Forget-Me-Not Blues

Sam and Jess are getting married and Dean couldn’t be any happier for them. Honestly, they’re kind of disgustingly perfect for each other and Dean’s pretty damn excited about staying with them the week before the wedding. He’s Sam’s best man, of course, and he doesn’t even mind that Jess has her own best man to share in all the organisational duties. The more the merrier, right?

Except Dean must have done something to epically piss off the universe because Jess’s best man just happens to be Castiel friggin’ Novak. He’s got even hotter since High School, but apparently no friendlier and if Cas wants to spend the week pretending like they’ve never met before? Fine. Two can play at that game.

Written for DCBB 2014

Picset by the lovely Onja (x)

Dean walks into the kitchen one morning to find Cas making breakfast for himself. He’s spooning honey onto buttered toast and there’s a crease between his eyebrows and his hair is all pushed to one side. It’s so classically domestic, typical almost, but this is so atypical for Dean that all he can do is stare. He stares at Cas with his mouth hanging open.

“Better close that before you catch flies,” Cas says, looking up. He smiles a little and holds up the honey. “Or perhaps bees.”

Holy shit, Dean thinks. This is ridiculous. This can’t be his life.

“If I’d known you were up, I would have made you breakfast,” Cas says. He kisses Dean on the cheek as he passes by, hitching onto his tiptoes to reach. Dean can’t move, can’t respond.

This is it. Jesus Christ on a unicycle, this is it. All the planets must be aligned, or the stars, or something, he doesn’t remember how the saying goes. It can’t be the stars, anyway, because one of the stars is here, in his kitchen, eating toast with honey and butter. Cas is a star harnessed by human bones, tethered to this room, this home. Tethered by Dean.

What the fuck?

So Dean’s standing there in the kitchen thinking he must have hit his head or something. Dean doesn’t do domestic. That’s not– that’s not in his programming. But then, it probably wasn’t in Cas’s either, and here they are.

The planets must be aligned. Thousands of years of cogs and machines, angels and demons and heavenly plans, people living and dying and living and dying, and here they are. Dean’s standing in the kitchen thinking that he is in love.

Cas finishes his toast, brushes crumbs off his fingertips, and scrapes the chair back to stand. “Dean? Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “yeah, I’m good.”

“You’ve got something on your mind.”

“I,” Dean says, and stops. He cannot explain to Cas what he is feeling. All of the things that have happened, all of the things that will happen, and this is the most important. Dean, standing in the kitchen; Cas, taking his hand.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

He cannot explain to Cas what he is feeling, but he tries. “I love you,” he says.

“Oh,” Cas says, smiling, “that’s all?”

“Yeah.” Dean kisses him, tasting the honey and butter on his lips. “That’s all.”


A/N: Well, I haven’t written in forever and this ins’t really anything, but… baby steps right? Anyway, this ficlet is based off of true events. Though not my own, unfortunately. 

“Do you like my shoes?”

Castiel looks down to find a girl - maybe four or five years old, eyes bright green, and hair hanging around her shoulders in soft, strawberry curls - blinking up at him.  

The question seems fairly trivial, but then again there isn’t much excitement to be found waiting in line at the grocery store, so Castiel appeases her. He looks down at her shoes, mint, plastic looking numbers with cat heads just over the toes. “They’re very nice,” he replies.

“They’re Mini Melissa’s.” She tells him with a proud sort of delight. “My unca Sammy got ‘em for me.”

“That was nice of him.”

The girl nods. “They’re recycable.”

“Oh my,” Castiel says. “Those are quite the shoes.”

The girl bites at her bottom lip, hiding a pleased smile. She falls silent, but her eyes remain on Castiel. “Do you like my dress?” She questions after a beat.

Before Castiel can respond the man just in front of him turns and winces a smile at him. “Sorry.” He says. “Sometimes she’s too friendly for her own good.”

The man is, in a word, beautiful. Eyes just like the girls but a bit more muted, having seen more life than she has. There are freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, and his presence is warm.

“She’s not bothering me.” Castiel assures the man - presumably the girl’s father. He looks back down at the girl and her dress. “It’s very nice.” Castiel tells her.  

