like cas drowns in dean's eyes

Driving Home

DeanCas Coda to 12x12

Dean’s sweaty hands grip and re-grip the steering wheel as he surreptitiously looks over to the passengers side. It’s weird to be driving Cas’s truck, but he insisted under the pretense of letting the angel rest—”Like hell’m gonna let you drive home, Cas. Get in the car.”

Castiel stares listlessly out the window. Dean swallows thickly.

“…So, are we gonna talk about it?”

No answer.

“Cas?”

Dean’s heart is beating a mile a minute and he’s convinced he’s gonna be sick. When he side-eyes his angel (and he can say that now, because apparently the idiot loves him), Cas is gripping the edge of his trench so hard his knuckles are white. 

“Castiel,” Dean says. His full name feels foreign on his tongue. “You–You can’t just leave me hangin’ here, man.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Dean.”

Dean’s heart sinks.

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Worth

Canon ‘verse Dean and Cas talking about feelings

read it here on AO3!

“Cas, I just - I don’t think we can do this,” Dean says.

And Cas, sitting beside him in shotgun, tastes loss in his mouth. He stares straight ahead.

He’s been waiting for this, if he’s honest with himself. It was too good to be true. He and Dean have been - things have been different between them, recently. They’ve been saying more, showing more. It’s been filling a part of Cas that he hadn’t even understood was aching and empty, until suddenly it wasn’t.

But now…

“It’s - you know, we got jobs to do,” Dean says. Outside, the night rolls past. They’re driving home to the bunker, shopping bags in the back. The trip was domestic, even sweet; but at the check-outs, Cas saw Dean’s face. He’d known that something was shifting. He’d known that there was trouble to come.

“Jobs?” he manages.

“Yeah, Cas, jobs. We got the world to save. Half the time we’re throwing ourselves under the bus so it won’t drive off the cliff, and that’s good, because the bus won’t crash, but…” He pauses; Cas says nothing. “But - God, Cas, it’s so much harder to throw yourself under the bus when you got someone out there who makes you think you shouldn’t have to.”

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12.17 coda

Cas hasn’t been picking up.

It’s not the first time something like this happened but Dean thought they were past this. They’ve been texting almost every day, talking at least twice a week. Now that he knows this version of Cas, he can’t take the radio silence.

It spooks him more than he lets on.

He tries again late at night, dials the number he knows by heart. Straight to voicemail. He knows it would happen, he tried just a minute ago, but the sound of Cas’ voice washes over him and he relaxes as much as his nervousness increases. At the beep, he sighs.

“Cas, buddy… where are you?”
His mouth is an ugly grimace, the lines on his face etched with concern even after he rubs his hand over his face. It’s not the first message and it won’t be the last. He should stop. He should. Still, his voice breaks.

“I need you.”

We need you, he should add - because plural is safer, less full of weight. Yet, for some reason, he doesn’t. Instead, he just swallows, calls Castiel’s name softly against the speaker as if the sound of it could summon the angel. But, just like the other times before, the line clicks dead. Cas doesn’t magically appear just because Dean is wishing it with every fiber of his being. So the hunter closes his eyes, puts the phone by the nightstand - as he always does when Cas is away. Just in case.

He’s drowning, deeper and deeper, pulled into the water by dark claws. He can’t fight it. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to anymore. All of the sudden, he’s pulled up, fast and hard and then all the water is gone. He’s dry, standing on his childhood bedroom, bright blue “I Wuv Hugz” shirt on. Cas. Cas is standing right in front of him. The angel looks down at his shirt quizzically, the twitch of his brow too accurate to be just a memory. Then, he looks back up, smiles, all soft and gentle before he steals Dean’s space and wraps tight arms around broad shoulders.

Dean doesn’t know what to do. He hugs back, closed fists against Cas’ back, but none of this makes sense and the realization hits him like a truck doing ninety on a freeway. He pulls back, eyes moist and full of hurt.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I? You’re just a dream.”

The angel hesitates, his expression odd. He looks as if he’s considering the answer and it makes Dean think for a moment that maybe it’s really Cas, sneaking into his dreams. But then the angel nods, confirms his suspicions and Dean believes it - maybe because Cas needs him to. He wraps his arms around the angel again, anyway. Fictional or not, this Cas feels real.

“Come back to me,” he pleads to the phantom because if it’s just a dream he can’t be at fault for his own words. Cas frowns, he looks sad - like angel statues over cold stone graves. Too sad. Dean’s hand cradles his jaw and he presses closer, leans in until his lips brush Cas’ in a gentle kiss.

“I’ll wait,” he assures, “just… come back.”

At last, Cas smiles again and Dean can’t help but smile back. The angel pulls him in for another kiss but he licks it out of Dean’s mouth, all demanding and pushy, hard and bossy in that way he knows always has the hunter going a little crazy. So Dean melts into it, all soft, pleased noises, moaning into chapped pink lips, trembling fingertips dancing over Castiel’s nape.

He should be angry. He knows Cas is lying. His imagination, no matter how good, could never recreate Cas this perfectly. This is the real deal, probably neck deep into some new stupid ass decision. But Dean doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head and smirks into the kiss, pulling the blue-eyed little nerd closer still.

When he wakes up, hours later, the other side of the bed remains empty. Still, he feels a little better. Cas will come back.

He always does.

I Think I Wanna Marry You...(Part 5)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Time is running out as Y/N and Dean try and maneuver their way around this new conflict whilst keeping their cover…Easy, right?

