. Not beta’ed so all errors, spelling mistakes and general bullshit are entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Masterlists/taglists can be found in my bio.

The first time Sam caught you sneaking out from Dean’s room you managed to improvise, spinning him a line about a secret stash of beer Dean had hidden and you were just trying to find it. As every word left your mouth, you cringed at the excuse while lying to your big brother’s face but he seemed to believe you.

The second time he was less convinced. You made up some bullshit - about what you can’t remember now - but he didn’t question you. He simply nodded and carried on walking.

The third time however you had no chance. Half naked, dressed only in your panties and one of Dean’s Led Zeppelin t-shirts thrown over your body in your haste to leave, you’d run into Sam in the corridor yet again. As the door to Dean’s room clicked closed, leaving him snoozing after a particularly exhausting fuck, you clammed up. There was no way around it, you couldn’t lie to Sam any more. Not with how little clothing you were wearing. You couldn’t even summon up the words to speak to him, hightailing it back to your room and waited for the inevitable lecture he was sure to give you about how wrong it was. But he didn’t - in fact, he never spoke to you directly after that, he could barely look you in the eye.

With Dean working a case with Cas in Missouri, and Sam out for his early morning run, you take advantage of the empty bunker, busying yourself making breakfast. The old radio you’ve cranked up high crackles as it tries to retain signal but you don’t care, singing along to Metallica through the static, twirling around the room in your satin nightdress.

After Sam had caught you, being alone with him made you nervous. You found yourself always making excuses to leave the room if he entered or pretending to be busy in research so you wouldn’t have to make eye contact and several times you’d left the War Room in the middle of dinner to eat alone in the kitchen so when Sam’s not around, you make the most of being able to eat an entire meal undisturbed.

Pouring yourself a coffee, you help yourself to a slice of bacon as footsteps outside stop you in your tracks. Considering you haven’t heard the bunker door open and close and Dean wasn’t due back until tomorrow, you feel a little on edge. Moving over to the radio, you turn the volume down just as Sam appears in the doorway.

“Oh shit, you scared me,” you laugh awkwardly, swallowing down the last of the bacon as you instinctively try to cover yourself up. Looks like you won’t be getting your breakfast in peace after all.

“We need to talk Y/N.” Sam softly mutters the first words he’s spoken to you in days. Arms crossed over his ridiculously broad chest, he practically fills the exit.

“Sam, if you’re gonna lecture me on what I think you are, please just save it. I know what you’re gonna say.”

He cocks his head to the side with an almost amused half-smile and drops his arms to his sides before stepping into the room. “What am I gonna say?”

“That it’s disgusting—“

“It is disgusting,” he pauses before striding forward, minimising the gap between you. “It disgusts me that you’d rather fuck Dean than me.” He lifts his hand and slowly strokes the pad of his thumb over your breast causing your nipple to stiffen beneath the fabric.

Mouth agape, all you can do is stare at Sam in shock. “Wh—what?”

You can tell he’s just returned from his run; breathing still slightly ragged and small beads of sweat collect at his roots and in the dip of his neck. His jogging pants are a little on the snug side, the material hugging every solid inch of him and the black t-shirt he’s wearing fits into every contour across his chest. He keeps moving towards you forcing you backwards until you’re flush with the table behind you. Sam’s breath hot on your cheek, he lifts a hand and strokes softly down the length of your jaw, a wave of goosebumps breaking out across your skin.

“Ever since the first time I saw you sneaking out of his room, I knew what you two had been doing. I was grossed out but after the second time, the thought of you impaled on my cock kept me awake at night. Then the last time, shit, that third time—“ he hooks his fingers under your chin, lifting it so your lips are level with his. “Seeing you in that oversized t-shirt, your soaked little pussy on show, I knew I needed to have you. Show you I’m way better than Dean.”

“Sam, you don’t—“

“Oh I do.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond. His lips claim yours roughly, tongue licking into your open mouth as he grabs your thighs and, in one fluid motion, sits you up on the table. You melt into the kiss; Sam’s lips are slightly softer than Dean’s but there’s more force behind them. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you grind your hips against his already half-hard cock as Sam lets out an inhuman growl between kisses causing heat to pool in your pussy, wetness soaking the wood bench beneath you.

He rips your nightdress up over your head, leaving you exposed to him except for the tiny pair of pink cotton panties that barely cover what they’re designed for. Sam’s eyes widen at the sight of your naked body, hands roaming over every curve and crevice before leaning forward to capture a nipple between his teeth. A groan bleeds from your lips as your hands work the hem of his t-shirt and hurriedly undress him from it.

You’ve seen Sam topless countless times before but you never paid any attention to it. This time you take in his taut muscles and tight six pack with a thick, slow gulp before rushing to kiss him again. Shit, big brother’s a fucking masterpiece.

Sam shreds your underwear between his fingers as you pull his rigid length free, whimpering into his open mouth. He teases your entrance with the head of his already glistening cock, slipping through your folds delicately before bottoming out, stuffing you to the brim. He’s longer than Dean but not as wide and the way he snaps his hips, fucking into you like a wild animal, you know you’re gonna feel it bruising your cervix for damn near a week.

Sam’s name tumbles off your lips in a flurry of staccato moans, each one more desperate and high-pitched than the last. One of his big hands curls around your neck as he ruts into you and closes off your airway with one strong squeeze.

“Yeah, you been aching for this haven’t you? My big thick cock fucking your little cunt raw?” Sam growls. Fuck. Who knew he had such a dark side?

“Y—yes.” You croak. The thought never crossed your mind initially, thinking Sam would be revolted by the idea but now that he’s fucking into you with such vigour, you subconsciously wish he had done so sooner.

“Bet you don’t scream for Dean like this do you?”

“N—no.”

“No what?” He squeezes tighter. “You call me by name when I fucking address you slut.”

“No Sam, oh fuck,” you manage to yell despite Sam’s iron like grip around your throat as he continues to furiously claim you. Pushing your hips forward, you try to get him even further inside you, goading him with your body to damn well try. Every thrust draws you closer, Sam rocking his hips in such a way that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“God you’re such a disgusting little whore,” he flexes his fingers even tighter and now you really can’t respond, let alone breathe. He spits at you, a small glob of saliva landing on your parted damp lips. “Enjoy getting fucked by your own brothers do you?”

You poke out your tongue and indulgently lick at the mess Sam has left behind; a silent answer to his question.

He almost looks repulsed by your actions but the smirk across his lips easily gives his arousal away. Sam’s enjoying degrading you and you desperately lap it up. He leans in, kissing you violently and whispers against your lips. “Gonna make you come so fucking hard you won’t ever want Dean again.”

***

Forever: @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @baasooreexiiaa @chamberofsloths @crashdevlin @daughterofthenight117 @donnaintx @emoryhemsworth @foxyjwls007 @graveyard-groupie @gothamlovr91 @heyyouwiththeassbutt @isayweallgetdrunk @ilovefanfic86 @jewelswrites-ish @kawaiirepublic @kricketc28 @lilymdonaldson @letsby @labyrinthofheartagrams @marie-is-in-the-dark @multi-fandom-fanfiction @maddiepants @mogaruke @negans-lucille-tblr @pink1031 @randomparanoid @stoneyggirl @supernaturalonice @strangeandunusual-83 @scribblings-of-the-fandoms @therealcap @warriorqueen1991 @wonderstruckbyfandoms

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quillquiver · 5 years

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Cas is sitting against the headboard, legs crossed at his ankles and reading a book. He’s wearing the gross hole-y Metallica shirt he loves to sleep in, clad in his orange undies, and his thighs are flushed from the shower. He’s frowning at whatever’s on the page; thick, black-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose.

Fuck, Dean’s a total goner.

He approaches carefully, murmuring a hey as he crawls over the mattress. Cas hums his response, his concentrated expression turning into a crooked grin as Dean leans in to kiss him, plucking the book from his hand and placing it gently on the nightstand. He does the same with Cas’s glasses and Castiel sighs, draping his arms around bare, freckled shoulders.

“Mm, you used the new shampoo bar,” he says, running fingers through Dean’s wet hair.

Dean smirks. “Woulda been rude not to.”

“You smell amazing.”

“Mmhm.”

Dean has always liked making out. Outside front doors, in supply closets, in bed, in Baby... he’s just a really huge fan of being close and tangled up. He likes making out aimlessly and going hot and heavy. It’s fun. It’s exciting. It’s nice.

Dean likes making out with Cas.

They’ve just started, sharing sweet little exploratory things before one of them decides to take it further, and this is probably Dean’s favourite part: when Cas nips at his mouth, and hikes his leg at Dean’s hip, and without using his tongue somehow makes Dean’s toes curl. Of course, when Cas does use his tongue and all bets are off, but for now...

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, moving down press a line of kisses along Cas’s jaw. “I fuckin’ love you.”

“Oh is that what all those long, soulful looks mean?” Castiel teases.

“Like you’re not ten times worse, Mr. I’ll watch over you.”

Cas hums happily, but doesn’t deny it, pulling Dean up for another kiss that he immediately deepens. Dean friggen’ likes this too: the way Cas starts undulating against him ’cause he just can’t help himself. Dean reaches between them to cup the growing bulge between Castiel’s legs and the dude gives an aborted moan.

“Lemme hear you,” Dean breathes.

“Dean, we can’t---”

“C’mon, it’s late, no one’s up---”

“Oh---”

“That’s it, sweetheart.”

Cas arches against him and Dean takes away his hand to hold him as close as possible, hips moving together as they give up on kissing to pant into the same space. “Fuck, Cas, I---”

“Me, too. God, Dean---”

And then the door opens.