Her smile is bright, grateful, and the man offers Castiel a thankful nod before turning his back again and moving his cart forward in line.

“My dad is very nice. Do you like him?”

A flush creeps up Castiel’s neck. The girl is staring up at him, waiting for an answer, eyes wide and innocent. He opens his mouth to say something, but the man turns around again, cheeks pink and brows pulled into a nervous vee.

Oh my God, Chevy,” he hisses. His eyes flick to Castiel’s, then away, then back again. “I’m sorry.” He says again. “She’s just- I- Sorry.” The man reaches down and takes the girl’s - Chevy’s - hand in his and pulls her gently away from Castiel and towards the register where the cashier is now waiting for him.

Chevy offers Castiel a glance over the man’s shoulder as he hefts her into the cart, and then the man is paying, and maneuvering his cart out of the store. Castiel watches him go, barely listening to what the cashier has to say.

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Ballet AU

A/N: Cross posted from twitter, expanded on a smidgen. This is literaryoblivion‘s fault. – Single dad!Dean, AU, 500 wc, G. 

Let’s think about Dean signing up his little girl for ballet. It’s all she talks about for a month straight, so he finally researches a bunch of studios before finding on that comes highly recommended by everyone and signing her up.

On her first day the studio tells him he can stay and watch or come back for her when she’s finished. He at least wants to meet the teacher, so he walks his baby girl to class where there’s an array of three and four year old’s swathed in pink. 

He doesn’t see the teacher anywhere, but he does spot a man with dark hair standing by the stereo. He’s barefoot, and dressed in loose sweat shorts, and a tank top, so Dean approaches him. 

“Hey,” Dean says, “my daughter’s new here. Do you know where I can meet the teacher?”

The man turns to him, eyes bright blue and face like a freaking angel. “You can meet him right here,” the man says. “I’m the teacher.”

For a moment Dean thinks it’s a joke. Greek gods don’t teach preschool ballet classes. But there’s no trace of laughter in the man’s eyes, only an easy smile that makes Dean melt a little on the inside. 

“Oh,” Dean says, if not breathlessly, and the man extends a hand.

“Mr. C,” he says. “Or Castiel if you prefer.”

Dean swallows hard, doesn’t miss the other man tracking the movement, and reaches blindly for his daughter.

“This is Charlotte,” Dean says, because he has to something, “and I’m Dean.”

The man smiles, with his mouth this time, and crouches to Charlotte’s level. “Hello, little bird.” He says gently, eyes twinkling. 

Charlotte looks up at Dean for reassurance - he’s taught her, dutifully, not to speak to anyone she doesn’t know. (Though he meant when he’s not around, but it’s good to know she’s listened.) - and he nods. 

“Hello,” she says back.

“You look very pretty,” the teacher, Castiel, tells her, and maybe Dean beams a little because he did that perfect bun all himself, thank you very much. “Are you ready to learn ballet?”

Charlotte nods enthusiastically. 

Castiel’s smile deepens. “We’re going to have a lot of fun,” he tells her, and then he’s sending her off to sit with the other girls and standing to meet Dean’s gaze again.

Dean offers him a weak smile, heart pounding and stomach a mess of butterflies. 

“Will you be staying to watch?” Castiel wonders, and Dean nods.

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, I think I will.”

And he does stay, for the first class and every one after that. And maybe he spends half the time watching Castiel teach, but that’s just to make sure his daughter’s getting a proper ballet education, right?…

so I just heard that it was appleblossomdean’s birthday, and as I once said I would spam you with twink!jensen, I thought, what better day than today! (except it turned into a photoset because they are super fun to make.)
so HAPPY BIRTHDAY ONJA! I hope you like it! (/ ^ ᴗ ^ )/♥

Just imagine Dean and Cas as a married couple. Cas is a teacher by day and a yoga instructor by night, and Dean is a mechanic  - maybe a student, too, getting his masters in engineering. Dean works a fairly normal schedule, but add classes and homework on top of that and he pretty well keeps busy. And then there’s Cas, who’s often gone early in the morning and late at night - that’s when his yoga classes are. In short, Cas is a workaholic.

