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twofrontteethstillcrooked · 23 days

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deancas first kiss, s12 au. For @deancaskiss, belatedly 🎂🎉

When Cas came back into the cabin with their bags, Dean was fiddling with a radio on a bedside table. An energetic fiddle reel disintegrated into static which was replaced with a loud voice proclaiming that many, many fine and upstanding cars were on sale for low, low, bottom basement prices--

"Enough of that," Dean said, and snapped off the radio.

"Has something happened?" Cas dropped the bags on the rather well used couch and tuned all his attention to Dean.

"No, no. I'm fine and dandy." Dean wiped his eyes, which Cas was horrified to see were a little red, a little wet.

"Are you sure?" Cas crossed the small room and laid a hand in the crook of Dean's arm.

Dean went still, looking back at him, before taking a breath. "Just a sad old country song on the radio." His voice sounded funny and it made Cas's chest ache.

"Okay." Cas pulled back his hand.

"I'm really fine." Dean's expression brightened as he looked past Cas to the window. "I think there's enough time for a walk before it's completely dark out. Wanna go with?"

"Of course," Cas said sincerely.

Dean went still again, like he was surprised at Cas's agreeing to accompany him. He broke the eye contact with a small laugh, as though he was embarrassed about something. There was a light flush across the tops of his cheeks. It was incredibly attractive, and that, Cas knew, was not something that was to be mentioned.

"Sam says he and Mary should arrive in another hour," Cas told Dean a while later, after his phone had buzzed in his pocket.

Dean nodded and kept staring out over the little lake behind the cabins. They'd taken the pebble trail that ringed the lake like a dirty pearl necklace and were seated on a big rock roughly the shape of horseshoe. Cas wished for a bit more cushioning and a less sharp breeze, but otherwise felt content. If he concentrated he could sense the warmth of Dean's body; he tried not to lean over towards it like a flower seeking sunlight.

The actual sun had drooped behind a bank of scraggly cypress and maples not yet in full leaf, their springtime samaras an almost purple hue in the fading daylight. The choppy water of the lake made clickety, whispery noises. A nuthatch in a nearby oak was either despondent or desirous, or both, and Cas felt a kinship.

"What was the song about?" he decided to ask.

Dean smiled, briefly. "Home."

"Oh." Cas waited.

"Nope, that's it, nothing else to it." Dean elbowed him. "Song just caught me the wrong way."

"The lyrics," Cas guessed.

"Yeah." Dean gave him a rueful look. "Guess I'm a little homesick too. Which is silly."

"I don't think so," Cas said. "These last couple of cases -- well, it's been nearly two weeks since we were back at the bunker."

Dean shook his head. "Sometimes home isn't so much a place-- Though I do miss our washing machine and dryer and the water pressure in the showers." He cleared his throat. "But that's not the point."

"A feeling of home," Cas started to work out. "It's about who you're with when you're there, I suppose."

"Exactly." Dean looked away. "And the thing is, I've been with my family these last two weeks. So that's been great."

"Except for the beatings," Cas posited. "And the beheadings."

Dean snorted. "Except for those."

"Despite those," Cas said, "I've enjoyed spending time with you and Sam and Mary."

"I'm glad you've been with us." Dean looked out over the water again and shivered. "I'm glad you're coming home with us too," he said quietly.

Something heavy and thorned curled in Cas's throat, for reasons he couldn't quite explain; it took him a moment to respond. "Well. So am I." His phone buzzed twice, sounding even more startled than he felt. He thumbed open the screen display and squinted at the text. "Sam says they had to detour off of I-70 and there's a bad storm moving in. They're going to try to find a room and hunker down for the night. Mary has a lead on another werewolf pack, if we want to meet them near Wamego tomorrow."

"That'd work," Dean said.

Cas sent a couple of texts and Sam sent back a thumbs up emoji.

Dean shivered again and hunched into his jacket a bit.

"We should go back to the cabin." Cas stood up and stretched while his lower back applauded his efforts. "Get you warmed up."