Warnings: Swearing, mild angst; Castiel is clueless

Word count: 5k (yikes)

Part 1, 

Part 2 Part 3 ,Part 4

A/N:  Way overdue, but here it is! surprise surprise: our favorite angel finally makes an appearance.

PS. Big shoutout to all my Boston-born pals. No hate, this is all purely for fictional purposes and I’m sure you guys and your town rule!

Tagging:
@captainaudreystark
@mayainneverland

@hannahhyese
@nakedshowerdean

@haileyboo1210
@fallengrimes

Apologies if I forgot to tag you, let me know in my inbox and I’ll be sure to in the next part.                      

                                         ~*~*~*~


Dean’s footsteps are thunderous thuds as he stalks down the hallway, fists bawled and jaw clenched. He makes a turn for the right, heads to the elevator that takes him to the ground floor and makes his way out onto the terrace where the party is going.


His eyes scan the perimeter in search of Sam; he’d left him in the company of Emma and Y/N’s cousin Brendon, talking about politics and nerd-things (Dean’s conclusion: yawn). Turning to the right, he spots Marilyn and Y/N’s father. The noise around him swarms his mind, clouding it, only catalyzing the agitation stewing in him. Dean scowls and then heads to an empty table by a dropping willow tree.


His footsteps crunch against the grass as he moves to take seat, and finally resting his head in his hands. He lets his eyes shut. Exhales. Sighs.

Y/N.


How did he get here? All he can is being sent up to get her, taking her things along with him, and then in the blink of an eyes, here he is. A labored breath leaves Dean and he sits up, leaning back in his seat. Instead, he decides, he might as well allows himself to observe the crowd for now. To recollect. Lamenting on this entire situation is out of the question—if he gives it too much attention, things could get wild in his head. Could swell larger than they need to be, and so he allows his gaze to skim the crowd, when he catches the eye of a familiar face glaring at him.


And then the elder Winchester’s jaw tenses.


Rick.


Rick standing in the centre of the crowd, mingling with the guests; Rick, despite the conversation he’s engulfed in, staring him down like a hawk.


Rick coming towards him.


Mind hazy, Dean has to do a double take, squinting to make sure he’s right. And apparently he is—the dark-haired man is sauntering across the garden, a beer in hand, sporting a composed smile.


Dean waits anxiously before he approaches, halting a few feet from the table. He raises his bottle. “Pleasant evening, isn’t it? It’s a surprise to see someone spending it alone.”


“Maybe that’s what makes it so ‘pleasant’” He sneers the word as though it’s venomous, like the mere syllables cause his tongue to burn. “…because I’m alone.”


“Not gonna lie: that’s sad.”


Dean shrugs. He doesn’t know why, but apparently Rick stupidly takes this as an acquiesce for him to join him, because he then drags a seat out from the table and sits himself down opposite the elder Winchester.


Rick’s smile softens. “Dean, right?”


“Winchester.”


“Yeah, Y/N’s boyfriend.” Rick nods in understanding as he offers his hand. “We met—rick.”


“I know.”


An awkward silence befalls as Rick’s expression falters, and he shyly tucks his hand back at his side, clearing his throat. “Right.” He mumbles. “So—how are you liking everything in Boston? Y/N told me you’ve never really been well acquainted with these parts. She said you’ve only been here—once, twice?”


Dean nods. He’s not really in the mood for company; and doesn’t want them to, but for odd reason the words end up leaving him anyway.  “Twice. Business trip that lasted three days and then we were outta here.”


“Never thought of coming back.” Rick asks with a quirked brow, and the elder Winchester shakes his head. “What about Y/N? No interest in seeing where she came from?”


“Why do you care?”


“I…don’t. I’m…just..making conversation.”


“Well then maybe you should stop.”


Rick’s brows shoot up in surprise.


Dean is steady and as stoic as a soldier, his expression giving away no sign of emotion. Green eyes are dead set on the hazel ones across the table, and in the air thick with a newfound tension dangles another silence


After a moment, Rick clears his throat. “So, uhm, Dean,” He continues, trying to sidestep the awkwardness. “Y/N said that you two are partners. You work together in the squad?”


“Yup.” This is getting beyond mind-numbingly boring; Dean really doesn’t like this guy. Like, really doesn’t like him. And he knows it’s untheical, and he knows he’s being petty (likes that’s new), but he doesn’t care enough to do anything about it because just because he’s somebody else for these two weeks doesn’t mean he needs to abandon his actual traits.


”That would explain how we’re partners.” He rolls his eyes, averting his gaze to the far left when all fo a sudden he notices a movement.


Then the elder Winchester’s senses heighten; drowning all peripheral sounds out, he focuses on the shift, the patter of feet, a shadow cast upon the damp ground. A large male figure. Getting closer. Closer.


“Right, I forgot.” Rick laughs casually, throwing back some beer. Wiping the corner of his mouth with his cuff, he then returns his focus to Dean who tries to look less like a hunter. “So you’re a cadet, too?”


“Uhm….” His eyes skitter. Th strange ris getting closer, his walk rigid. “Yeah…Cadet. I’ve been on the force for almost four years now.”


“That’s a lot.”


“Mhm.”


“Dean.”


When he turns his head, much to his relief, it’s Sam. The younger Winchester walks up to the table, looks down at Dean, his long brown hair swooping around his face like a curtain.


“You alright?”


Befuddled momentarily, Dean nods.“Yeah…”


Sam eyes him dubiously, then looks at Rick. He smiles at the younger Winchester. Turning back to his brother, Sam announces, “Cas is here.”