“Hey Dad, Pops, I need some help with---OH MY GOD!”

Cas flings Dean off of him with strength that makes Dean question if he’s really lost all his grace, immediately pulling the sheets up to his already t-shirt-clad chest like a scandalized Victorian countess while Dean bounces off the wall and ends up a crumpled pile next to the bed. He hears scrambling as he groans in pain, working his bad shoulder. Cas’s head pops up. His glasses are totally crooked.

“Dean, I am so sorry---”

“OH MY GOD---EW---OH GROSS---”

Dean rolls his eyes from his place on the ground, totally ignoring the way Cas---now that he knows no one is seriously injured---is trying not to laugh. Meanwhile, Emma is so loud Claire decides to see what the commotion’s about.

“OH MY GOD WERE YOU GONNA HAVE SEX? WE LIVE HERE!”

“YOU’VE BEEN MARRIED FOR LIKE FIVE HUNDRED YEARS WHAT DO YOU STILL HAVE SEX FOR.”

“I AM SCARRED FOR LIFE. FOR LIFE---”

Cas’s huffs of laughter taper off, but his gummy smile stays. He helps Dean back onto the bed, kissing his cheek with feeling. “Are you okay?”

Dean grunts. “Think my ego’s bruised more than anything. Might have fucked up my shoulder again, though.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmurs. He presses his mouth to Dean’s injured shoulder. “Reparations?”

“Another kiss’d be nice.”

Cas raises a brow. “Now?”

“MY EYES---”

“YOU’RE SO OLD---”

Dean looks at their screaming progeny and nods. “Yep.” He exaggeratedly pops the ‘p’ before pursing his lips in clear expectation. Cas rolls his eyes.

“OH EW YOU’RE KISSING NOW?!”

“WHERE’S THE DECENCY?! THE HUMANITY?! WE’RE YOUR KIDS!”

“THIS IS CHILD ABUSE!”

Dean sighs.

#destiel #deancas #lemon-y #like a bit #dadstiel #daddy!destiel #claire novak #emma #even grown ups makeout folks #adventures in fanfic

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wanderingcas · 4 years

Text

chapter 13

title: la hantise pairing: dean/cas tags: slow burn, mutual pining, bed sharing, touch-starved!cas, contractor!dean

sneak peek:

Castiel wakes with a groan. His whole body is aching, and his throat is on fire. He wonders if his mother got her wish, and succeeded in killing him after all.

Dean stirs next to him. He rolls over, his eyes searching Castiel’s face.

They didn’t discuss sleeping in the same bed; it just happened again. Dean had quietly slid into the bed beside Castiel, and Castiel didn’t say a word about it.

“What?” Castiel asks in response to Dean’s stare. His voice comes out deeper and scratchier than usual.

Dean sits up, sheets slipping down his chest, revealing the black Metallica t-shirt he normally wears to bed. “You feeling okay?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just—dude, you look really pale.” Dean puts a hand on Castiel’s forehead, who flinches at the touch. “You’re burning up, too.”

read chapter 13 want early access to chapters? [banner by the talented @bluefirecas!!]

#la hantise #destiel #destiel fic #ily all #<33 #this is a fun chapter i hope

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kingofdirtandnothing · 3 years

Text

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Seventeen

Dean isn’t even sure he believes in God.

That sure as shit doesn’t stop him from showing up at the church every day. He sits in the silence of the times between services, surrounded by warm wood and golden light. The quiet in here doesn’t feel as drowning as it does back in his apartment. Sometimes, Dean felt like this was the only place he could really take a deep breath and be.

It was something about the way the place was built. The idea that people sat in these exact same spots hundreds of years ago, looking for guidance or comfort. No matter how bad things got, this church was still here. Still standing.

No matter how low Dean got, no matter how many days he spent in bed or didn’t brush his teeth or forgot to eat, the church would always be here.

“Hello, Dean.”

And maybe there’s another reason he keeps sticking around here. Not that he’s ever going to admit that out loud. Dean tosses a little smile over to the man who sits down next to him on the pew, even though the whole damn place is empty.

The first time it happened, it set Dean’s teeth on edge. Like the guy was trying to make him uncomfortable (he was succeeding) or to run him off (no way was he succeeding). But he figured out real fast that it was just Cas being Cas. The man had no concept of personal space. Your bubble didn’t exist in Cas’ world. Dean was starting to like it.

When you got used to people keeping their distance from you, even the odd duck at the church who sat close to you felt like intimacy. “Hey Cas.” Dean keeps his voice pitched low, riding the edges of a whisper. They weren’t bothering anyone, but there was just something about this place. Something solemn and old that Dean didn’t want to disrupt with his loud ass voice. “How are you doing, man?”

Cas smiles at him, a slow and steady thing that makes Dean’s heart do stupid flips in his chest. It was weird, it wasn’t like Cas didn’t smile all that often. He smiled all the time. But there was something about it that felt special every time that Dean saw it. “I was going to ask you the same thing.” Sometimes, talking to Cas was like talking to a brick wall. And sometimes, it was like talking to a bulldog with a bone. Polite conversation wasn’t something he did. If he wanted to know something, he asked. And didn’t back down until you answered. Some days, Dean loved it. Some days, Dean hated it. The jury was still out about where he was standing in the road today.

“I’m doing good.” Mostly. Dean sighs, and sees the doubt in those pretty blue eyes. Cas was good at being gently judgemental, and without any words. “I’m hanging in there.” That’s the truth. Today was one of those days where getting out of bed wasn’t so easy. Dean had spent a good half hour just staring at the white paint strokes on the ceiling of his apartment, trying to will his body to do anything but feel like sludge.

He got there. Eventually. Which meant dragging his sad carcass out of bed and changing the Metallica t-shirt and sweats he’d been wearing for the last three days. A shower had been too much of an effort, so Dean slapped on deodorant and washed his face in the sink. You had to take what you could get, some days.

Cas smiles at him, and Dean will tell himself ninety nine times out of a hundred that the smile was the reason he admitted this stuff at all. The other time out of a hundred, he might actually admit to himself that it felt good to be able to tell somebody how he was feeling. “Now.” Dean jabs him in the shoulder with his index finger and gets a huff of laughter for his trouble. “How are you, Cas?”

Cas reaches down to tug on the sleeve of the sweater he was wearing over his button down shirt. With anyone else, Dean would have called it a nervous gesture. But Cas seemed like the kind of guy who was rarely nervous. “I’m well, thank you.” And he definitely wasn’t the type to lie. Not even little white lies to protect someone’s feelings. A fact Dean learned firsthand a few weeks ago when Cas sat down next to him on this very same pew and told him he looked awful.

From Cas, it wasn’t a jab at Dean’s cleanliness or the fact that he’d been a little far past a haircut. It had been a moment of worry from someone who cared about him. Dean was pretty sure that if Cas wasn’t so damn pretty that all these heavy handed conversations would land a little harder.

Lucky for him, Cas was very pretty. Like, unnaturally pretty. It was distracting, honestly.

“Glad to hear it.” Cas was better at silences than Dean was. One settles over them as they sit, Dean lacing his hands together over the top the pew in front of him. Cas keeps his hands in his lap, shoulders nice and loose. Maybe he didn’t get lost in his head the same way Dean did. He couldn’t help but wonder what that was like. Not getting lost in the exhaustion and the worry that circled in his brain what felt like twenty four seven.

Must be nice, that was for sure.

“There is a summer festival they have here.” Cas knew that Dean had only been here a couple of months now. And with the way the down swings hit him, he hadn’t explored more than a few blocks from his place. The church was only around the corner from Dean’s place, and sometimes it took all the energy he had just to drag his ass over here and sit down.

“Yeah?” Maybe it’d be close enough that Dean could see the decorations and stuff outside of his window. That’d be a nice thing to wake up to. Bright colors flapping in the wind and the sound of music and people laughing.

“Yes.” Cas nods. “There are booths where people sell food. I don’t think there are any pies, but I know there are donuts and other sweet things.” Dean huffs a quiet laugh of his own. He’d made a comment once about liking pie, and Cas had taken it to heart.

“That sounds awesome.” Dean’s gotten pretty good at making all the right noises at the right times. He’s had lots of practice when Sam calls. Sam tells him about his law practice and his pretty deaf wife and their struggles with conception and Dean makes all the right noises so that Sam doesn’t think about asking about Dean’s life.

“I’d like you to go with me.” Those words snap Dean right out of his train of thought and he turns to look at Cas, wide eyed. This was a change of pace. The way things were, they sat here together, they talked in hushed whispers and they went their own ways. Dean didn’t give Cas his number, and Cas didn’t give Dean his. Their relationship existed solely within the confines of this church, even if you could call it a relationship. Dean was hesitant to even use the word friendship. And now he didn’t know what the hell was being asked of him. And which one would be worse.

Would it be worse to kill this budding friendship on the off chance of a spark? Or would it be worse for Dean to go places with Cas and sit and stew in the feeling taking hold in his chest and never say a word about it?

“Cas-” It comes out like a warning, and for the first time, Dean sees nervousness in those deep blue eyes. But Cas, he was strong. He wasn’t the kind of guy who was going to back down. Dean always envied that about him.

“No, Dean.” This is soft, just like the hand that reaches out to cup over Dean’s where they’ve fallen useless into his lap. “I know these kinds of declarations make you uncomfortable, but I’m not going to change the subject.”