He hadn't meant to say something provocative; but Dean's eyes had gone dark as he watched him.

"You stash a tropical beach in one of our bags when I wasn't looking?" Dean asked, his expression changing to one of amusement so quickly Cas almost blinked.

You've been imagining things, Cas told himself. Wishful thinking isn't reality. The weight in his throat widened, scratched.

"No," he managed to say. "But I'm sure the cabin has blankets…" He trailed off as the humor in Dean's face faded to something soft and steady, that earlier stillness concentrated, giving off its own heat.

Cas found himself corralled into the v of Dean's legs, Dean holding him at the hip with his hand as he traced the outline of Cas's lower lip with his thumb. Cas didn't need to take a breath except yes he did; and either way, Dean was standing and then his mouth was on Cas's and Cas realized how lonely starvingly cold both of them had been, how chilled by the breeze and the nightfall and the years of distance that suddenly, thankfully, no longer existed between their bodies.

The first kiss became the second became the third. There would be more and more, Cas thought, dazed at the sound of Dean's gentle groan as he let Dean slip inside. It was so much better, kissing Dean, than Cas had ever let himself picture or pretend it could be. When they finally paused, for a minute, they leaned against each other and took shaky breaths and smiled, tentative and hushed. They walked back to the cabin and locked themselves in for the night. They made good use of the blankets and the rather well used couch.

"Is this what people mean by 'making themselves at home'?" Cas asked once, and Dean grinned and pulled him back into bed.