“What?”


“He just arrived. He’s, uhm, waiting in the lobby. Says he wants to talk to you there.”


“Oh..right….” Cluelessly, the elder Winchester then casts Rick a cursory look. He inhales and stands. “Gotta go, buddy. Talk later.”


“Oh, uh—“And then they leave.


The dark-haired man, befuddled, says something, watching as the pair begin to move, but Dean is already so out of earshot that he doesn’t bother. He follows Sam through the crowd and out of the garden, into the garish lighting of the lobby.


Sat at one of the black leather couches, Cas looks around the room a few times, shifty-eyed, until his gaze rests on the elder Winchester and his panic dissolves. He pushes himself up, eyes focused on Dean.


“There you are.”


“Cas, where have you been? I left you like six voicemails.”


“I’ve been busy. Heaven’s duties, tracking Crowley, i…”The angel exhales, averting his gaze. “I’m sorry. I would have gotten here sooner.” He explains, then turns to Sam. “Where’s Y/N?”


“What are you wearing?” Dean’s eyes slide over his friend’s attire: brown khakis, a salmon button up with an orange spotted tie, and sandals. Morbid. Unethical. If Dean had a blow-torch with him, he’d set it on max and go to town.


Horrified eyes lift to Cas’ apologetic face. “Sam told me to dress casual.” He explains.


“Yeah, casual, not train wreck.”


“That’s not very nice.”


“I could say the same about that tie—or the whole ensemble.” With a slight repulsed face, Dean dismisses it with a shake of the head and wave of a hand. They’re on a tight schedule.


“Come on, I think I have something you can wear. People are starting to stare.” He then ushers Cas along with him up to their bedroom, until the realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning. The elder Winchester, cursing internally, then turns to Sam.


“You have to go in there.”


“What?”


“I can’t. Y/N and I, we…” He sighs and averts his gaze, desperate to sequester his embarrassment from the public eye. “We got into a fight. She wanted to me to leave, I can’t go back in there.”


“A fight about what?”


“Does it matter?” Dean snaps, and Sam’s eyes lift in surprise at his tone. “She doesn’t want me in the room. You’re going to have to get Cas’ clothes. We’ll be downstairs.”


“I could go get them.”Castiel offers.


The elder hunter shakes his head. The music from downstairs is floating all the way up here, drowning his focus. “Not looking like that. Y/N’s sad as it is, that whole outfit will just bring her down.”


“What did you do?” Sam asks.


“Dean…”


The two speak simultaneously, Cas’ tone admonishing and Sam sounding like he’s tired of this story before he’s even heard it and Dean doesn’t have time for this. Instead of staying here to explain himself, with an indignant huff he pivots and stalks back down the hall, before suddenly bumping into someone.


He feels the smack right in his chest and winces at the contact, stepping aside as something clatters to the floor. The other person curses, and before he can even open his eyes Dean knows who it is.


“What are you doing here?”


“What does it look like?”


Y/N bends to pick up the sheets of paper on the floor. Meanwhile, Sam and Cas hurry over, they’re expressions unreadable once his gaze meet with hers.


Clutching the papers to her chest, Y/N’s face breaks out into a surprised, slightly confused smile.


“Cas…You made it!”


The angel can’t help it; his expression cracks, too, as he goes in for a brief hug. “Of course I did.” He says. The moment is cut short by Dean scoffing.


“Yeah, wait a few days and she’ll get tired fo you.” He remarks.


“You have a bone to pick, Winchester?”


Dean shrugs and looks away, pouting like a child. “Maybe…”


“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” Sam intervenes, because Y/N looks like she’s about to knock a man’s teeth out. He looks to her and his brother, arm still keeping her a safe distance from the elder Winchester. “Man, you two are acting like kids.”


“How else do you want me to act, Sam?! Y/N’s being ridiculous about this whole thing..”


“Excuse you…”


“Oh, so I’m supposed to sleep out in the hall now just because I said something that hurt your feelings?”


Y/N bites her lip to keep from spitting venom, her arms like tentacles wrapped tightly around the papers as she glares bitterly. Dean, with his eyes wild and jaw clenched once more, challenges her gaze, but it only takes a minute before he realizes something: she’s changed out of her old clothes, now sporting one of her dresses from back home reserved for the dinners.


The elder Winchester’s expression softens as his eyes slide over her frame. They rest on her face pink with anger. “You changed.”


“No shit.” Y/N spits, brow still creased, steam still puffing from her ears. Her nails at this point are digging into the papers. “I was just downstairs. I thought about what you said and realized that if I didn’t show, then they’d suspect something was up. I couldn’t risk blowing our cover.”


“Why didn’t you tell me?”


“You think I didn’t try to? It’s not my fault you were off somewhere being an ass.”


“Hey, stop it.” Sam chastises as he shoots Y/N a glare. She glances at him and then the floor, abashed.


“Well,” Cas begins, speaking up for the first time in eons. “…none of that matters now. At least Y/N managed to keep your cover. For tonight.” He glances between the two of them, emphasizing his words. “But from now on you two can’t go around acting like you’re anything less than partners. It could put this entire mission at risk.”


“Mission…”Dean scoffs. “…this is all just a big joke. I have no idea why even agreed.”


“Neither do I, jackass. I should have asked Sam.” Y/N, tears brimming in her eyes, shakes her head then shoves the papers into Sam’s chest.


