Too Adorable To Resist

Based off of this post. For Coffee. — 1.6k AU. 

"Hey, Novak?" Chief Henrickson raps his knuckles on the door frame of Castiel’soffice and leans his weight against the open door.

Castiellooks up at him, eyes bleary. It’s just nearing 3am and he’s had nothing butpaperwork to do for the last several hours. It’s been a long, tedious night. “Hmmmm.”

"Just got a call. Apartment building on 9th and West had the fire alarm pulled. Isn’t that your place?"

Castiel frowns. “Yes.”

"It’s probably just some stoned asshat thinking they’re funny, but we gotta send someone. You wanna check it out?"

Castiel stands, his muscles sore from being in the same position too long, and rolls his shoulders and neck. “Yes,” he says, “I’ll go.”  

Victor nods. Castiel gathers his coat and keys, and heads for his squad car.


The fire department is already on the premises when Castiel arrives. When he doesn’t see any smoke or visible flames, he relaxes in his seat and pulls into the nearest parking spot.

The first person to meet him on the scene is Benny, one of the firefighters at the neighboring station. His mouth is pulled into a grim line, and he shakes his head when Castiel asks for details.

"False alarm, it looks like," Benny explains. "Some punk playing truth or dare. Mills got here just before you did, she’s giving him a warning now."

Castiel nods, grateful it’s not something more. “What can I do?” He asks, because he drove out here, he might as well help.

"Keep an eye on the tenants, will ya? A bunch of ‘em are still spooked."

Castiel scowls at Benny’s knowing smile. Of all the jobs he’d be more than happy to do, ‘keeping an eye on the tenants’ isn’t one of them. They’re going to be looking for comfort, and Castiel has never been very good at that sort of thing. He’s better suited for writing speeding tickets and attending to noise violations.  

"Don’t look at me like that, Novak. You asked, now be gone with you, brother."

Castiel sighs and heads off in the direction Benny shoves him.

The group of tenants is small, and only a handful of them are worried. The rest are frowning and yawning, shuffling on their feet, and grumbling about the cold. Castiel assures them they’ll be allowed back inside soon as he makes his way through the crowd.

When his eyes land on the naked back of a man in nothing but a pair of navy blue boxer briefs, Castiel frowns. He reaches out a hand and lets it rest gently on the man’s shoulder, “Sir.”

As the man turns around, Castiel finds himself blinking at his green-eyed, freckle faced next door neighbor, the one he’s harbored a small crush on since the man moved in six weeks ago. They’ve never actually spoken to one another, but they’ve passed in the hall a few times, and he’s always been met with a wide smile and a wink that makes it difficult for Castiel to breathe.

Castiel’s stomach twists itself into a squirming, messy knot.

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This Heart of Mine

Written for the prompt: Dean and Cas are both about to die so one makes a deathbed love confession. When they miraculously survive things are awkward between the two of them, the confessor not thinking the other feels the same way; angst with a happy ending. 

Zombie apocalypse. That’s actually how Dean’s going down.A fucking zombie apocalypse. 

The thing that pisses him off is: zombies are easy. Bullet to the brain and they’re down for the count. Again. But yet, here he is, trapped in a damn storage closet with a graceless Castiel at his side, and one bullet sitting in the magazine of his glock. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"How the hell did we get here?" Dean mutters mostly to himself. He lets his head fall back against the hard cement wall behind him and tries to block out the sounds of the incessantly moaning dead just outside the door.

"Through the mess hall," Castiel states gravely. 

Dean heaves a sigh. “Rhetorical question, Cas.” He glances around the empty storage closet, rubbing at his eyes and trying to force himself to think. He doesn’t get into jams like this. He just doesn’t.

Yet here he is.

As they sit, waiting for their inevitable death - what else can they do, really - part of Dean hopes the zombies will get tired of waiting for them, wander off to harvest somebody else’s brain. And it sounds wild, but hope’s all he’s got left at this point; that’s how fucking bleak the situation is.

When the door handle starts to wiggle, moans seeping beneath the door and creeping into the storage room, Dean comes to the conclusion hope is for suckers.

The wiggling becomes more incessant and is quickly accompanied by heavy fists pounding on the door, and Dean and Castiel are on their feet, breathing shallow and shoulders taut. 

"They’re not strong enough to break in, right?" Dean asks and despite already knowing the answer he needs Castiel to say no. 

"Yes, with enough force they could break the lock."