“Geez.” Dean laughs nervously, his heart pounding a loud tattoo against his ears. “Call a guy out, why don’t you? Isn’t that cutting a little close to the quick?”

Cas doesn’t rise to the bait, and Dean thinks maybe he’s grateful that he didn’t. Cas takes a deep, audible breath, steeling himself before he speaks again. “I enjoy our talks. You’re my friend, and I want what’s best for you. But I have to say something.”

Oh shit, here it is. Dean can feel his hackles raising. He can smell a well meaning, but misguided intervention from a mile away. Hell, the last time this happened he was living back in the states with Benny. Dean took that talk so badly that he moved across the ocean just to get away from it.

Dean starts to pull his hands away, but Cas’ grip tightens, keeping Dean’s hands pinned against his knee. “I care about you, Dean. And I want to keep our friendship. But I can’t keep going on without telling you how I feel.”

Wow. Well, okay. That was not what Dean was expecting. He swallows, a little white around the eyes like a spooked horse, but still pinned to the spot by Cas’ gravel voice. “This isn’t where I saw this going, if we’re being honest.” Yeah, there’s that half manic nervous laugh again. Cas knew him. Cas knew all his bullshit and his depression. How could he still want that?

“Dean.” He’s never known anybody else who could help curb the tide of rising anxiety in his chest with a single word like Cas could. “I care about you. And I’d like you to come with me to the summer festival.” There’s an awkward beat there, Cas working up his nerve. “Romantically.”

“Like a date?” Romantically made it sound like so much more than a date. Like there was weight behind it. (Dean liked the sound of ‘romantically’ a lot better than he liked the sound of dating.)

“A date.” Cas nods, solemn and sweet as ever, and not for the first or the damn last time, Dean wonders what it would be like to kiss him. Just to feel the pressure of lips. Maybe he’d get to feel the way a smile felt on Cas’ lips, up close and personal.

He could have that, maybe. If he manned up and went to the summer festival with him. “I’d like that. I’d like it a lot, actually.” Dean can’t let himself think about the next low swing or what he’d do if the festival happened on a day he had a hard time getting out of bed.

“I’ll come to you. Early. That way, if you’re having one of your bad days, we have plenty of time to help you feel well enough to go.” Cas answers, like he’s reading Dean’s thoughts in neon above his head.

It was enough to make his throat tight. Dean had never had anybody before who saw him, and wanted to stick around. He was a handful on his good days. For Cas to know how low he got and still want to go out with him? That was huge. And planning for a low swing? That was more than icing on the cake. That was a whole other damn cake.

Dean feels warm, right beneath his sternum. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt since before they buried his dad, all those years ago.

It was hope.

“Guess that means I should give you my address and my cell number.”

Cas’ grip on his hands finally loosens, but he doesn’t pull away. He brushes his thumb over the ridges of Dean’s knuckles and smiles.

“I guess you should.”

#ch: dean #polyfacetious | cas #v: expats row #queued #carlota's christmas drabbles

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wearingmywings · 5 years

Text

Dean loves coffee. Needs coffee. At this point, half of his blood is purely coffee, and that’s fine.

What Dean hates, though, is bad coffee. Bitter, watery, not enough caffeine, you name it, he hates it.

Cas knows this. He stays in the bunker pretty much all the time now, and has access to the kitchen. So, one day he decides to order a set of five different coffee syrups. He picks it up at the gas station in town he had it shipped to. Being friendly with the owners had its perks to help keep the surprise a secret.

Day 1: Vanilla

Cas hears the pit-pat of naked feet and smiles. He already made Dean’s coffee. It’s sitting fresh and steaming in a Batman mug on the counter. Cas reaches into his pocket to grab the tiny bottle of syrup. He has carefully read the “Tips for your tasty coffee experience!” sticker on the package, and puts three thick drops of syrup in the mug. He stirs and waits.

Dean’s wearing soft flannel pajamas and his robe. He mumbles a greeting to Cas and does a double take at the mug sitting on the counter.

“Did you make coffee?” he asks and Cas nods. “Uh, thanks.”

Dean sits down with his drink and takes a big sip. He double takes again.

“This tastes sweet,” he says. Cas nods again. “Huh.”

Day 2: White chocolate

Cas brews coffee, pours it into a ‘World’s Okayest Brother’ mug (Sam’s birthday gift for Dean), pulls the syrup bottle out of his coat pocket, and puts three thick drops of syrup in the cup. He stirs and waits.

Dean’s not wearing pants but his robe, tied at the waist. He smiles softly at Cas when he sees the cup. “New tradition?” he asks. Cas nods.

Dean takes a sip and raises his brows. “This is good,” he says and raises the cup again. Cas beams at him.

Day 3: Raspberry

Three drops of syrup, stir, wait.

Dean’s in jeans, an old shirt, and a green flannel when he comes into the kitchen and heads straight for the cup on the counter. He gulps it down greedily, then turns to Cas and says, “Didn’t sleep because of research. We got a case. Let’s go.”

Dean stops and thinks for a moment.

“Sweet, but not my favorite. Still liked it though,” he says. “I could get used to starting my mornings with this.”

Cas tilts his head. “If you wanted me to make you coffee, you should have just asked. No sleep means lots of preparation time.” He smiles at Dean.

“Wasn’t talking ‘bout the coffee,” Dean says and leaves the kitchen.

Day 4: Caramel

Syrup, stir, wait.

Hunting wendigos is easy but exhausting. Sam’s snoring, Dean’s just waking up. Cas sits on a chair in the kitchenette flipping through the Gideon bible and when Dean pads over in a shirt and blue boxer shorts, Cas taps the chair next to him with his foot. Dean sits down with his coffee. He looks at Cas, takes a sip, then looks at Cas again.

Dean’s hair is illuminated by early morning sunshine, giving him an angelic appearance.

Appropriate, Cas thinks, for a man so radiant and beautiful.

Dean’s foot nudges Cas’, and Cas nudges back. They smile at each other.

Day 5: ?

One of the bottles is a mystery flavor. Cas risks it. He adds the syrup, stirs, leans against the counter, and waits.

Dean comes into the kitchen wearing soft flannel pants and the Metallica shirt Cas got him for Christmas. There’s a pillow crease imprinted on his left cheek, and Cas wants to run his fingers over it.

He offers the coffee cup to Dean, who smiles softly at Cas before taking it. They stand too close together.

Dean takes a long sip, looks down into the cup and nods.

“It didn’t say the flavor on the bottle,” Cas says. “What is it?”

Dean looks at him. Steps closer. Cas feels the warmth radiating from his body. He counts the freckles on Dean’s nose while Dean looks at him. Searches his eyes. Cas isn’t sure what he’s looking for.

“My favorite,” Dean says.

Dean kisses him.

It’s hazelnut.

#Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #castiel #bunker fluff #my writing

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skteeshirt · 3 months

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Metallica 72 Seasons 2023 – 2024 World Tour tshirt, Metallica Shirt, 2023 – 2024 World Tour Shirt

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javocjovian · 5 years

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Dress For Success - Bonus, SPN Kink Bingo

To celebrate the completion of my Bingo card I rewrote my first Bingo Square and commissioned the incredible @purgatory-jar to draw the final scene! I’m absolutely thrilled with how it turned out! (I had to crop it to post on tumblr, but you can see the full NSFW image on AO3!)

Title: Dress for Success Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444402/chapters/50431292 Square: Clothing Sharing Ship: Destiel Tags: Smut, Humor, Top/Bottom switching, Clothing sharing, Sam is so done Word Count: 1946

art by @purgatory-jar

Dress For Success

Sam knew Dean and Castiel were fucking. They never told him, per se, but Sam knew. And it wasn’t because of any brotherly bond crap -- It was because of clothing. Or rather, a lack of it. It all started with Castiel. Sam was used to Castiel doing weird things in the bunker. Said things included, but were not limited to, making pb and j’s (and not eating them), reading books backwards, filling the coffee pot with honey, opening every single drawer in the bunker, and, of course, walking around at night completely naked. The first time Sam saw this, he slopped tea all over his nightshirt. He took a steadying breath and politely informed Castiel that humans do not do that. So when Castiel started acting jumpy and suspicious, especially first thing in the morning when he and Sam were alone, Sam barely paid any notice. It was just Castiel. But then there was Dean. Dean was the one who made Sam think it was all in his head. Dean always acted completely normal, chalking up the noises Sam heard late at night to Busty Asian Beauties and other nighttime adventures that Sam did not want to hear about. Dean almost convinced him that nothing was going on, until one night Dean did something Sam simply couldn’t ignore.

Sam was bringing some dishes back to the kitchen and found Dean standing in front of the refrigerator drinking orange juice from the carton, butt naked. Sam shouted in surprise. “What the hell, Dean?” Sam gawked at him. Dean paused, looked down, then shrugged and kept drinking. “You can’t… just. Oh god.” “God has left the building, Sammy.” “I can see that.” Sam skirted around Dean like he was contagious and dropped his dishes in the sink. “The human body is nothing to be ashamed of, Sam. It’s a thing of beauty,” Dean said. “Don’t censor me.” “I’m not, I…!” Sam blinked furiously, determinedly looking Dean in the eye. “I’m going to bed.” “Fine,” Dean replied casually. “Goodnight.” Before Sam could leave the kitchen, he bumped into Castiel in the doorway. Castiel at least was clothed, but they weren't his clothes. He was wearing an old AC/DC shirt and stained jeans. Sam and Dean both stared at him. Seeing Castiel in those kind of clothes was just as jarring as walking in on someone naked. “Hello, Sam,” Castiel said. When he looked to Dean, his eyes fell straight down. “Dean,” he greeted him, his voice cracking. Dean barely noticed. He was in a daze. He’d never seen Castiel wearing clothes like that -- His clothes. “Cas that’s...” Sam said awkwardly. “That’s not really what I meant, about the clothes...” Castiel and Dean both ignored him. Sam took a sharp breath, looking between them. “Mhm. Uh, hm.” His expression fell. Finally he found his voice and said, “Nope, not touching this. Goodnight.” He strode past Castiel and disappeared down the hall. Dean cleared his throat, making Castiel finally look up. “You should wear my stuff more often," Dean said slowly. “Like, seriously. That’s... fucking hot.” Castiel squinted at him. Dean winked and put the orange juice down. There was something fiery in his gaze that made Castiel’s brain go fuzzy. Castiel approached him, trying hard to keep his eyes from drifting downwards, but Dean wasn't embarrassed. He pulled Castiel close. Castiel could smell the citrus on his tongue and feel his nude body against his...