“Here’s the new agenda. There’s been a change of plans. The binder says it all.” She says, before squeezing through the wall of the three men and rushing to her room, Dean’s eyes following her.


When she slams the door, the walls tremble.


                                                         ~*~*~*~

The next day is a disaster. Between runs for cake samples, trips to the florists and fittings, Y/N is forced into the presence of Dean and company—Sam and Cas, trying their best to keep the two from fighting in front of the family. On the brightside, so far so good. They’ve barely uttered any profanities to the other. They’ve barely spoken overall. A few words here and there, the occasional peck on the cheek (barf) for the sake of reputation, but other than that they haven’t spoken.


Mainly because Y/N doesn’t want to. Because after the previous night, she wants nothing more than to avoid Dean at all costs, and it’s been hard. Impossible, almost. Without the other in sight, one of them is always hounded by the family, which makes staying mad at her sweetheart more tedious than needed.


It’s Thursday morning when they’re out on the two running some more errands. Being forced to hold hands with him as they stroll down the boulevard makes her skin seethe like a vampire in the sun. She’s angry—how can she not be?


“Easy there, anaconda. Your holding my hand not your prey.”


“Bite me.” She sneers as she slips her hand from his, jiggling it to dissolve the feeling of his calloused hands.


At one point she would have done the opposite; she’d relish the feeling of Dean’s palm against hers, crave it. There were instances where the only reasons they’d be holding hands was because Y/N wanted them to, and now all of that had vanished as fast as it came.


They pass an open bakery, an Indian restaurant perfumed by the scent of curry and then make a left. Because of the wedding being moved closer, all the planning has been catalyzed. This means that there’s a ton of activities Y/N and her folks had planned to carry out within the following days that they have to get accomplished by Saturday, and so to make things move a lot faster, they’ve been separated into groups. Bridal party A: Y/N, Castiel and the Winchesters and Bridal B which includes her mom, S/P/N, Emma and Aunt Steph. Brendon and the guys, she’s been told, are handling things back at the hotel. Seating arrangements, catering.


Their assignment? Getting the ring.


The store is a quaint white structure sandwiched between an antique parlor and restaurant, bouquets of a vast variety lining the entire wall, a colorful welcome as they scuttle in. Y/N keeps her hands in her pockets, walking a safe distance away from Dean. He probably thinks she hasn’t noticed, but he’s not very discreet when he keeps sneaking glances her way.


But she ignores him.


Cas and Dean move to the front desk to speak to the employee smiling welcomingly at them while Y/N remains with Sam by the exit.


He looks over to her. With her arms crossed over her chest, she’s looking at some earrings in the display case.


“So you’re not gonna forgive him, huh?” He prompts. She shrugs. A ring with a diamond the size of a nugget glints in the daylight and she rounds the display to take a closer look.


“Nope.” Is her simple reply.


“Come on, Y/N…” Sam almost pleads. “You know that this is all gonna blow over. It always does. The two of you can never actually stay mad at each other.”


“Watch me then. He’s gonna stew this time.”


“But not forever, right?”


She looks up and he’s at her side. There’s a small, polite and almost knowing smile on his face. One she’s seen before. One she hates to see because of the truth it holds, the gospel behind it. Y/N sighs then looks away…and that’s good enough of an answer for Sam. His simper then grows into a teasing smirk and he leaves to go see what Cas and his brother are up to.


Watching him go, the young girl bites her lip, her mind gripped by the reality the younger Winchester just showed her. He’s right. It’s inevitable—she’s going to forgive Dean. No matter how much she denies it, she always does, so what’s the point of just postponing it all?


Getting it done now would be much easier, she reasons as she moves to the earrings display. So what if Dean’s ego is pampered by her surrender? So what if she has to be the one to cave—it’s not like anyone is keeping score? They’re not. They’re not petty like that…


But still.


Y/n feels reluctance tug at the strings of her heart.  When they’re done the trio walks up to her and tells her it’s time to leave. Apparently there’s been a bit of a delay.


“The ring will be ready by Saturday.” Castiel offers. “We pick it up first thing in the morning.”


“Looking at some rocks, huh, Y/N? Don’t get your hopes up.” Dean says as he takes a look. His eyes survive the vast variety, skittering from jewel to jewel. “I’m not making buying you stuff from every store we go to a habit. The scarf was just for show.”


“I didn’t—“ Y/N begins, defenses on already, but quickly stops herself.


Eyes narrowed, she clamps her lips shut and stares. He fingers a diamond pendant on the shelf. With a shake of her head, she tries to ignore his remarks, and sidesteps him, moving as fast as she can to get out of the door.


As if the day wasn’t odd enough, it’s Sam who drives them back to the hotel.


Y/N, with her back terse and nails digging into the leather seats, now knows why Dean never lets his little brother.


Because, boy, is he rocky. She doesn’t know if it’s like this all the time, but the car feels like a cruising deathtrap. They race down the road at an unholy speed. Much to her surprise, Dean says nothing. He’s quiet. Dead silent, entranced instead by the scenery zipping by in a flash.


“Damn, Sammy, cool it.”


“Oh, sorry, Y/N.”


“Don’t like it fast, huh?” Dean speaks for the first time since they got in.


Turning her attention to him, she shoots him a glare. He doesn’t notice it, though. Too busy staring out the window. Engulfed by his own thoughts. Apparently not enough to miss the chance to poke fun at her.


“Relax, Y/N…” the elder hunter continues, finally turning around to look her in the eye. Expression bored, his lips quirk up in a dead smirk. “…he’s just trying to get you there quickly. You don’t like that either?”


