AU where Dean owns a record shop and Cas owns a book shop right beside it, and they both hate each other for stupid petty reasons and they constantly trade insults; one day Cas tells Dean to shut up, and Dean says “make me” and smirks, so Cas shoves him right up against the wall and bites his lower lip (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
hs au cas being secretly in love with dean winchester, the talented boy from his fine arts class
cas pining after dean for ages, watching the way the boy sticks his tongue out in concentration as he sketches… the way he always seems to have charcoal smeared on one of his expertly sculpted cheekbones…
but cas is shy… and he knows that beautiful boys like dean will never be interested in strange, sweater vest-wearing guys like him…
dean belongs with the cool, edgy artists.
but no matter how many times cas tells himself that dean will never want him, he can’t seem to stop watching the way dean’s cheeks flush as he’s telling outrageous stories to the girls that constantly gather around him… the way his freckles look when the sun reflects off his bright skin…
he’s just hopelessly in love with a beautiful boy.
their junior year comes so quickly, and cas still hasn’t worked up the courage to talk to dean.
then one day, as cas struggles to remove his backpack from a too-narrow locker, a hand appears beside his and helps him pull the stubborn bag free.
cas’ eyes widen when he realizes the hand belongs to dean, who is standing there, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink as he mumbles a stuttered “h-hey… cas.”
“you know my name?” cas stares at dean, unblinking.
“yeah…” dean stares back, looking slightly dazed. “so, uh… I think you left a sheet of paper on your desk in the art room”
he walks away before cas can say anything in response, and cas can’t help but feel slightly putout as he makes his way to the art room.
sure enough, there’s a paper on his desk. it’s addressed to him, with several attempts to spell his full name crossed out at the top.
check yes or no:
do you want to come to prom with me? (hint: my name is dean winchester and I’ve had a crush on you since freshman year so please check yes)
yes [ ]
no [ ]
cas doesn’t “check yes.”
he sprints through the school building and out to the parking lot where he spots dean walking towards a shiny black car.
and when cas catches up to him, he grabs dean’s shoulder and spins him around…
and then cas kisses him, hard and rough and inexperienced, right up against his pretty black car.
and dean kisses him back until they’re breaking apart and gasping for breath, eyes wide and dark… cheeks flushed as they stare at each other’s parted lips.
“that’s a pretty enthusiastic ‘yes,’ cas” dean whispers.
“I don’t do things halfway.” cas responds, just to see dean blush that much more.
You like honey and milk in your coffee. Which is weird. Good weird, but still weird. And you like fancy stuff, too. Like this one blend from India. I know I told you I didn’t like it, but I kind of did. I’ll buy it again, though, because you got this really content look on your face when you took your first sip.
Ever since you started watching TV shows, I can’t even keep up with some of the references you make. You soak up the information and stories like it’s water and I know you try to do it to impress me. You don’t have to, but I love that you do anyway, even if I have no clue what you’re talking about.
You get really engrossed in whatever you’re watching, too. Holed up for hours in the bedroom or a motel room, wrapped in a blanket with a bowl of popcorn in front of you. You won’t sleep unless I make you, which happens probably more often than is healthy.
You are so damn grumpy in the mornings, but you’ll get out of bed with the least amount of fuss if I make you pancakes. A triple stack with more butter than syrup and an over-easy egg on the side. You finish your breakfast and pat your stomach and I swear I’ve never seen a guy look so satisfied.
Except after I blow you. That is the most satisfied I’ve ever seen a person look.
You mouth the words as you read. I like that sometimes I can hear you reading out loud in the softest whisper when we’re in bed. I like falling asleep to it.
You play this stupid game on your phone with cats that’s not even actually a game. You refer to the cats while you’re not playing by their names and I gotta be honest, it’s fucking lame. But it’s also fucking cute.
You love when I kiss your fingertips. They’re usually freezing, so I’m happy to warm them up for you.
The look on your face when I laugh at one of your jokes is beautiful. So I’ll always laugh at them, even when they’re horrible.
I will never understand how an angel can possibly love me, after everything. Your forgiveness is overwhelming.
You love unconditionally. You love me unconditionally. I’ll love you the same.
Some of the things you say in Enochian are downright filthy. I didn’t know that, until you started teaching me the language, starting with those choice phrases.
You are never gonna drop the cherry pie thing.
You still don’t get that I’m just giving you a hard time about me not eating fruits and veggies. I’ll eat them. But not around you. Just to fuck with you.
You took an interest in cars after finding me in the garage working on Baby a few times. I know that you know how an engine works, but I’m glad you sit and listen to me blab about them anyway.
You cried when Sam graduated this summer. I didn’t. I had something in my eye. Both my eyes. Shut up.
You love bad guys and freckles. That’s definitely why you married me.
You always find the frilliest bed and breakfasts to stay at on cases. You’re right, I don’t hate them as much as I say I do. I’d even be willing to go back to the one we stayed at the day we got married. It was cozy and you were happy.
You made me feel something when I didn’t think I could anymore. You took care of me when I was at my worst since Hell. The Mark was eating me alive and you lit up this fucking void inside me. You held me while I sobbed like a damn baby. You played with my hair and whispered the nicest shit in my ear and it was so fucking sappy but I don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to repay you enough for how you made me feel.
It’s a year today since we made it official. You’re all you and I’m all me, for the first time in a while. I found this list you made last night while I was sleeping, you sappy shit. You’re reading the paper and sipping some fancy tea and looking like the biggest nerd in the world.