“Okay! New rule.” Sam reappeared in the doorway. Castiel backed away. Dean rolled his eyes. “Clothes. You have to wear clothes. Both of you. All the time! I don’t care what you do behind closed doors but...” Sam sighed exasperatedly. “In the kitchen? C’mon.” He huffed, then left without another word. Dean winked at Castiel.

Sam’s knowledge of their relationship didn’t hinder Dean or Castiel at all. In fact, after that night -- a very long night in which neither Winchester got much sleep -- Dean and Castiel stopped hiding their relationship altogether. Castiel seemed to sense that wearing Dean’s clothes was one of those ‘kinks’ Dean never clearly expressed but obviously enjoyed, so he started wearing his shirts under his suits. During one particularly messy werewolf hunt, Castiel got injured and tore his suit. While Dean was fixing him up, he noticed his old Metallica shirt peeking out from beneath Castiel’s ripped button up. Dean stopped what he was doing and stared at Castiel. They were in a dilapidated cabin deep in the woods. Sam was out securing the perimeter. Castiel’s chest was heaving from the fight. He was flushed and his hair was a mess, and that old, paper thin Metallica shirt was dampened with Castiel's sweat. Dean didn’t stand a chance. As soon as Castiel was bandaged and Dean's work was done, Dean pushed him onto the floor. Within seconds Castiel’s suit things were scattered around them and Castiel had been stripped to that Metallica shirt with his dress pants and underwear around his knees. Dean's hands were all over Castiel as he fucked him on the cabin floor. It took practice to get good at fucking Castiel. Fortunately, Dean had had a lot of practice. He knew exactly how fast and how hard to thrust to get Castiel to start panting. He knew the perfect spot to make Castiel shudder and gasp. Once Castiel started moaning Dean’s name and arching his back, Dean knew he was close. He reared up and took full control, working his hips like a porn star. Castiel's cock was leaking onto the Metallica shirt as he writhed in ecstasy.

Half a mile away, Sam heard Castiel shouting. He sprinted back to the cabin at top speed, his hunter instincts on high alert.

Inside the cabin, Castiel came with a heartfelt groan. The sound was so human that it nearly tipped Dean over the edge. He was so close, just another few thrusts… then a series of sounds ripped Dean out of his ecstatic haze. He heard the door slam open, the cocking of a shotgun, and then Sam sputtering in disbelief. “Really? Goddamnit, Dean!” Sam exclaimed. Dean attempted to cover himself with the trench coat and failed. Cas made no effort to help. “Five minutes, Sam, please,” Dean muttered. “Unbelievable.” Sam walked away. “I’m going to go burn my eyes out with holy fire,” he shouted back at them. “Sam, no,” Castiel said breathlessly. “He’s kidding,” Dean said, resuming his thrusts at once. Castiel groaned and dropped his head on the floor. “No, I’m not!” Sam shouted. “Shut the door!” Dean yelled back. “Pervert!” There was a flustered, indignant noise as Sam slammed the door shut.

“Great plan, Dean,” Sam muttered to himself, taking a seat outside the cabin with his shotgun. “If another werewolf comes I’ll just tell them to form a queue. ‘Your murder is very important to us’.” Sam huffed. “Once my brother’s done getting ass we’ll be right with you.”

Dean and Castiel rejoined Sam outside ten minutes later. Castiel looked awkward and embarrassed, but Dean was unabashedly in high spirits. "Alright! Let's kill some werewolves!" Dean slapped Sam jovially on the back.

The next few hours were spent hunting down the rest of the werewolf pack. By the time they were done every last werewolf had been exterminated, and even Sam had to admit that Dean and Castiel were in rare form. Sam couldn't remember the last time a hunt had gone so well, so he decided to give them a break and stop complaining. He also decided to start entering rooms with a hand over his eyes.

When they returned to the bunker Dean went to his room to get cleaned up and Sam started the laundry. He was able to get all of the blood stains out of Castiel’s suit, plus a stain Sam refused to let Castiel explain. They hadn’t been able to find his trenchcoat, so Castiel went looking for it. It was strange, Castiel knew he was wearing it when they got back to the bunker. He went into Dean's room and found it -- on Dean.

Dean was sprawled out on his bed, wearing nothing but that trenchcoat. “Hey,” Dean greeted him. “Were you… looking for something?” He feigned looking around. A smile tugged at Castiel’s lips. He took his tie off and joined Dean on the bed. Dean was pleased to see Castiel’s eyes darken as he took in the sight before him. Castiel smoothed his hands up Dean’s body, from his thighs to his shoulders, tracing every line and muscle framed so perfectly by that open coat. His coat. “That’s...” Castiel rasped. “That’s not how you’re supposed to wear it.” Dean smiled, shivering pleasantly. “I don't hear you complaining.” He could already feel Castiel’s growing erection pressing into his leg. Castiel couldn’t deny that. They seemed to come to a silent agreement and Castiel began stripping. Dean watched him, idly stroking himself, something he knew drove Castiel wild. Sure enough, Castiel kept getting distracted while trying to get undressed. Once Castiel was naked he settled between Dean’s legs, captured Dean’s hands, and pinned them above his head. Dean felt a jolt of arousal. He loved it when Castiel got like this. Dean spread his legs and let Castiel fuck him right there in that trench coat. Castiel was normally all instinct and passion when he topped, but tonight was different. Tonight he wanted to claim Dean. He wanted to mark him on the inside just as his trenchcoat marked him on the outside. He took his time, unraveling Dean piece by piece until Dean was beside himself with pleasure and groaning Castiel's name. “Dean...” Castiel growled, “I think I understand now.” “Do you?” Dean said. It took all his strength to speak with Castiel fucking the breath out of him. Castiel nodded, his pupils blown and his lips parted. “It’s… ‘fucking hot’,” he rasped. He lowered his hips and angled a thrust into Dean’s prostate felt a rush of satisfaction as Dean’s witty retort fell apart on his lips. Dean didn’t bottom often, but when he did it reminded him just how awesome it was sleeping with an angel. Castiel was a force of nature, raw and powerful, ravaging Dean over and over again and hitting pleasure spots Dean didn't even know he had. Dean was in heaven. Castiel wove their fingers together above Dean’s head and kissed him deeply.

Across the hall, Sam put on rain sounds to fall asleep. Dean had let him borrow his noise cancelling headphones earlier, something Sam tried not to think about as he drifted off.

In the morning, Sam was surprised to find Dean awake first. He was sipping coffee and sitting funny at the Men of Letters' table, looking oddly at peace with the world. Sam poured himself a cup and joined Dean in silence. “So...” Sam spoke up. Dean glanced at him. “How was your night?” “Shut up.” Sam smiled. "You realize that you’re… um... You and Cas... What did they call it?” Dean was barely awake, but he realized where Sam was going. “Don’t say it.” “’Destiel’?” Dean stared at Sam. Sam was trying, and failing, to hold back a grin. Finally, Dean cracked a smile. “Yeah. I know.” They shared a mutual silence, both of them smiling to themselves. “We should make bumper stickers.” “No," Dean said firmly. Sam sipped his coffee. He didn't say another word. Truthfully, he was happy for his brother. Castiel came in wearing a pair of Dean's pajamas and looking extremely well rested. Dean smiled warmly at him. Sam looked away, but he was smiling, too. Maybe, just maybe, the clothing thing was kind of cute.

#supernatural #Destiel #fanfiction #Fanart #fanfic #spnkinkbingo #art commisions #purgatory-jar #sarasaurusrex #archive of our own

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lifblogs · 3 years

Text

2183 words

Castiel came to visit Dean. They talked. They talked about everything Castiel had said to him, the Empty, what Dean hadn’t said. Then the two of them set themselves up in a little cabin. Strictly speaking, Castiel didn’t need to stay in Heaven, but he wanted to, and had even told Dean that it was because Dean was there. Upon realizing he was dead, Castiel had grabbed Dean, anger flaring in his eyes. That anger had faded with Dean’s explanation, with the understanding that began to dawn in both of them that this could just be another form of existing in this universe. Dean Winchester was dead. But Heaven was a whole new world for him to explore.

That first night together they kissed, and then they laid down and held each other, Dean falling asleep in Cas’ arms.

Their first full day together, they drove. They went wherever they wanted to, and listened to the mixtape Dean had given to Castiel a few years ago.

That night was their first time being intimate with each other. It had been a breaking, an unleashing of themselves upon each other. And it was perfect and beautiful, and Dean realized this was Heaven.

Time went on like that. They’d explore each other’s bodies, have fun just knowing each other in such a way, and they’d live together, doing whatever they wanted.