“Dean…”


“Hm…Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t pick Sam to be your squeeze for the wedding. Otherwise things in the bedroom would be real awkward, am’irite?”


“Dean!” Sam admonishes.


Y/N fights the blush flooding her face. With a glad grin, the elder Winchester glances at his brother then back at her. The satisfaction is written out in the way his lips twitch, the smugness of his expression that she chooses to ignore because if she doesn’t, then things might get ugly…


“Can you stop acting like a child?”


“Why don’t you make me?”


“Is this some type of flirtation?” Cas’ voice cuts through the noise, dripping with cluelessness and earnest curiosity. Dean laughs. So does Sam. Y/N, she only rolls her eyes and turns to the window.


“I just don’t see why we’re in a rush. I mean, we still have like—“ she glances back at the car-clock, “—two and a half hours till they need us back at the hotel. Almost three.”


“So…what? You guys wanna go do something?”


“What’s there to do, Sam? It’s Boston.”


“We could go to the museum…? I hear their exhibitions are immensely meticulous and well done. It shouldn’t take us less than—“


“No one really wants to go to the museum, Cas, but we appreciate the participation.” Clapping him on the shoulder, Dean shakes his head. His eyes shoot to her. “Y/N: where to, since you are the local?”


“What?”


“Well, you did leave here your entire childhood.” Sam reasons, shooting her a glance in the rearview mirror. “You’ve gotta know some place that’s…I don’t know—fun?”


“Fun? In Boston?” She scoffs. “Please.”


“What about a movie?”


“For three hours?”


“Oh, right…uhm….” They all think in silence, and Y/N lets them.


The truth is this: she does know a fun place. She knows a ton. It’s freaking Boston. She knows the woods just out of town she’d sneak off to with her friends after school and she knows some of the best burger joints you can find. She’s got eyes all over this damn town, in all the cracks and crannies that you can find, but getting her to confess is nothing but a far-fetched plan, she thinks—until the boredom starts to weigh in on her too.


Biting her lips, she reluctantly begins. “I think i have an idea…”


The chatter then quiets as all eyes flit to her constricted face telling just how badly she doesn’t want to say it. Y/N gulps. It’s only one option on the (long) list of many…


                                                  ~*~*~*~

The sky is clear by the time they get there.


A vast stretch of blue across the town, a few tufts of white clouds here and there. It’s not going to rain, apparently. Not with the air clear and warm and dancing against the apples of Y/N’s cheeks.


She stops walking for a moment, staring at the cluster before her. Trees upon trees. Thick, evergreen, covering a radius of roughly ten miles, and before it the playground where they stand. Sand. A slide with chipped blue paint and abandoned swings. Usually this place is full but taken the fact that it’s a Thursday leaves it marooned, the only presences being those of adults and teenage couples roaming around in the park.


Whipping to face them, Y/N flashes the boys a tight smile. “This is it.”


“A park?” Dean’s voice, although surprised, holds no offensive tone. He squints at the light as he takes a look around, eyes resting on the little gates of the entrance. “This is what you call fun?”


“Extremely. Look,” She walks over and taps the slide’s chipped paint. “…it even has a playground just for kiddies like you.”

“I’ll join you on the slide, Dean.” Cas supplements with a smile and Y/N chuckles.


The gates let out an aged squeak as they push through. The boulevard is a wide stretch of cobble with parks on the sides with people playing instruments, a guy in rollerblades doing tricks. She remembers coming here all the time, being one of these personalities strumming her ukulele for some extra doe


“Check it out.” Smiling, Sam points to a girl doing a full back-bend and a man laying eggs on her extended torso. They all smile and make their way over. Apparently, she’s an acrobat putting her skills to sue for the same reason Y/N did, and so they leave her with a couple of dollars and a coupon to Denny’s before moving on.


They move from person to person to food-kart when Dean’s stomach starts to rumble.


“I feel like chili-dogs.”


“When do you not feel like chili dogs, Winchester?” Y/N smiles as she hands the vender the money. “You always feel like chili dogs.”


“Is there any other genuine feeling?”


“Apparently not.” She mumbles. A few feet away Sam and Cas are buying cotton candy, when the younger Winchester turns around.


He jerks a thumb back, raising his voice. “Do you guys want some?”


“No, we’re good.” Y/N shouts back, and he gives them a thumbs up before turning back to the guy holding two fluffy blue blobs. They’re handed two large sandwiches, then wander further down the path until they’re in the opening near the pond. There are trees everywhere and a few people dotted across the grass, the pond glistening in the sunlight, and Dean’s about to sit when Y/N stops him.


“Not here.” She says.


The elder Winchester, already halfway into his seat, furrows his brow. “What?”


She only waves for him to follow and continues.


He does.


It takes them roughly eight minutes to get to an isolated spot further into the park and Y/N is smiling proudly. A large oak sprouts from the ground and they settle down beneath it.


“Ugh, if S/P/N could see me now she’d scold me sore.” She says, un-tucking the napkins around her sandwich as they sit. “This is a total no-no for someone trying to stay fit for a wedding.”


“It’s not like you’re the bride, anyway. What’s that saying, again? Always the bridesmaid never the bride?”


“Really, Dean?”


He shrugs then takes big bite out of his sandwich Some marinara dribbles down his mouth and onto his chin. These ends of the park, for all the years she’s known them, are never fully. They never have anyone but Y/N and whatever company she strings along with her, and because of this the quiet that settles between them is deafening, encompassing.