#deancaskiss #destiel #deancas #fic #snippetfic #spn

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navigatorsghost · 4 months

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Absolutely nobody asked for this, but I seem to be on a snippetfic roll so here's some Hidan and Deidara fluff and nonsense. Prompt/premise: baby photos!

~~~

"Fine, on three," Deidara suggested - "one, two, three, un!" and they both held out their respective little squares of battered paper.

"Sweet fucking Jashin-"

"Seriously?"

"What the fuck, you weren't even born human, that's some kind of fluffball with eyes-"

"If I was a fluffball then what the hell are we calling that, un?!"

The horrible truth sank in, as they held their respective Academy enrolment photos side by side, that if this had been an all-comers challenge for the cutest baby ninja it would've needed to be settled with a Kiri-style death match. Tiny Deidara, all but vanishing into a cloud of blond hair, blue eyes huge and wide with excitement; tiny Hidan, hair a dandelion-fluff of silver, skinny arms folded and little chin jutting in a done-with-this-shit pose that Deidara instantly recognised. Even a sworn-in jury of twelve pre-teen girls would've deadlocked on which image was cuter.

"Fuck me," Hidan said. "I've finally found the one person who would've got their hair ruffled in Yugakure more often than I did."

"Yeah, well, instead I had eight aunties who all pinched my cheeks every time they saw me, un."

"Shit, I'm not surprised, but, ouch?"

"Yeah, exactly, ouch."

#Rath writing #Deidara #Hidan #HiDei #they're dating your honour #they just unlocked the “embarrassing childhood photos” tier of intimacy #spoiler: they were both adorable

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theredontbedragons · 6 months

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Ahh, those file names make me go all 👀👀👀👀

I'd like to hear more about "Partners fic", pretty please?

Uhhm as do yours!! 🏴‍☠️

Of course! I still have yet to work out the format, but it will likely be a snippetfic spanning over a few years.

It’s a modern au where Flint runs a ship building firm, and brings Silver on to replace Gates after he upped and left and had enough for good.

It’ll be fairly light-hearted and hopefully a little witty. When it’ll be ready? Who knows..

#black sails

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ao3feed-destiel-02 · 6 months

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Trick or Treat (Suptober 2023)

Trick or Treat (Suptober 2023) https://ift.tt/Iho2lba by twofrontteethstillcrooked Words: 870, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 115 of spn snippetfics Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural) Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: post 15x18 au, Spicy schmoop + humor, snippetfic, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/pjva5zg October 31, 2023 at 04:23PM

#IFTTT #AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester'#Destiel #ao3feed #ao3feed Destiel #Destiel fanfic #Dean Winchester/Castiel #Castiel/Dean Winchester #Dean x Castiel #Castiel x Dean

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ao3feeddestiel · 3 months

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24 January

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Ec4zQIB by twofrontteethstillcrooked Happy birthday, Dean Words: 777, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 118 of spn snippetfics Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural) Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Schmoop, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Ec4zQIB

#IFTTT #24 January #twofrontteethstillcrooked

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ao3feed-destiel · 2 years

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Semi-homemade

Read it on AO3 here!https://ift.tt/Hr9A4Ti

by twofrontteethstillcrooked

Cas paused. "It would be very easy for me to heal you now."

"Maybe," Dean said. "But no thanks just the same."

No reason to go wasting energy on Dean's shit cold.

Cas sighed, quietly. After another pause, he asked, "Would you like some soup?"

The brain marbles jinked around when Dean raised his head this time. "I… Did you make soup?"

Words: 1624, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 40 of spn snippetfics

Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural)

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Additional Tags: Sickfic, Soup, snippetfic, UST

Link: https://ift.tt/Hr9A4Ti

#ao3feed #ao3feed destiel #destiel

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roselightfairy · 3 years

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So generally my definition of the kind of snippetfic I’d post on tumblr is something based on a particular mental image that I whipped out in one go rather than editing and tweaking to a particular narrative arc...but those keep getting longer and longer until they’re really too long for tumblr, but I don’t want to post them with their own titles and summaries and everything because they’re not really individual stories, so I’ll just archive them in Ripples, but I don’t want to archive them in Ripples without posting them somewhere...which is a long way of saying here’s a fic that is probably too long for tumblr but is going up here anyway, and you can just click below the cut if you want to read more!