Things were good… until they weren’t. Until one morning when Dean woke up to Castiel kissing him and murmuring praise into his ear. It made Dean’s skin crawl, and something felt seriously wrong in him.

Dean didn’t say anything, yet he wondered why the hell his stomach was clenching, and his legs were tense. Cas seemed to notice, and pulled back.

“What is it?” his angel asked.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” Dean lied, already pushing himself up and making to get out of bed. “I’m just tired.”

Another lie. Dean could never be tired in Heaven after sleeping because every night was a good night’s sleep, even if he only managed to snag an hour between tussling with Cas in the sheets.

Castiel pushed the covers on his side of the bed back, revealing the absolutely absurd and ridiculous orange underwear he chose to wear. He’d paired it with a Metallica T-shirt. It was endearing, cute, and so him, but… Dean suddenly felt too exposed in just his underwear and thin V-neck.

“Dean, we’re in Heaven,” Castiel reasoned to Dean’s earlier point.

“Yeah, I know.”

Castiel just raised an eyebrow at him, and let out a sigh.

Dean didn’t provide him with any more information, not truly understanding what he was feeling himself.

He grabbed his clothes and made to head to the bathroom, hoping a shower would sort him out.

Castiel started grabbing his own clothes. Dean patted him on the shoulder as he walked by. “Sorry, Cas. Just me today.” Cas’ face fell. “Come on, it’s not like you really need to shower,” he pointed out.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Dean leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m golden.”

He’d wanted to take a long shower, maybe use all the hot water and steam to sort this out, but something in him just hurt. Being away from Castiel seemed to make it worse. So after he washed himself and dried, he dressed, and then went to go find his angel.

Castiel was in the kitchen, making breakfast (he knew how to cook at least a few things because Dean had taken the time to teach him). He smiled when he saw the eggs and bacon cooking, smiled at the mug of coffee that was all ready for him. He smiled and it was a lie, because that hurt in him pulsed, and he suddenly felt jittery, full of energy that he didn’t know what to do with.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean got out, and he went over to go kiss him, an idea coming to mind.

Castiel easily leaned into it, and then started to be the one trying to take control.

It was smothering.

Dean pulled back, spanked Cas because it was just something they both did now, and told him, “Breakfast’s burnin’, sunshine.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at him so hard he rolled his entire body, and then he went back to breakfast.

“It can’t burn,” Dean heard him mutter under his breath.

Dean just sat at the edge of the wooden table, picked up his coffee, and tried to enjoy it.

“So what are the plans for today?” Dean asked, hesitant about the question.

For some reason he didn’t want there to be plans, he just wanted… well, he didn’t know what he wanted. It was bothering him, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. And it was growing more incessant the more he left it alone, and more frustrating as he tried to reach it, and almost could, but failed after multiple attempts.

“Well, seeing as Jack and I remade all of this,” Castiel said, gesturing with the spatula, a tiny piece of egg flying off of it, “we can literally do whatever. Only, I’m not always sure what that would be.”

“What, ‘cause you’re not human?”

“Yes.”

“Come on,” Dean started, “you’re human enough for this crap. What do you want to do?”

“Aside from the obvious—”

“The obvious?” Dean interrupted.

Castiel turned, still looking so ridiculous in that orange underwear, holding the spatula in one hand. But the eyebrow he raised at Dean, that wasn’t ridiculous at all. It had heat running straight down through Dean’s body, and he found himself curling his toes in his boots. “I still haven’t fucked you against every surface in here yet,” Castiel said.

Dean’s face turned bright red, and he just gaped at him.

Castiel gave him a smirk, and went back to what he was doing.

Dean tried to think of something to say, but there was nothing. God, the ways Cas could make him feel. And he was pretty sure Cas knew what he was doing. They’d talked enough about the ways Dean had changed Cas for them to have an almost human understanding between each other. And even if it wasn’t wholly human, it was theirs. Only they knew the two of each other like this, and only they felt so profoundly for one another. The sex was just another thing to explore, and the dominance that Castiel usually exerted in fights easily translated to the bedroom.

Before he could think of anything to possibly say to that, Castiel put his food down in front of him, and then sat across from him. One of his feet started running up Dean’s leg, and he didn’t even seem to be aware that he was doing it.

“Would you want that today?” Castiel asked.

He did.

He didn’t.

Maybe he should let Castiel decide.

“I don’t know, Cas.”

Dean set in on his breakfast, and since, fuck it, this was Heaven, he let himself moan at how good the food tasted.

“Are you trying to turn on your breakfast?” Cas teased.

“You think it’s working?”

“It’s food, Dean,” he responded blandly.

Dean just shot him a grin, and continued eating.

By the time he was done, he and Castiel had decided they would go fishing in a river that Cas had created nearby.

The day was beautiful, as all the days were. Yet Dean found himself looking too deeply into the shadows of the trees, found himself flinching at unexpected sounds.

They fished. They laughed.

Castiel ended up tackling Dean along the shoreline, getting on top of him, and kissing him.

Dean shifted his hips upward to displace him a bit, shoved against his collarbone to unbalance him, and then rolled, slamming Castiel into the ground. He kissed him, hard. Castiel pulled away to say something, and it sounded a lot like praise.

Not wanting to hear any of that, Dean just murmured against his lips, “No, don’t say anything.”

For now, Castiel was okay with that. Dean took Castiel on the shore, and when they were done, he laid down beside him and looked up at the sky.

“I hope you know that you’re very good at that,” Castiel said.

Dean chuckled. “How could I not be? I’m Dean friggin’ Winchester.”

“And I hope you also know that… that every time I touch any part of you, it makes me want to show you how much I love you. I want to touch you till you understand, tell you…”

Dean sat up, and Castiel trailed off, seeming to realize what Dean was feeling even before Dean did. Castiel sat up too, and was rubbing Dean’s back. He bristled at the touch, but deep inside. He didn’t show it, didn’t even understand it.

“Okay, what is it? And don’t lie to me like you did this morning. Something’s wrong.”

“I don’t… I don’t know what’s wrong,” Dean answered. “I didn’t want to say anything until I figured it out.”

“Is that what’s been keeping you so preoccupied all day?”

Dean nodded, and then leaned into Castiel.

“I guess I’m just… waiting for it to end,” Dean admitted.

“For what to end?”

“This. All of it. Part of me’s just waiting to wake up, or waiting for something bad to happen. This can’t be real, can it?”

Castiel held Dean’s face, and he said, words soft yet insistent, “It is real.”

They kissed, as if Cas was trying to prove it, as if Dean was looking for it.

But none of it felt right.

Dean pulled away with a sigh. Castiel settled with a hand on his chest.

“Dean, this is real.”

“Then why does it feel so…” He looked up, finding his vision starting to blur from the sheer emotional confusion warring in him. Fuck, he didn’t want to cry in god damn Heaven. Still, they didn’t clear from his eyes. “...I don’t know, so bad,” he finished. “Wrong.”

Cas pulled away.

“What are you saying? Are you saying you don’t want this?”

At the hurt in Castiel’s low voice, Dean turned, and reached out for him.

“No, no. I do. That’s the problem. I do. God, I do. But I’ve never… my life has never let this happen before, never let me be happy, never let this last. And, I know, I know, I’m in Heaven, that there’s peace here, whatever I want, or need, but… I can’t shake the feeling that something’s gonna come along and ruin it, or… or that you’ll want it to end. Hell, I even think that all this good, it’s—it’s… I don’t know, it’s smothering me.”

“Do you need me to stop?”

“I don’t know, Cas. I just… I want to run away, and I know that’s wrong. I know I should just be here, be at fucking peace, but I’m not used to it. It’s suffocating.”

“I understand,” Castiel said after a long moment of silence in which he seemed to be thinking hard.

“You do?”

“Yes. The things you, and the things I, went through in our lives, they leave a mark, and not even Heaven can erase it. And that mark, and all the bad we went through — it made the good moments seem fleeting, unreal. And, at the end of it all, we’re just not used to it. It’s not going to feel like what we’ve been conditioned with. It’s… different.”

“And different doesn’t mean bad.”

“I know, but…” Now it was Castiel’s turn to look uneasy.

“What?”

“I feel it too. I think… I think maybe that’s why I didn’t go back at first, to you, to Earth. I didn’t think I could have it, and I was so used to being beaten down that I just… I didn’t go after you. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t gotta be sorry. I didn’t do anything to find you. I just thought… I thought it was over.”

“It’s not over. Even here, even now. We can have this. If you want it.”

Dean nodded, and was running his thumbs over Cas’ ears. “I do. I do. Believe me, I do. But this feeling, man, it… I don’t know how to make it go away. I just want it to stop.”

Suddenly Castiel was smiling, and Dean was taken aback.

“This is good.”

“Good?”

“We both have the same problem. We have something to do now, something more to strive for.”

“So what, we’re just gonna fight this feeling we have, and take the good as it comes?”

“Well, we are in Heaven.”

“God, I love you.”

Dean surged forward and kissed Castiel, and that feeling clawing at his chest lessened a bit. If they worked at it, if they let time continue on, they would get used to this, all of it. So when Dean and Castiel went home that night, Dean let Castiel do what he’d talked about that morning, had even begged him to do it, and after long hours, Dean forgot that he wanted to run away, if only for a moment.

They would fix this. They would fix each other. They had eternity.