She stares out at the pond glimmering like mercury, the ducks waddling over it in tiny clusters. A fond smile creeps onto her face. She remembers. Everything. She remembers hot summers spent dipping her legs in the water and cut-off shorts that bleached from the sun. She remembers ice-cream trickling down her wrist; laughs with friends and furtive I love you’s hidden somewhere in the intimacy of this place. She remembers, because she can’t win the fight not to.


“I used to come here a ton when I was a kid.”  She says, breaking the silence.

Dean turns to her. His expression is simple, mouth still dressed with marinara sauce and brow furrowed with a newfound interest.. “Really?”


She nods “S/P/N used to bring me.. When we were like ten, she’d tell my mum we were going to the library and we’d come here instead, sneak off to this little sequestered zone to…” She shrugs. “…skip stones, listen to music. I used to feel like the coolest kid on the block just ‘cause I was hanging out with teenagers. But…when I got older we sorta stopped. She went off to college, so I inherited the safe zone. Used to sneak off here after school with my friends.


“You had friends? Wow…” Eyes wide and lips quirked subtly, his tone is evidently teasing. Y/N laughs softly. Genuinely. There’s still a hint of earnest that tells her he’s a bit surprised, but she understands; despite having lived with the boys for so long, there’s not much they know about her life before hunting.


“Yup.” She answers. “A whole pack. They were nice, too—really nice, and we had a lot of fun before I left. Here, there, all over city, the state even. But, after that, things kinda…fizzled out.” A hint of melancholy seeps into her tone as she averts her gaze to the ground, quieting for a moment. She can feel Dean’s eyes on her, prying, interested in hearing what it is she has to say. The tension between evaporates. They’re no longer foes on this park bench, not with the newfound intimacy that seems to envelope them.


It’s hard re-opening this wound right in front of someone, in front of Dean. He knows her— for all the years they’ve been partners, for all the wholeness of her herself she has given him he knows her, but telling all this comes harder than she thought it would. There’s a knot in her chest refusing to untangle, that doesn’t want her to spill all this now, but it’s about time… Sighing, she swallows and turns to him. She blinks, expression saddened.


“You know why I hate this place so much? Massachusetts, Boston?” She asks.


Dean shakes his head.


“Because I had a life here. A good life. And I left a lot behind when I left to hunt.”


“Y/N…”


She can feel the tears stinging her eyes and tries to blink them away. They won’t budge. Instead they spill over, trickling down the curve of her cheek. She doesn’t want to remember having it all, because it means recalling leaving it behind. And it hurts—God, does it hurt.


Biting her lip, she sniffles and another tear trickles down her cheek. “I hate this stupid town,…” She says Carefully. Quietly. Her voice is hoarse and is at the precipice of cracking.


“Come on, Y/N…”


“I can’t wait to leave.”


And that’s all it takes.


And she’s in his arms, head rested on his chest, face pink and wet and fingers knotted together because she can’t breathe. Her chest stutters, falling as fast as it rises. Dean, smoothing his hand over her arm, tells her to breathe, to relax.


“I can’t, Dean…” Tears trickle down her cheeks as she shakes her head. “God, I can’t wait for this wedding to be over. To get out of this place.”


“Y/N, listen to me.” He coos, somehow managing to pacify her, because she actually does. Sniffling, she tips her head back and their eyes meet. Green on y/e/c. His eyes swim with a sadness, an anguish she can’t bring herself to understand.


Gulping thickly, the elder Winchester gathers his thoughts. His courage. Watching this is more painful than imagined; just because they fought, it doesn’t mean Dean doesn’t still care for Y/N. It doesn’t mean that watching her cry doesn’t make his heart splinter, or that hearing her quiet sobs is any less painful than taking a bullet to the shoulder.


He never makes her cry. Ever. Tries not to, but apparently fails because here she is, stifling a sob.


“You had a good life here, maybe even great, but leaving to embark on something new doesn’t mean leaving that good behind—it means taking it along with you.” His eyes bore into hers. “And that’s what you did. You took a whole lot’a good from this crappy town and brought it into our lives. You changed them. And it may sound selfish, but you leaving your old life behind was the best thing that could have happened to mine.”


Y/N manages a small, sad smile. A coarse chuckle escapes her. “Softie.”


“Hey…” he admonishes but it’s only semi-genuine before a smile breaks through; his eyes crinkle, pink lips pulled back and there it is again. That glimmer.


That spark that ignites the warmth in her chest…


She looks at Dean like she’s looking at him for the first time in years—takes in the wrinkles and creases engraved into his skin, the blots freckles across his nose, the little bit of gold that glints in the green rim of his eyes and she feels her spirit soar.


“You’re right.” Averting her gaze, her words are q bit mumbled. The elder-hunter’s eyebrows quirk.


“Am I?”


Y/N nods. Stuttering a breath, she casts her eyes to meet his.“I’m sorry I was being so difficult.”


“We both were. Some more than others, but…” She rolls her eyes at his words, punching him in the shoulder softly. He only laughs.


Dean offers a small smile. “It’s fine.”


“No, it’s not.” It’s going to take some time for the guilt to dissolve, but an apology is one step closer to that achievement. Inhaling deeply, Y/n shakes her head slowly. “And I’m sorry for saying I would have rather brought Sam with me. You’re doing a great job keeping up with my family and my crazy ass. I never should have said that.”


“It’s okay..”