It was a dark and stormy night in Ithilien...

...

The rain started in the early evening, after they had retired for the day.

Gimli looked up when the first few drops pattered onto their roof, tapping like fingernails against the hollow reeds that formed the thatching. The work had held during every rainstorm he had experienced here, but still he could never quite hold back that uncertainty – from one bred to live under solid stone ceilings, the material always seemed far too flimsy to hold back the wet.

“It will hold,” Legolas promised him, catching his motion. “It always does.”

“I am sure you are right,” said Gimli. The rain intensified even as they listened, the smattering of taps escalating into a steady drumming. “Still, I can practically feel the wet even from here. You are sure you would not rather be safe within stone?”

“I spent too much of my early life safe within stone,” said Legolas, his voice distant. “Hearing the rain outside rather than feeling it against my own home.” Gimli held his peace – only rarely did Legolas speak of his youth in shaded Mirkwood, despite the mannerisms he still carried with him from those days: the wary posture, the wide-eyed wonder. He could detect a trace of that wonder even now as Legolas followed his gaze up to the roof, shadows of water visible as it sluiced down the sides and dripped to the ground. “There is a pleasure in this.” He turned to Gimli once more and gave him the sliver of a smile. “It will hold,” he repeated. “And I will keep you warm.”

“I never questioned that,” said Gimli, but he let Legolas wrap him in his arms anyway.

...

As the hours wore on, the rain fell faster still, no longer a beating of individual drops but a constant roar elevated by the rushing of the wind. Gimli could hear the faint moaning of it rushing through the trees outside, and their light door rattled with the sound of it. Legolas rose from their huddle in the cushions to check the latch.

He nodded his satisfaction, but his face still held the hint of a frown when he returned to Gimli. “What is it?” Gimli asked. “Is there something amiss with the hinges?”

“No,” said Legolas slowly, “no, the house will hold, it is only . . .” His brows drew together. “I do not think I was so careful with the craftsmanship in the support poles for the new saplings. We did not anticipate such a storm so soon; I hope they will hold as well as our own house.”

“Surely they will,” Gimli assured him. He could not imagine the elves being any less than perfectly careful with their young trees; he had seen how lovingly Legolas tended them. “Anyway, do not young trees experience such storms, even when not tended by wood-elves?”

“Yes,” Legolas said slowly, “yes, you are right, of course.”

He did not look wholly convinced.

...

The first rumble of thunder came just as Gimli was sinking below the surface of sleep, startling him back into consciousness again. “Legolas?” he said.

“Just thunder,” Legolas assured him.

“But thunder brings lightning.” Gimli had weathered storms in Ithilien before, but never one with lightning; it misgave him to be surrounded by trees at such a time. “What if our house is struck?”

“It ought not to be,” said Legolas. “That I cannot promise for certain, but there are taller, older trees that will likely draw lightning if it strikes. And it is yet far away from here.”

“You do not comfort me,” Gimli muttered, a little petulant, and Legolas laughed and pulled him close.

“I will give you warning if it strikes too near,” he said. “You may rest, if that gives you peace; I do not think I will sleep this night.”

His face was still tight, pinched. “Your trees?” Gimli said. “But if our own home is not tall enough to attract a strike, surely the saplings will be safe.”

“From the lightning, yes,” murmured Legolas. “But that wind . . .” He trailed off, then shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, though the smile in his voice sounded forced. He nuzzled a little closer to Gimli. “Go back to sleep, love. It will pass in time.”

It was not so easy as all that, but the rolls of thunder did indeed grow fainter after a moment or two, and finally Gimli felt himself sinking back down again, the rushing of the rain creating an almost lulling rhythm around him.

Still the roof held.

...

The next time he woke, he did not know what had roused him until he reached to the side and found Legolas no longer lying beside him.

“Legolas?” he whispered, sitting up.

“Hush,” Legolas whispered back. The elf was perched on the edge of the bed, fully dressed and pulling on his heavy leather boots, the ones he wore only in the worst of storms. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“Where are you going?”

“The saplings,” said Legolas. “The rain is worse – can you hear?” Gimli could not note a difference between the sound of the rain now and earlier, but elf-ears were better attuned to such things than he was. “They will be washed away and all our work undone. We are going to fetch them.” He leaned back over the bed and dropped a light peck of a kiss onto Gimli’s lips.