#Destiel #Destiel fanfiction #Supernatural #spn #spn fanfiction #Supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #my writing

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charlybradburry · 5 years

Text

Love Letters from Dean Winchester I

So....someone I follow,formally known as @deans-baby-momma asked for a love letter in their asks and I got carried away just a bit to much. Like eight asks carried away as you might have noticed. So here you go with my try. Enjoy :)

Pairing: Dean x reader

Theme: I hope you'll never receive this

Warnings: all the fluff

Word count: ~610

Hey Love!

I hope you’ll never need to read this letter, but knowing our life style this is the best way I can think of, because you need to know! There was a time when I felt so lost. I was broken and didn’t know how I shall keep going in this cruel world. You had stayed with us for only a few months and the memories of Amara where still loud and bright on my mind. The nightmares where overwhelming, Sammy, Cas and…and you…bleeding, motionless in front of me, a knife in my hand…I was woken on that night from this picture again when I heard the knock on my door. Still breathing heavily, I opened the door and you were standing in front of me, wearing a Metallica shirt and blue boxers, carrying a pecan pie in your hands. You told me that your nightmares woke you and that you decided to bake to calm down. You walked to my bed and made yourself comfortable resting your back against the headboard, telling me to start a movie of choice. I decided on ‘Mulan’ knowing nobody would hate good ol’ Disney. Joining you on the bed resting against the board as well. You handed me a fork and started digging into the gooey gloriousness, eating it directly out of the tin. I chuckled and joined you, a sigh leaving my lips when it’s flavor spread through my mouth. You grinned at me and cuddled against my shoulder. I wrapped an arm around you and placed a short kiss on your hair. Deep down I could feel the first tiny bits of my soul being placed together again, how your presence alone made me feel better. When about half of the film as well as of the pie was done you started to doze off on my shoulder. I smiled and wrapped and pulled you a little closer, loving how you fit just perfect there. I stopped the film, took the fork and pie from your lap, placing them on the night stand. I buried my nose in your hair breathing in the soft smell of lavender and caramel lingering in your hair. I slowly let you slip down, making us more comfortable and before I knew it, I had fallen asleep next to you.

When I woke up I felt so rested, so calm. It was the first time in – damn it must have been years – that I wasn’t woken by a nightmare. You were still deep asleep, arms and legs wrapped around me as if your life depended on it, your cheek resting against my chest, snoring softly. Your hair was a mess, a bit of drool wetting me shirt and still: you were the most beautiful thing I ever saw in that moment. It was the point that I noticed how much you meant to me, the second I decided I would never let you go again. Ever since you made me the luckiest man in the world. And at the same time I never felt so scarred in my life. Scarred to my bones that something would take you away from me. But ever since you made sure that I knew that nothing will ever be able to separate you from me. And that’s what I love you for. I love you for your groggy face before your first coffee in the morning. I love you for that little snore and that you will always deny that you do. I love that you’ll bake pies whenever you’re stressed. And I love that you never pushed me to tell you just that.

You’re all I ever needed!

Yours always,

Dean

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #dean x reader #spn imagines #supernatural imagine #loveletters #loveletter

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gii-heylittleangel · 5 years

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Dean + Alcohol =Loose Lips

Hey y’all, I’m back with another Weekly Words for the Writers of Destiel Discord. This week’s prompt was ‘Too Many Beers’ and I got the general idea for mine from Friends (because I’m addicted to it). I hope you enjoy it!

Thank you @fangirlingtodeath513 for betaing it for me!

Summary: Dean has done some pretty stupid things while being drunk—there are some he would even rather not think about. But when he wakes up that morning, he’s pretty sure that what he did last night will be on his Top 3: after almost a decade of hiding his feelings from Cas, he just practically wrote them on a brick and threw it on his best friend’s face—or maybe that would’ve been a little more subtle than what he did.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475506

Dean stumbles through the crowd, pushing through people to be able to walk towards the bar stool, while also using them as support since his legs aren’t doing their job. He almost falls a couple of times, regaining his balance while using someone as support—people seriously don’t seem to notice when a stranger uses them as support, which would seem weird to Dean if his brain wasn’t drowning in alcohol.

He manages to get to the stool he was sitting before without falling flat on his face or tripping on top of someone and getting both of them on the floor. Dean sits, groaning when he hits his calf on the counter. The bartender huffs a small laugh, putting a glass in front of Dean and pouring some whiskey. “Tough day at the office or in life?”

Dean groans again, grabbing the glass and knocking it back. “You could say both,” his voice comes out slurred, making it a little difficult for the bartender to understand him.

The bartender just chuckles, pouring some more whiskey in Dean’s glass. “Well, you can tell me all about it if you wanna. I’m pretty good with advices and I have a bar full of alcohol. I’d say it’s a ‘win-win’ situation.”

Dean lowers his hand a little too hard onto the counter, the glass hitting it with a muffled thud, and scoffs. “Well, the guy I’ve been in love with for almost a decade now is going out with a chick who doesn’t deserve him because she’s a bitch, my friend has no idea of how bad she is or how much I like him, my work has been sucking for over a month now, and my baby brother is just pissing me off.”

“So you just decided to drown yourself in whiskey?” Dean nods, grabbing the glass that’s now filled again and drinking it down. The bartender just shakes his head, putting the whiskey back and taking the glass from Dean’s hand once he’s finished. “You know that’s not really the healthy way, right?”

Dean scoffs, resting his head on his palm and staring at the bartender with a tired expression. “Buddy, if you knew me, you would know I’m not one to do things the healthy way.”

The bartender shakes his head, tapping Dean’s shoulder. “Well, maybe you should try and change. Maybe that’ll help. Or at least make you feel a little less crappy.”

Dean only shrugs and lowers his head, resting it on his folded arms on top of the counter. The bartender just gives a few more taps on Dean’s shoulder and leaves to talk to other customers. Dean groans, raising his head and staring at his face in the mirror behind the counter: red, foggy eyes, hair totally disheveled, pointing in all different directions, and big, dark bags under his eyes.

Dean turns his gaze to his hands, not knowing what to do with them, just staring at his fingers and picking on his nails. He pulls some cuticle from his thumb, picking on it until it starts hurting and a drop of blood comes from it. He puts his thumb in his mouth until the bleeding stops.

He starts to stare at a couple behind him through the mirror, the girls with her around her boyfriend’s waist, looking at him with big, loving eyes. Dean looks at the guy, who, unfornately, reminds him so much of Cas: dark, soft, and messy hair, like he just got out of bed (or just had sex, but Dean definitely doesn’t think like that), bright blue eyes that are filled with happiness, even though they’re not the right blue, not as clear as Cas’s. The guy also has what looks like a soft scruff, just barely there, making Dean wonder if Cas’s scruff would be soft like that if Dean touched it. The guy also seems Cas’s height but not as toned as he is, his legs nothing like his best friend’s, muscular from all the running he likes to do.

Dean shakes his head, trying to get Cas’s image out of his mind, not wanting another reason to be reminded of his huge crush. He calls the bartender, raising one finger while asking, “Could’ya get a beer for me, buddy?”

The bartender smirks, getting a bottle from the fridge and opening before placing it on the counter. “Got tired of the whiskey?”

Dean hiccups and grabs the bottle, taking a long sip before answering, “‘m not gonna last long if I keep doin’ shots with the whiskey, or ‘m gonna go home in a coffin.”

“Good idea. Do you want me to call a cab for you? Or someone to come and pick you up?”

Dean shakes his head, grunting when the movement makes his surroundings start to move. He blinks a few times before mumbling, “Nah, Baby’s out there. I’ll go once I get well enough or just sleep it off before going home,” he hiccups again, putting his hand in front of his mouth and taking a deep breath.

The bartender just shakes his head. “Well, you’re gonna be here a while then. You should switch to water or coffee, not beer.”

Dean just waves his hand, dismissing the bartender. “I’ll be fine.”

The bartender raises an eyebrow, staring at Dean in disbelief. “All right, but if you still this drunk when you decide to gome, I ain’t letting you drive.” Dean nods at him and the bartender walks away.

Dean takes his phone out of his pocket (after a few tries, which he’s not proud of) to check the hour. He stares at his wallpaper once he unlocks the phone, Cas’s smiling face staring back at him, laughing at something Dean had said moments before the picture was taken by Charlie, Dean also smiling as he watches Cas laughing in the picture.

Dean’s heart tightens, a lump forming in his throat. He clears his throat and starts dialing Cas’s number, his mind foggy with alcohol that’s not letting him think straight (not that he could even if wanted).

The phone rings and rings and rings, leaving Dean anxious, until Cas’s voice comes through the speaker, “This is my voicemail. Make your voice a mail.”

“Heya, Cas, it’s me. Y’know, your best friend for almost ten years now? Yeah, that’s right, the hot one. ‘m just calling to let y’know that I’m all over you. I mean, not literally, y’know, but I am over you, because I don’t need ya anymore. ‘m totally capable of finding a new crush and it doesn’t need to be you.”

Dean hangs up, placing his phone on the counter next to the bottle of beer. He stares through the mirror at the couple again, getting angry for them being this happy with each other when he can’t be. He shouldn’t be surprised since nothing seems to work for him, so why would this?

He donws the last of his beer, resting his arms on the counter after and then resting his head on them. The sounds of the bar around him deafen as he starts to go from conscious to unconscious.

~✩~✩~

The first thing Dean notices when he wakes up the next morning is the worst hangover he’s ever experienced. He knows he can be a little dramatic sometimes but he’s sure he’s never been like this before. What did he drink last night to make it this bad?

He tries to sit up on the bed but gives up as soon as he heads starts spinning and his stomach seems ready to throw everything up. He lays down again, putting a hand on his mouth to stop himself from throwing up and closing his eyes to try and stop the spinning on his head.