I’m sorry I don’t say ‘I love you’ enough. I’ll never be able to say it enough. Shit, I don’t even know if I really know how to say it right. But you say it every chance that you get. You say it before you hang up the phone, when we apologize after a fight, after we’ve fucked, when we leave and when we get back from a hunt, when we wake up and when we go to bed. I love hearing those words come from your mouth whenever you can fit them in. And I love you. More than I’ll ever be able to say.
watching every video the blue-eyed musician posts, falling in love with the beautiful fluidity of the man’s compositions; the delicate way his fingers curl around the wood of the bow
dean desperately trying to get tickets to some of his private concerts but never having enough money…
until sam gives him an envelope for his birthday and says “go get him”
and dean is nervous and his mind is racing but he goes
and he meets castiel novak, the violinist.
and castiel is even more beautiful in person, and dean is completely floored; green eyes wide as he stutters and tries to come up with something to say when he nearly runs into the man after the concert.
but castiel is staring right back, eyes wide and mouth parted as he murmurs “you’re beautiful.”
and dean is taken aback. what?
“your eyes. i could write music about your eyes.”
castiel looks surprised by his own admission, and dean feels like his heart is going to explode out of his chest or stop completely at any given moment. but he manages to stammer nervously, cheeks flushing “should we maybe get coffee first?”
and castiel laughs breathlessly, eyes not leaving dean’s “i would like that.”
4:30am, Wednesday. One coffee - black - two powdered donuts from the pastry display next to the register. Sea green scrubs.
His eyes are still bleary as he hands Castiel a ten dollar bill, but his smile is warm and genuine, a welcoming sight that washes out the sting of the weary truckers, and questionable late night customers Castiel’s been serving for the past three hours.
“Thanks.” The doctor says as Castiel offers him his change. Castiel nods. The doctor leaves.
someone give me an au where dean works in a grocery store and cas is a disgruntled businessman who frequents the store during his lunch hour.
and poor dean, with his one pierced ear and his forearm tattoo, has an absolutely enormous crush on the dark haired man who comes to his register every day.
but the man never looks up. he always looks as if he is concentrating fiercely on something in the contents of his wallet, or on his phone… and dean desperately wishes he were on the receiving end of such focused concentration.
and one day dean decides to just nut up and greet the guy when he comes to the register. he curses the way his voice shakes slightly as he says “hello, how are you?”
“good thank you, and yourself?”
dean’s heart sinks to somewhere below his knees, but also manages to start beating faster as the sex-rough tone of the man’s voice reached his ears. it’s an automatic response, a cordial one… but ultimately impersonal. and the dude still hasn’t looked up from his wallet.
dean’s pretty sure it’s a combination of all of the above that makes him say what he says next.
“just tryin’ to make it through the day.”
dean knows he’s not supposed to complain about his problems to customers and he regrets the words the instant they come out of his mouth…
that is… until he realizes that the man’s eyes are on his own, wide and shockingly blue as he stares at dean in some kind of wonderment.
dean’s about to apologize when the man’s expression goes soft and a small smile appears on his face as he murmurs a soft “me too”
dean’s so taken aback by the man’s response… the electric gaze still locked with his own… that he’s definitely not responsible for the next set of words that comes tumbling out of his mouth.
“I’m told good company can change that feeling…” dean trails off with a flush, busying himself with the register as if he hadn’t said anything.
the pause that follows is long enough that dean never wants to turn back around.
but then comes an amused reply of “indeed.”
dean spins back to face the dark haired man.
the guy’s gaze is even more intent now, a hint of a smile on his full lips.
“do you have any suggestions?”
dean can’t even believe his luck. because that was most definitely innuendo and he’s gonna snatch this guy up faster than he can say,
“how ‘bout me?”
the man smiles and hands dean an old receipt from his wallet, a number and a name scribbled on the back.
dean’s pretty sure today is the best day of his life.
Cas kisses like he’s desperate for it, all tongue and teeth, one hand knotted in Dean’s hair and the other twisted in the front of Dean’s shirt. He crowds Dean back against a tree, and he makes a low, urgent noise deep in his throat; his thigh starts nudging between Dean’s, slow pressure, and it’s so unexpected that Dean wastes the first ten seconds of it standing there like a complete doof. Then he moans and pulls Cas closer – because it’s Cas, and Dean has wanted this longer than he cares to admit, and Cas is tugging on his hair in just the right way – but then his brain reboots and catches up with his dick and he tries to pull away because – well. Because.
“Be quiet,” Cas says, rough. “Just let me – let me.”
And Dean does, even though it’s a terrible idea – not the worst idea either of them has ever had but easily in the top twenty-five or thirty. Dean understands the needy, jittery adrenaline spike that comes with a good fight – it’s one of the reasons he used to hit the bars the minute he’d washed the blood and dirt from his hands and face – but Cas is still pretty new to this whole human thing, and he has only worked a few jobs without having everything buried under his grace. Dean shouldn’t kiss the skin below Cas’ ear, and he shouldn’t let his teeth catch on the cord of Cas’ neck, but Cas is hard against his hip and mouthing up the line of his jaw and it’s a just this once kind of night. They’re in the boondocks of Iowa, and it’s the middle of the night, and Sam is a town and a half over, shoveling cemetery mud back into Linus Wynham’s grave.
Not even the stars are watching; the sky is empty and black above their heads, heavier along the horizon where clouds are threatening rain.