Gimli frowned sleepily as he drew away. “Do you need help?” he asked, though nothing sounded less appealing than trudging out into that downpour.

“You are kind.” Legolas smiled as if hearing what Gimli did not say, but leaned back down for one more kiss. “But no; we will be as swift as we can. I had hoped to return before you even missed me. But this is better, perhaps – now you can latch the door behind me.”

“You ought to have woken me for that anyway,” grumbled Gimli, but he pushed himself out of bed, shivering as the blankets fell away. “You will be careful?”

“There is no danger,” Legolas assured him. “The lightning has passed; it is only wind and water.” He kissed Gimli one last time. “Sleep if you can,” he said. “I will be back before dawn.”

The wind whistled into their small house as soon as Legolas opened the door, bringing a blast of freezing rain into the room – but Gimli caught it and pushed it shut against the wind as Legolas vanished out into the dark.

...

He did return to bed, but he did not so much sleep as drift. He knew he would be no use to the elves in their rain-pounded mission, but it still felt wrong to sleep, cozy in blankets, while his husband darted about in the cold, wet night. He did not dare risk a fire; wind and rain still pounded their small house enough to make it tremble, but after some time he did bring the blankets from the bed to his pile of cushions and settled there to wait, watching the shadows of wind-twisted trees on the inside of the walls and listening to the rain on the still-intact roof.

Legolas returned perhaps an hour or two later, though the roar of the storm masked the sound of his approach. Gimli did not know he had arrived until he heard Legolas’s voice outside the door, calling his name.

He rose, casting the blankets to the ground, and hurried to unlatch the door – and when he opened it, the reason Legolas had not done it himself became clear: his arms were full, wrapped around tiny trees whose roots dripped clumps of mud and soil. And – unsurprisingly – he was drenched: soaked to the skin, his hair plastered to his skull and dripping down his back. His boots squelched as he entered the house and stood dripping in the doorway.

“Gimli,” he said breathlessly. “Ah, I am glad you are awake. I brought” – He nodded to the small saplings in his arms. “They needed shelter.”

Gimli looked at him and had to laugh. “Of course,” was all he could say.

It must be exactly for such purposes that they had beds prepared along all the windows of the house. Sometimes Legolas grew herbs in them in the winter, but they stood empty now, and Legolas busied himself settling each sapling carefully into the beds, covering their roots and crooning to them in elvish.

While Legolas cared for the trees, Gimli busied himself fetching towels and blankets. Now more than ever he would have liked a fire, but even as he considered it a particularly strong gust of wind rattled the shutters and the latch of the door, and he sighed and discarded the idea. He gathered all their towels, instead, and a dry nightshirt and dressing gown for Legolas.

By the time he had gathered what he needed, Legolas had finished with the trees and was just rising from the raised beds. He looked even more a sight without the trees in his arms, mud-streaked and rain-soaked, and he laughed at the sight of Gimli approaching with an armful of towels.

“You are a treasure,” he murmured, opening his arms so Gimli could relieve him of his tunic.

“And you are a drowned squirrel,” Gimli said, wincing as he peeled the sodden fabric away from Legolas’s wet arms and chest. “Here” – he extracted a towel from the pile and passed it to Legolas, taking a second for himself – “dry your hair before we put on your fresh clothes.”

Within only a few moments, they had dried Legolas to Gimli’s satisfaction and dressed him in his nightshirt and the dressing gown. Gimli knew that the cold did not bother elves, but still it made him cold to look at Legolas’s still-wet hair, so he wrapped the elf in a blanket as well, and felt vindicated when Legolas pulled it tightly around himself for comfort.

The wet clothes they left in a pile – those could be dealt with in the morning. For now, Gimli pulled Legolas down into the cushions where he had been sitting and selected another blanket to wrap around them both.

“I have the most generous husband any elf ever knew,” said Legolas, his cheek pressed against Gimli’s, his chill skin already warming. “I hope you fared well enough in my absence.”

“I would have preferred you by my side,” Gimli said, “but I am glad you saved your saplings. Do you feel calmer now that they are safely protected?”

Legolas laughed and nestled in closer. “I do,” he said, pressing his lips to Gimli’s temple. “Now we can enjoy the storm in peace.”

“I would not say ‘enjoy,’” Gimli grumbled, but he leaned his head into Legolas’s neck despite the slight dampness of his hair. And they sat there together as night lightened into a heavily-clouded dawn, listening to the sound of the rain.

Not one drop of water leaked through their roof.

#my fic #legolas x gimli #ithilien #ignore all the weirdness haha i did not agonize like i usually do

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twofrontteethstillcrooked · 3 months