He stays like that for a few minutes, trying to breathe in and out slowly through his nose, until he starts feeling better and trusts himself enough to stand up without passing out or throwing up. He sits carefully, not wanting to move his body too quickly, or at least until he’s close enough to the bathroom.

Dean only starts thinking something’s strange when he sits and looks around him, recognising his own room. How the hell did he get there? The last memory he has is finishing his beer at the Roadhouse after calling Cas, and then he decided to rest his head on his arms for a few minutes until he felt well enough to drive home.

He looks at himself, with an old Metallica shirt and sweatpants, which are not what he was wearing last night. He wonders if he just blacked out after that last beer or if someone got him home. Maybe Sam did, as he usually did when Dean was young and drank more than he was capable of handling. He looks around the room once again, trying to gather more information and confirm if it was Sam who brought him home.

Dean’s betting it wasn’t his brother because the house is far too quiet for Sam to be there, no heavy footsteps, snores or people breaking the kitchen. Maybe he did came back on his own this time and maybe he wasn’t as bad as he thought since he managed to get home alive. And if he did, Baby probably made it too.

Dean stands up slowly and starts walking towards the bathroom, using the wall as a support and dragging his legs behind him, trying to make them start working again. He looks at himself in the mirror, getting horrified once he processes his own image in his brain: he has pretty dark bags under his eyes, which are puffy, red and seem pretty dry, his hair is a total mess, pointing in different directions while one part on the front is totally flattened. He has marks from his pillow all over his face and a dark bruise on the right side of his jaw.

He puts his hand on it, groaning when it hurts. He closes his eyes, trying to remember how he got that because he didn’t have it when he passed out. Dean only gets some flashes, too fuzzy for him to know exactly what happened but he’s pretty sure Cas is in some of those flashes. He rests his hands on the counter and tries to think harder, trying to decipher what is happening with his memories, lowering his head until his chin touches his chest.

His stomach doesn’t like the new position very much and Dean turns quickly towards the toilet, all the booze and food he had last night coming up his throat. He doesn’t even know how all of that alcohol fit inside of him because his stomach definitely doesn’t have the room for it.

Dean groans, resting his head on his arms, trying to stop his dizziness and the pounding in his head.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and a low, gravely voice from behind him, “Take these, it’ll help.”

Dean raises his head, looking behind him and finding bright blue eyes staring back at him with no heat in them, only cold disappointment. Dean groans again, thinking he probably screwed up big time for Cas to be there with that cold look on his face on top of all things.

Cas presses something into Dean’s hands, making Dean look and see a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. Cas kneels beside Dean, opening the bottle and putting a few pills in his hand. “Come on, Dean, just take them. You already threw up everything that you could and water will certainly help you.” Dean throws the pills into his mouth and takes the glass Cas is offering, taking big gulps of it until he finishes it and hands the glass back. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

Cas stands up again, putting the bottle of aspirin on the counter and stopping between the door frames while staring at Dean. Dean only whines, lowering his eyes so as not to have to stare at Cas’s disappointed gaze. “Don’t look at me like that, Cas.”

“There’s food on the table if you want. Greasy food, just how you like when you’re in a hungover.”

Cas starts to leave but Dean speaks before he’s too far away, “Cas, what happened with my face? I didn’t have this bruise yesterday.”

“You were being very annoying at some guys before I got there and of them hit you before I got to you. I put some ice so it probably isn’t so bad as it could’ve been.”

Dean sighs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to get his thoughts in order as Cas leaves. He flushes the toilet and stands up, walking to the sink and splashing some water on his face, feeling a little more awake after. The aspirin starts to work, soothing his headache.

He walks out of the bathroom and out of his room towards the kitchen, dragging his feet and dreading the conversation he has ahead of him.

He sees Cas sitting on one of the chairs in the kitchen, a newspaper in his hands and a mug full of coffee on the table in front of him, steam rising and giving the whole kitchen the delicious smell of caffeine. Dean’s stomach growls, making Cas raise his eyes from the page he was reading and stare at Dean with an arched brow. Dean shrugs, sitting on the chair in front of Cas before mumbling under his breath, “I haven’t eaten since yesterday after work.”

Cas hums, turning his gaze back to his newspaper. Dean takes a deep breath before getting a mug and filling it with coffee. He then gets a plate, putting some bacon strips and some pancakes on it. The bacon is almost dripping grease, making Dean’s mouth water.

He eats in silence, only the rustling of pages when Cas turns one breaking the silence between the two of them or if Dean places the mug a little too hard on the table, a soft thud echoing throughout the kitchen. Dean doesn’t know if he should consider Cas’s silence good or bad.

Probably bad as his friend doesn’t look at him until Dean stands up and puts his dishes in the sink, starting to wash them and dreading the conversation even more. But Cas doesn’t seem to want to dread it, given the rustling of pages being put on the table and his soft footsteps until he’s beside Dean, resting his hip on the counter, the mug half full in his hands.

Dean doesn’t move his eyes to look at Cas, staring at the plate in his hands, but still feeling the weight of Cas’s stare, like he’s judging Dean for something. Dean handles a couple of minutes like that before sighing and turning to Cas, “C’mon, let’s hear it. The suspense is a lot worse than any screaming you could do.”

Cas only presses his lips together, squinting at Dean as he dries his hand on a dish towel. Cas takes a deep breath before talking, “I won’t do any screaming, Dean, you’re an adult and can take of yourself most of the time. And if you want to destroy your liver in a day, that’s your problem, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. I just want to know what you had in mind when you decided to give yourself cirrosis yesterday.”

Dean sighs, putting the towel on the counter next to him and resting his lower back against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles before answering, “I don’t know, Cas. Things haven’t been good for me, and I’ve had too many things to do, and yesterday I just got tired of everything and wanted to forget, drink until I passed out. Which I did, so I think I can tick that off of my to-do list, right?” Dean starts to smile but stops as soon as he sees the annoyed, deadpan expression on Cas’s face. “Look, Cas, I’m sorry if I gave you too much work yesterday, but you didn’t have to get me home. I would’ve been fine or Sam would’ve come and got me, or even Ellen would’ve helped me get home.”

“Dean, Ellen’s the one who called me in the first place because she had a ton of work and couldn’t get you home, and, according to her, you were too drunk to even walk straight, let alone get in your car.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, cocking his head while staring at Cas. “Why did she call you and not Sam?”

“Did the drinking affect your brain that much, Dean?” Cas exhales hard through his nose, rolling his eyes. “Sam had an important case today so he wouldn’t be able to stay here with you all night and make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit during the night. So Ellen called me, asking if I could help.”

Dean scoffs, turning his gaze to the ceiling, not wanting to look at Cas’s eyes, knowing damn well Cas would know something’s wrong the moment he looked into Dean’s eyes. “And you left your girlfriend to help me?” Dean’s voice comes out in a sneer.

“Girlfriend? Dean, I think the alcohol affected you more than you thought. I don’t have a girlfriend, remember?” Dean doesn’t say anything, keeping his gaze locked on a stain on the ceiling. Cas squints his eyes at Dean, tilting his head, trying to decipher what got Dean so angry. After a few minutes, Cas widens his eyes, a mockering smile appearing on his lips as he speaks, “Now your voicemail makes a lot more sense than it did when I first heard it.”

Dean turns his neck so hard he hears a pop and he groans, putting a hand where he thinks the noise came from. He stares at Cas, brows furrowed. “What voicemail?”

Cas just waves him off, fumbling on his phone for Dean’s voicemail. He clicks on the play button and Dean’s voice comes through the speakers, “Heya, Cas, it’s me. Y’know, your best friend for almost ten years now? Yeah, that’s right, the hot one. ‘m just calling to let y’know that I’m all over you. I mean, not literally, y’know, but I am over you, because I don’t need ya anymore. ‘m totally capable of finding a new crush and it doesn’t need to be ya.”

Dean just closes his eyes as soon as the message started playing, his memories after whiskey number 5 coming back to him. Cas locks his phone, placing it on the table after, and then staring at Dean with his head tilted and a cocked brow. “So, you’re over me, huh? Since when weren’t you over me?”

Dean throws his head back, taking a deep breath before replying,”I was drunk, Cas, you can't honestly think that I was making sense while saying all of that.”

“Dean, you've been my best friend for ten years now, I know when you're lying or hiding something from me, especially when you don't want me to." Cas puts a hand on Dean's shoulder, making him look at him, and Cas gives him a small smile, squeezing Dean's shoulder. "Dean, you can tell me. We said this when we first met, and promised we would remind each other whenever we needed it: when it's just the two of us, we will always be in a safe place to say whatever we want. So tell me what's on your mind and let me help you.”

Dean tried not to give in to Cas’s look, but ends up sighing and muttering loud enough for Cas to be able to hear, “I’ll tell you if you promise me you won’t laugh or stop being friends with me, or at least don’t shut me out right away, okay?” Cas nods, pushing Dean softly towards the table and sitting him on one of the chairs. He pulls one out for himself, sitting in front of Dean. Dean takes a deep breath, lowering his eyes to his hands where they’re resting between his legs. “We met when I was figuring out I was bi, and I had all that trouble with accepting who I was, and you helped me a lot with it. You showed me that there was nothing wrong with being who I was. I had some male crushes when I was young, even though I tried to deny I did, but a few months after I met you I-I started having a crush on,” Dean pauses, closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair, taking in a few shaky breaths. Cas puts his hand on Dean’s knee, rubbing soothing circles and letting Dean take the time he needs. After a few minutes, Dean puts his hands back between his legs and stares at Cas’s hand on his knee. He takes a deep breath and continues, “I started having a crush on you when I finally accepted who I was but at the time, I-I thought it was only because you were such a great friend for me back then. But then time passed and that crush never went away, it just grew and it started getting harder for me to handle it, and it’s been with me until today. And, for some reason, I got super jealous yesterday after seeing you and Meg, which is one of the reasons I drank so much yesterday.”