“Could you stop it? it obviously isn’t. i know that. I’m sorry, Dean. I….”The sentence melts away somewhere in her throat as she feels her chest shake. Her eyes water. Glancing away, the words are barely a whisper…


“…I care about you.” Y/N admits.


Stilling, he takes a moment processing. Then, lips quirking into a subtle, knowing smile, he offers her his hand. “Truce?”


She glimpses down at it. Rough and calloused. Dean’s. An unspoken contract. She can’t help but think back to their first day, in the car. An unspoken promise between the two of them, and within a second all the hate has vanquished. All the bitterness and resentment and the arguments and the tears, and all that’s left is that glimmer in her chest.


Grabbing it firmly, she nods. “Truce.”

                                                 ~ *~*~*~*~

Part 6

:D :D :D

The angst is over! I know I said that the update was due last week, but my break just finished and I only got the time to post today. Nonetheless, I hope you liked what you saw.

That being said: likes, reblogs and follows are abundantly appreciated. ! Much love and I hope you’re doing welll!

Lost - 12.23 Coda




He grabbed a pair of pants, a few shirts, and threw them into the green army duffel bag on his bed. Dean is unable to think, or even take a deep breath at this point. All he knows is that he’s going to fix this. Sam is downstairs, keeping a watchful eye on Jack. Jack, what a fucking name for the fucking anti-christ, Dean thinks bitterly. If it weren’t for him, Cas wouldn’t–

Dean stops himself. He can’t think it, he can’t dwell on it. He doesn’t need to because he will fix it. His chest tightens and he feels an emptiness that he should have been used to; god how many times had he lost the ones he loved. It hurts just the same; no, worse. How many times did he need to watch Cas die?

A pile of cassettes in the corner grabbed his eye and Dean could feel a sob catch in his throat. He ignored it, swallowing his feelings, much like he was swallowing the urge to drown himself in liquor, as he was also know to do. He wrapped a hand around the straps of his duffel bag and swung it over his shoulder with a huff. It was loaded with every weapon he could find. Dean’s not sure what’s out there, but he planned to be ready for it.

He took the stairs two at a time, his lips set in a hard line as he ignored the destruction in their bunker. He didn’t have it in him to care anymore. Sam was talking quietly with Jack, a soft expression on his face.

Dean hated Jack. Well, he wanted to hate him. Truthfully, the guy didn’t know anything. He didn’t have anyone, but well…he had a memory of a promise; of a guy in an ugly trench coat with deep blue sad eyes, who’d promised to take care of him. Dean wasn’t sure that was enough but that was all they had to go on.

It had taken hours for Sam to pry Dean from Cas’ side, where he’d knelt and felt the world crumble around him. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move. It was as if time was moving slowly and he could only watch from the sidelines. Sometime when the sun came up, Sam had finally been able to bring Dean inside. With a deep breathe Sam had told him, “Jack can bring Cas back”.


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Dramatic

Castiel x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: teasing, flufffff. 

A/N: I thought it would be appropriate to write this one today, since I’m feeling like crap today, Geez, the human body is so fragile. Anywho’s, this is another Anon Request. Thank you loves!

Anon Request—“Hi! I recently stumbled across your writing, and MY GOD is it awesome. I was wondering if you could do a fix with Cas x reader ,where the reader is sick, and the Winchester bros are teasing their little sister figure for being dramatic about it, and Cas gets kinda protective, but it’s funny and cute and fluffy? Sorry if this is really specific. Love ya! <3”

(Not my GIF)

Womp. Womp. Womp.

Your head pounded as you listened to Sam and Dean chatter across the map room table. You closed your eyes as you tried to drown out the throbbing pain their obnoxious voices caused.

“So, Y/N, did you find anything yet?” Dean’s voice warped in your ears as he leaned towards you. “Helloooo? Earth to Y/N?”

“Y/N, you look like Hell,” Sam commented, making a face as he studied your pale form.

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Mine (Destiel Quick Fic)

Sometimes Dean forgot that Castiel was an angel.

It was easy to see just a man in the trenchcoat. Easy to forget that behind that soft smile and those big innocent eyes, an angel was wrapped in the unassuming body of an average man.

But Cas was all muscle and strength and force of will when it came to protecting what he loved, and when it came to getting what he wanted.

And he wanted Dean.

God, Dean loved it.

Loved the way Cas would just grab him, manhandle him to get him into whichever position he wanted that night. How he could lift him without blinking, just haul Dean off the ground to wrap his legs around his waist, and Dean could only yell as Cas took him against a wall. Sometimes Cas would pin him to the ground, tearing at his clothes because he needed and all Dean could do was sob yes and let his angel take all he could.

Cas wanted Dean.

God, Dean loved it.

Loved how sometimes it was soft and slow. How Cas would run his fingers through Deans hair, tugging lightly until Dean would drop to his knees in front of him. Sometimes he’d just take Dean to bed, undressing him carefully. Then he’d trace all those freckles, press light kisses over the scars that littered Deans body, until Dean was trembling and reaching for him and everything was achingly sweet and loving as they moved together.

Cas wanted Dean.

And Deans favorite memory had happened just the other night.

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Dean’s probably drunk the first time they kiss.

Not incapacitated, fall-down, drown-your-sorrows drunk, but enough to feel the hot burn of whiskey in the back of his throat as he corners Cas in the motel bathroom. Cas is unhurt, of course, juiced up and ready to go, but there are blood stains on the lapels of his trenchcoat as Dean reaches forward, twists his fingers in the stiff fabric, pulls Cas close.