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In the dream, Dean walked through the bunker, or a facsimile of it, the hallways' angles not quite true, the rooms not quite plumb. His hands were bloody the first time he looked down at them, dusty the second time. It took him long minutes to walk up the metal staircase because there were twice as many steps as usual, with a curling ascent that made him a little dizzy. The heavy door was hard to open. With his weight against it, it opened with an echoing thunk; he fell into a field of knee-high grass and chicory as blue as Cas's eyes.

An empty field. His palms were still ashen.

The sorrow that tore through his body woke him more than the fall did. He blinked up at the wooden beams hatched across the farmhouse bedroom ceiling and tried to catch his breath. A tear slid down into his right ear and made him flinch. After a few swallows, he sat up and stretched. Rubbed his eyes dry. Noticed a strange brightness flaring around the perimeter of the bedroom's window curtain and let the ache behind his ribcage fade.

His feet registered the chill of the floor before the rest of him did and he skipped over to the window on tiptoe. With the curtain open the source of the light proved to be dawn illuminating the skim of snow atop everything in the yard – a powdered sugar dusting, surprising only because 24 hours ago it'd been 60F degrees outside.

He was gargling mouthwash when elsewhere in the house it sounded like someone was fighting off ninjas with a cookie sheet.

"You okay?" Dean asked at the kitchen doorway.

Cas, startled, dropped a metal pie plate (again) and groaned. "I'm sorry." He picked up the wayward pan and inspected it for dents before putting it firmly on the counter. "I didn't mean to wake you." He turned to give a more settled smile. "Hello, Dean."

Dean snuck in and wrapped Cas up in a hug before he could move away. "Good morning," he whispered into Cas's soft hair.

"Happy birthday," Cas said, his voice still smiling. He pulled back enough to look up at Dean, typical earnestness all over his face. "I guess my surprise won't be much of one now."

Dean blinked as the pie plate suddenly made sense. "Are you making me pie?" Delight bubbled up in his chest as Cas mouthed yes; Dean let his hands slide to Cas's waist and held on, anchoring himself there.

Cas ducked his head. "I was going to try." He glanced at a cookbook cracked open on the nearby table where they usually drank coffee and watched the sun rise, and beside it a bowl, a stick of butter, the canister labeled 'flour' and the canister labeled 'sugar', three loose eggs, a big wooden spoon, and a bag of nutmeats.

"Pecan. My favorite." Dean kissed the side of Cas's head. "Would you like some help?"

After a pause, Cas said, "No." He didn't sound sure of the answer. "It's your birthday. You should take the day off. I can manage." His hands on Dean's chest were another anchor.

"It is my birthday, so I think I should get to choose how to spend the morning." Dean quirked an eyebrow the way Cas often did when he was being bossy. "And I would like to help you make the best pecan pie either of us has ever eaten." He let his expression sweeten as a flush crept across Cas's cheeks. "Please."

Cas nodded, eyes shining. Dean gathered him into his arms again because he could. He was 45 years old and holding the love of his life in their tiny kitchen with the oven ticking, with snow sparkling through the windows. They were living their small, precious lives together in freedom, in peace (what 45 years had taught Dean the hard way: they could have both) and there was nothing empty about it.

They stood swaying sleepily for a couple of minutes before the desire for pie, and other things, started to eat away at Dean's brain. Low at Cas's ear, he said, "You know, pecan pie is best served room temp. We'll need to let it cool down after it's out of the oven before we can cut into it. Might take an hour."

"We haven't even started–"

"I'm just saying," Dean continued, "we'll need to find something else to do with ourselves in a little while." He cleared his throat. "Some way to pass the time."

Cas tipped his head up. "I don't think figuring that out will be an issue," he murmured, and pressed closer.

#birthday party for dean 2024 #spn #deancas #destiel #fic #snippetfic

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ao3feed-destiel-02 · 6 months

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Epic (Suptober 2023)

Epic (Suptober 2023) https://ift.tt/w9Y4EGN by twofrontteethstillcrooked Though Sam had no love for Halloween, he too felt a modicum of despair for the display before them. Words: 628, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 110 of spn snippetfics Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Sam Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Additional Tags: deancas not-hiding-a-developing-relationship-as-well-as-they-think-they-are au, #pray4sam, snippetfic via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/EdHfL1F October 23, 2023 at 09:31PM

#IFTTT #AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester'#Destiel #ao3feed #ao3feed Destiel #Destiel fanfic #Dean Winchester/Castiel #Castiel/Dean Winchester #Dean x Castiel #Castiel x Dean