One day Dean mentions he never sees Cas anymore, and Cas looks mournful, but points out they need the money and that he really loves his jobs. So Dean is like, “You know what? Fine.” And he signs up for a few of Cas’ yoga classes so he can actually see his husband more often.

Cas is all sorts of surprised when Dean shows up, and shy and flattered to boot. He probably wears this soft, pleased smile throughout the entire first night because Dean is in sweats and a t-shirt and he’s doing his best to hold downward dog without grimacing, and he’s fallen out of position about sixteen times because he’s been checking out Cas’ ass in the mirror, but Dean keeps coming back.

In the end yoga class ends up being some of their most precious time together. And the super bendy sex afterwards isn’t all that terrible either.



“Hey there, Sweetheart.”

Dean Winchester smirks from his place on the sidewalk, approaching the car with an exaggerated swing of his hips. He leans through the open window with a gorgeous smile, voice turning soft and slick like butter as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. A hum sounds from deep in his throat. “Mmm… what can I do you for, Handsome?”

The John blushes. “I want you,” he says breathlessly.

Den practically purrs. “I’m yours, baby.”

“H-How much?”

“For you? Fifty.” Dean licks his lips then, tracing a finger across a shaved jaw. “I’d fuck you for free but a man’s gotta eat.”

This sends the John into a fit of stuttering; nodding and opening his door as he speeds to the nearest empty lot. Dean focuses. FireFearAngerPainHelphelphelpless—SAM. His hands begin to twitch.

Five minutes later, Dean Winchester pulls his fingers away from the man’s temple, warmth fading down to the place inside him where pain bubbles dangerously. The John’s head lolls to the side, knocked out by a pulse of electromagnetic energy. Not enough to kill him, but enough to  make him woozy for the next couple of days. “Nighty-night, Asshole.” The young man’s eyes flash with something dangerous as he reaches for the man’s wallet, emptying it completely but for the picture of the John’s family. Dean glares at the photo and it bursts into sparks of light.

He gets back to his corner with a credit card and twenty dollars. Two more Johns and he can get back to Sammy.

“Tyler Adams?”

Dean turns towards the sound of his fake name, approaching the car and smiling as usual. He touches and strokes the other men as much as possible, quickly forgetting the names Charles Xavier and Hank McCoy. Two’s double, he says, and charges them one hundred. Once he’s in the car, the one called Charles calls him ‘Dean Winchester’.

Dean literally stops the moving vehicle. It’s easy; plucking the kinetic energy from the engine and wheels and gathering it in his palms, hands glowing before he shifts it into two balls of white. “Who the hell are you?”

Dean, calm down. Listen to me, you needn’t be afraid… We merely wish to show you you’re not alone.

Except that voice assuring Dean they mean him no harm? Yeah, that’s in his head. The young man almost blows up the vehicle on instinct… But that’s before he feels like he can’t move and the driver morphs into a hairy, skinnier blue version of the Hulk.

It turns out that Professor Charles Xavier runs a school for gifted people… gifted people like him. Like Sam. It turns out that he can offer the Winchesters a home.

It also turns out that Dean is a suspicious bastard. But, as that’s what’s kept he and Sam alive for so long, he’s thinking it’s probably fine.

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catch me if you can. after a fight, cas runs away. dean follows. 2.6k

Cas says, “I love you.”

Dean says, “No.”

“Dean, what do you–”

“No,” he repeats, with certainty. He presses his hands against the edge of the counter until the knuckles go white. “You don’t mean that.”

They are standing in the middle of the kitchen. Cas is wearing Dean’s flannel shirt and Dean’s heavy boots and he hasn’t shaved in days. When he first gave up his grace to save Dean from the Mark, Dean couldn’t get his head around it. Couldn’t understand how or why Cas could become human. But now he is staring at Cas, who looks more human than ever, and Cas is telling Dean that he loves him.

“You’re just saying that,” Dean says. “You must have– hit your head. You’re confused.”

“I’m not confused about this.”

“Cas.” Dean feels his heart pounding against his ribs, because Cas is saying things that can’t be said, they can’t, they just can’t. “Listen. You’re confused. You just fell, and human emotions are overwhelming, and you– you’ve probably just imprinted, or whatever. Like a baby duck. You don’t l– I mean, you can’t l– just, no, okay?”

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