"Fuck." Dean mutters. He looks at his gun again, that one bullet not even enough to buy them some extra time, and then at Cas who’s watching him with calculated eyes. 

"We can’t hold them off for long." Castiel says.

Dean snickers, shakes his head. “Fuck, Cas, aren’t you quite the optimist.” 

The door clangs loudly and Dean’s head snaps up and towards the sound. The grotesque faces of the dead are peering through the small window on the door, their jaws working jerkily as they groan.

They’ve double, tripled almost, in numbers, and they’re crowding around the door, pounding decaying flesh covered hands against the metal. 

This is it. Last episode, folks, no To Be Continued.

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Untimely Confessions of Love and Other Things - A Hunter's Realization in 5 Parts.

lastknownwriter said she needed some smooshy DeanCas. Here u go, muffin. I hope you feel better soon. <3 — SPN verse. Post s8. 1.7k.

Part 1:

Cas is wearing bumblebee socks. Honest to God socks with bees on them. So what if he’s a grown man. So what if he used to smite demons with just the palm of his hand. So what. He’s wearing bee socks. 

And he looks adorable as fuck. 

And there are words on the tip of Dean’s tongue, rolling around like salt in the sea, waiting to be washed ashore. 

"Hey, Cas." He finds himself saying. 

"Yes?" Castiel looks at Dean over his coffee cup, his hair sleep mussed and his t-shirt and boxers rumpled and so Cas looking Dean aches.

"I l-" his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands, "-like your socks." He finishes around a wince. 

The minute up-quirk of Cas’ lips is almost too much, and accompanied by his quiet, pleased, “Thank you,” Dean nearly vomits fireballs he feels so warm

Fuck.


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Kinda Like A Taylor Swift Song

Written for the prompt: Dean and Cas both crushing on each other, but finally getting thecourage to tell each other on Valentine’s Day. 

Working on Valentine’s Day kinda sucks, but it’s not as bad as working on Thanksgiving or Christmas. And it’s not like Dean has anyone special to spend it with anyway. In fact, the one person he’d want to spend it with is already standing next to him, bagging groceries with quick deft hands, and an expression better suited for a challenging crossword puzzle than a grocery store.

Castiel.

He started working at the same grocery store as Dean about three months ago. He’s quiet, frowns more than anyone Dean’s ever met, and talks about the weirdest shit in the universe when he does get around to talking. Seriously, stars, and honeybees, and how much better green tea is than earl grey; that’s the kind of crap the guy goes on about.

At first Dean had wondered if Castiel grew up in a hole or something; he doesn’t understand any pop culture references, he has no people skills whatsoever, and he talks like every word is important. But after about a week, all of Castiel’s weird quirks became less weird and more… cute. (Let it be known Dean Winchester has never actually used that word in conjunction with a human being before.)

There’s just something about the guy that had drew Dean in and turned him into a sputtering, nervous, pink-cheeked wreck whenever Castiel was in close vicinity to Dean. Which, because Castiel is Dean’s bagger, is all the freaking time.

"Have a good night," Dean tells the woman standing at his check out. She’s probably in her mid-twenties, she isn’t wearing a wedding ring, and all she purchased is ice cream and Cosmopolitan magazine. She’s most likely spending the night alone. He offers her a wink for good measure and smiles triumphantly when she blushes ever so slightly and hurries off.

"You’re very good with the customers," Castiel states as he watches the woman’s retreating form. He says it like it’s the conclusion to a scientific observation.

Dean lets out a laugh, bumping Castiel’s shoulder with his own. “Maybe if you weren’t frowning all the damn time.” He points out.

"I am not frowning all the time, I’m just thinking."

"You sure do a lot of thinking," Dean replies.

Castiel opens his mouth to respond, but another patron, an elderly woman, is emptying the contents of her cart on Dean’s counter, and they avert their attention to her.

"You sure do have pretty eyes," the woman says as Dean rings up her cat food. The comment is directed at Castiel, and as he realizes this he blushes, muttering a quiet thank you that sends Dean’s lips spreading into a smile.

"Doesn’t he?" Dean agrees, shooting Castiel a teasing smirk. The words come out sounding like a joke, as Dean intends them to, but in reality Dean’s stomach is in frenzied knots because yeah Castiel has great eyes, but this is the closest Dean’s ever come to admitting he’s noticed.

Castiel shakes his head and bags up the cat food placed before him.

"You boys have a good night," the woman says as Castiel places her grocery bags into her waiting arms.

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