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ao3feeddestiel · 6 months

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Moment of true happiness (Destiel Month 2023)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Es139XQ by twofrontteethstillcrooked Words: 1089, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 117 of spn snippetfics Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: s9 au, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, snippetfic read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Es139XQ

#IFTTT #Moment of true happiness (Destiel Month 2023)#twofrontteethstillcrooked

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ao3feed-silverflint · 5 years

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Bathed

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/32Tbp9w

by twofrontteethstillcrooked

An itch had caused him to reach back to scratch. His fingers came away red as the pain shot like cannon fire across his shoulder.

Silver went pale as he rushed nearer. “You told me you weren’t injured.”

Flint shrugged. “I didn’t think I was.”

Silver seemed to be clenching his teeth hard enough to crack rock. His nostrils flared. “We should see to it before you head much further inland.” He sounded like someone Flint did not want to test on the matter.

Words: 2660, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Black Sails

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Captain Flint | James McGraw, Captain Flint, John Silver

Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-shark date au, snippetfic, Hurt-comfort if you squint

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/32Tbp9w

#black sails #starzblacksails #captain flint #john silver #silverflint #fanfic #ao3feed

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twofrontteethstillcrooked · 7 months

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Flirt: 13 Oct. Suptober

deancas ust, s9 au, human Cas

"So what'd she say?" Kevin was helping Cas unload the pizza, breadsticks, little cups of cheese sauce, and an iced dessert the pizza joint called Pumpkin Spice Nugs that Cas had just brought down the staircase and into the bunker library.

Cas was wise to Kevin's sly expression. Beatrix, their usual waitress, was a reliable source of local gossip.

"Bea told me it turns out Nathan's not the father of his second child, the one born last year." Cas parceled out four paper plates and napkins and was happy to see Dean and Sam strolling into the room. "The actual father may be his ex-wife's brother in law."

"You been watching Jerry Springer again?" Dean accidentally bumped Cas in the hip as he slid into a chair and grabbed the largest slice of pepperoni. "Whoops, my bad."

"It's fine." Cas sat too. Having put a single plain breadstick on his plate, he took the time to brush off the greasy cheese dust coating the foodstuff. It tasted, he was sorry to say, the way dirty socks sometimes smelled.

When he looked up, the other three were staring at him, each with a variant of amusement on their faces.

Dean shook his head and was the first to start eating without comment.

"What I meant was," Kevin said around a mouthful of nug, "did Bea ask you out already?"

Cas would have answered if he hadn't been suddenly worried Dean was going to choke to death.

"You need the heimlich?" Sam asked his brother, who was coughing but able to drain a bottle of beer in one breath.

"I'm good," Dean rasped out, hitting himself in the chest with the flat of his fist.

As any danger seemed to have passed, Cas told Kevin, "She did not ask me out." He took a bite of the breadstick and chewed thoughtfully. "She wanted to know if I ever went bowling."

"That was an opening," Kevin groaned. He slapped a piece of supreme on his plate and huffed. "She wanted you to say yes, and then she could've said something like, 'If you ever want some friendly competition, let me know.'" He affected a higher-pitched voice for the part that was supposed to be like Bea talking; it made Sam shake his head and laugh silently.

"But I don't bowl," Cas said.

He eyed the cheese sauce with wariness. The last time he'd tried it, it had been cold and thick, like a lump of congealed banshee blood. He was about to reach for one of the small cups anyway when Kevin said, "That's not the point."

"Hey, maybe he's just not that into her," Dean said before taking another forceful bite of pizza.

"Bea seems like a lovely person." Cas was somewhat perplexed at Dean's grouchy tone of voice. "But I don't wish to go bowling with her."

Sam, eating his pizza slice without incident, said, "Euphemistically or otherwise, huh."

Cas considered this. "Yes?"

Kevin rolled his eyes and sighed. "Your loss." He ate another nug, as if to emphasize Cas's mistake.

Dean knocked his foot against Cas's under the table and left it there. He didn't apologize for bumping into Cas a second time. It didn't bother Cas. He knocked Dean's foot in return. Dean ducked his head with a little smile at his plate.

Sam snorted, for some reason, and exchanged a look with Kevin, who muttered, "Hopeless."

Cas wasn't bothered by either of them either.

#suptober23 #destiel #deancas #spn #snippetfic #fic #suptober

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