“And you’ve been keeping this a secret for all these years?”

“Not so much. Charlie found out not long after so she kinda helped me with it, trying to set me up with friends of hers or keeping me away whenever you had someone with you and she didn’t want me to know. But she always said she didn’t know how you hadn’t realized it yet because, according to her, anyone could see it in my eyes.”

Guilt flashes in Cas’s blue eyes, but he blinks fast enough for it to disappear before Dean sees it. “That’s really sweet of her. She’s a good friend.”

Dean smiles softly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “She really is. Especially because she kept it a secret for a very long time, always helping me when I needed.”

“I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me, Dean. I swear I had no idea you felt like that or I would have done something to help you.”

Dean raises his head, staring deeply into Cas’s eyes. “It’s not your fault, Cas. Like you said, you had no idea how I felt and I always tried not to let you know, so don’t feel guilty or anything, okay?”

Cas nods, staring back at Dean with fondness in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You know Meg and I are just friends, right? I mean, I hugged her yesterday because she was sad and needed a friendly shoulder to cry on, nothing more. She’s my best friend and only that.”

“I think really deep in my mind I knew that, I was just trying to find a reason to sabotage myself and drink as much as I did yesterday, you know?”

Cas chuckles, shifting his body until he’s a little closer to Dean, his hand still on the Dean’s knee. “It does seem like something you would do. But I actually have a crush on someone else. Someone who is completely clueless about it.”

“Yeah?” Cas hums, nodding. Dean puts his hands on top of Cas’s, getting a few inches from him. “And who is that?”

“Well, he’s very cute, tall, I’ve known him for ten years already. I’ve spent almost all of those years having a crush on him. He’s got some nice freckles all over his face, shoulders and chest, he’s a little dumb sometimes but extremelly smart even though he doesn’t realize it himself. He’s a great person, always putting others before himself and doing the best he can to make his loved ones feel good about themselves even when he doesn’t feel good about himself. And we have a common friend that says we’re perfect for each other and that she didn’t know how my crush never realized I liked him because I seem to only have heart eyes for him.”

Dean hums, lowering his gaze to Cas’s lips and back to his eyes, pupils wide. “Hm, it seems a lot like someone I know but I can’t remember who it is. Why don’t you give me a few more tips?”

“Let me think what else I can tell you.” Cas approaches Dean, their mouths apart only be an inch, sliding his hands up Dean’s legs until they’re on his hips. “Well, he has the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, blond, spiked hair that’s so soft it looks like a blanket. He has a habit of always running his hand through it when he’s nervous, or scratching his head when he’s trying to remember something that slipped his mind, and he has very attractive plump lips, always making me wonder how they would feel against my own.”

“This guy seems very lucky for having you crushing on him that I’m almost jealous.”

Cas smiles softly. “You shouldn’t be because it’s you,” he says before crushing his lips against Dean’s, ripping a moan from Dean.

Dean slips his hands in Cas’s hair while Cas’s hands tighten their grip on Dean’s hip, fingers sinking into soft flesh and making Dean groan against Cas’s lips.

Dean has done some pretty stupid things while being drunk, some he’s definitely not proud of and wanted just to forget, but what he thought was going to turn out as another regret turned out to be the best thing he did in his ten years of friendship with Cas.

#littleangelwrites #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #writersofdestiel

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lies-unfurl · 6 years

Text

13.22 coda: circles

Dean/Cas, PG, fluff, talking, hurt/comfort, bedsharing

Dean kinda maybe really fucking wants to take a shower, to scrub the sweat and grime from his skin and replace the weird smoky scent that permeated the other universe with the sandalwood of the fancy scrub Cas bought him, but there are two dozen people who haven’t had running water in god-knows-how-long, and he’s selfless enough to admit they have priority.

So instead of letting hot water steam away his aging body’s complaints, he makes some spare beds, points them out to Mom, who seems to be in charge of orientating the strangers to the new world, and then, when people are dispersing, stands up and manages to catch Cas’s eye, though all of his attention seems to be focused on whatever conversation he’s having with Jack. Dean jerks his chin in the general vicinity of their room and then starts down the hall. Cas will come when he’s ready.

He’s just stepping out of his pants, shirt already on the floor, when the door opens and Cas comes in, going straight to sit on the bed and take off his shoes. They stay like that for a minute, undressing in silence.

It all kind of hits him when he sits down on the bed in just his sweats, his shoulders so incredibly sore that he doesn’t know if they could bear the weight of fabric. “Holy shit.”

Cas looks at him and nods. “Indeed.”

“Jesus. I don’t even know what to say.” He rubs his eyes, tired in an aching, bone-deep way, but also too awake and overcome with the past two days to want to lie down and wait for the nightmares he knows will greet him.

Cas, who’s slipped into an old Metallica t-shirt and the sleep pants that hug his ass just right, leans over and begins rubbing his back. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He means to reply to that with some stupid comment, maybe about how he can’t ever be quiet with Cas’s hands on him, but what comes out instead is, “Gabe’s dead.”

Cas stills for just a fraction of a second. “I... expected as much.”

Dean reaches up to lay his hand on Cas’s, which is almost in the same spot he once marked Dean. “I’m sorry. He died a hero. Not that it means anything.”

“I... I barely got him back. It won’t be much different before.” He gently pushes Dean’s hand off of his and goes back to kneading deep circles into Dean’s deltoids.

Cas is wrong, of course. You’ve learned to live with the dull ache of grief, and then all of a sudden they’re there and you’ve got hope, you’ve got happiness -- when it all goes away, it’s worse than if they’d just stayed dead. He would know, with how low he sunk after Mary had left him to hunt.

But there’s not much he can think of saying that would mean anything to Cas. Especially because of how aware Dean is of the unfairness at all -- they both lost their brothers, but only Dean got his back.

So he sits in silence as Cas rubs away pains he wasn’t even conscious of, and even though Dean knows he has the calloused hands of a warrior, somehow they feel soft against his skin, and warm enough to melt away the knots in his muscles. His own hands itch to try to give something back to Cas, but on nights like these he knows that Cas will push them away, kind but firm, reminding him that he doesn’t feel those minor pains like Dean does (and Dean thinks he’s lying, but he hasn’t yet figured how to call him out or prove him wrong so, selfishly, he doesn’t fight the admonitions and takes all that Cas gives him while offering nothing in return).

It’s Cas who breaks the silence:

“I killed myself.”

“Huh? What?” He twists back to look at Cas so quickly that a sharp pain flares up his neck, and of course Cas sees his wince, because he frowns, puts his hands on Dean’s cheeks, and gently turns his head so that he’s facing forward once again.

“My alternate self. I wasn’t sure if you saw him when we were storming the compound.”

He hadn’t. “Shit. Uh. You doing okay?”

He thinks Cas nods, but he isn’t sure. “He... wasn’t me. I saw inside him, saw some of his story as I killed him. Naomi made him her protégée. And of course she’d demonstrated on him plenty. He’d done awful things, but...”

“He was still you.” Dean kind of hates himself for the thought, but he’s glad it was Cas who did it, not him. He doesn’t know if he could’ve stabbed something wearing Cas’s face, no matter how evil it was.

“In a way.” His thumbs dig in on opposite sides of Dean’s spine, and he lets out a sound that could maybe be called a whimper, because it just feels so fucking good, like Cas is smoothing out pains he’d stopped even noticing.

“He had a stupid accent,” Cas adds. “I don’t think his Jimmy ever left eastern Europe. Or he was just obnoxious.”

“Jimmy made a good call. Was never really into those accents.”

Cas leans in and kisses the back of his neck, hands never stilling. Dean closes his eyes. Cas holds in his affection sometimes, just like Dean does, both of them too afraid to show that vulnerability in front of someone they’ve already lost so often, but the past few days saw them brushing shoulders with the fragility of life and right now there just isn’t time to think too deeply about how much it’ll hurt if -- when -- this ends.

Cas keeps rubbing those circles until Dean’s thoughts are covered in a sluggish fog, until even the images imprinted on his eyelids -- the blood spraying from Sam’s neck, decaying ruins in the light of that pale sun, how Gabe’s wings had stretched behind him, full and whole and so different from the mangled burns Cas’s had left almost a year ago, but Cas came back and he doesn’t feel like Gabe will get that lucky -- even those begin to blur. His chin dips down towards his chest.

“Come on,” Cas murmurs. He makes Dean stand as he pulls back the covers. They climb in together and lie down, Cas’s chest to his back. One arm circles over him while the other comes to rest at his nape, absentmindedly playing with the short hairs there.

His eyes are heavy when he feels Cas press a soft kiss on the top of his head. “You saved so many people today,” he whispers. “Your family, and all the others. Sleep. I would cross universes for you; I’ll keep you safe while you rest.”

Dean wishes he had the words to respond to that, but he’s out before they come.

#spn 13x22 #spn coda #destiel #destielfanficnet #spn fanfic #myfic #spn spoilers #this fic is dedicated to my prof who pushed our final paper from fri to sat <3 #7 out of 20 pages let's gooooo

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