He closes his eyes and feels his breath come fast; faster. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but, then again, it was always supposed to be like this. Cas’s mouth is warm and wet and open against his own, the permanence of his stubble rasping against Dean’s chin. He feels Cas’s hands, warm and wide and strong as they come and rest: one on the small of his back, one against the back of his neck.

Dean forgets to breathe; he inhales and pulls in petrichor, ozone, and it burns into his tastebuds, the taste of Cas Cas Cas, and there’s no coming back from here.

The House on the Ocean Road 

Castiel/Dean Winchester AU. Mature. 

Dean Winchester is on the run from his life. He’s done something unforgivable, and can’t face his family or friends ever again. So he does what any rational person would do: fakes his own death and vanishes into the ether.

Wandering aimlessly along country roads, he succumbs to the elements during a violent storm and wakes up hours later in the home of a stranger: a single dad living alone in an isolated beach house, with a haunting past of his own. Cas is sweet and shy, but welcomes Dean into his home and tells him he can stay as long as he needs, never prying into his life or asking him to spill his secrets.

As they rapidly forge a close friendship, Dean finds that the quiet life by the ocean with Cas is exactly what he’s been dreaming of. He only hopes his past never catches up with him.

When Dean first lays eyes on Castiel, thunder is crashing outside and lightning splits the skies. He doesn’t learn Castiel’s name until hours later, but what he does learn with that first, fleeting glance is that this is a kind, caring man who could maybe be the reason he stays alive. Then darkness consumes Dean again as he passes out once more.

*

He doesn’t remember anything. Wisps of memory twist and curl just out of reach, and he feels like he’s drowning in darkness. Dean gasps, cries out, and tries to sit up in a room that’s too dim and too hot, and he’s claustrophobic under the weight of something holding him down. He’s soaking, skin slick and greasy, and his throat is burning too painfully to swallow or speak a word. Every muscle, every joint, every fibre and hair follicle and atom in his body burns and in spite of himself he lets out a choked sob into the thick heat of an unknown room. He can’t see; whether it’s too dark or there’s something wrong with his eyes he doesn’t know, but it’s terrifying and disorientating, and as he heaves in desperate breath into parched lungs he thinks he can see the outline of a window frame swimming somewhere off to his left. And he thinks there’s someone nearby. Is that a voice? Is someone speaking? Are hands touching him? He tries to twist away,  it his limbs won’t cooperate, aching and too heavy to lift.

The world tilts violently, bile stings his lips, and he passes into blissful unconsciousness.

*

Time passes slowly. It could be hours, days or months, Dean has no idea. He can’t differentiate between sleep and consciousness, has no idea if he’s dreaming or hallucinating, but he knows he’s nowhere familiar. The sheets covering him are too soft and smell different to his own at home, and the bed is too comfortable. It feels like he’s lying on a cloud, and  his head and shoulders are definitely supported by more than one pillow. Feathers, certainly - he’s been poked by them once or twice.

Has he been in an accident? Has something happened to him? He isn’t sure, can’t quite place the scraps of memory that taunt him before slinking away. But he still can’t find the energy to care too much.

There’s someone kneeling at his bedside.

Keep reading on AO3. 

Changing Wings

Cas One Week Writers Challenge: @deanwinchester-af @sis-tafics

Prompt: Not a Typical Sunday

Word Count 3123

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Tags: Soulmate AU - Kinda, I twisted it. You’ll see. Reader injury.

First of all, can I say wow. Thank you all so much for your support! It’s making my day to jump online and see all the likes and reblogs so thank you all so much!! Secondly thanks @deanwinchester-af and @sis-tafics ’ for running another prompt week. I’ve had an absolute blast, and can’t wait for the next one to roll around. Are we going with Sam or Crowley next time? ;P

Also, this one ran kinda long, and I forced myself to stop. If you want more/ a continuation lemme know? Thanks!

You groaned, raising your hand to your face. Letting it drop when you felt the warm trickle of blood hit your fingertips. You knew you were rusty, but not quite this bad. Sam’s face swimming in front of yours as he knelt beside you. Dean’s shoulder in your spine. Propping you up. You were aware Sam was trying to talk to you, but you couldn’t hear him. Unable to read his lips as he spoke. Your head swam, and your vision faded to black.

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It started subtle. A light grazing of knuckles here, a pat on the shoulder that lingered for a few heartbeats, a brush of shoulders that made both men pause as they pressed together… It was subtle until the day it wasn’t.

Dean was seated at the bunker’s kitchen table with a hoagie of his own creation being chomped to oblivion between his teeth. The air was light that day since there wasn’t a single case on the horizon. Peace filled Dean’s lungs until he couldn’t help but curve his lips around the next bite.

There was no flutter of wings to announce Castiel’s entrance into the kitchen. In it’s place was the soft shuffle of socked feet and the slight drag of a dead man’s robe. The fallen angel made his way with half lidded eyes toward the coffee pot like he did every morning since he had fell completely and was offered a home with the two Winchesters.

“Morning, Cas.” Dean swallowed a chunk of his sandwich to grace Cas with a pleasant smile. His heart couldn’t help but skip when he saw the grouchiness that the angel wore so well. “Rough night?”

Castiel stopped dead in his footsteps. The air was sucked out of the room from a tension Dean didn’t understand when their eyes met. Blue eyes seemed to be calculating something with every ounce of brain power before they widened in realization.

“Uh, dude-” Dean started to say as his face morphed into confusion, his sandwich falling onto the plate forgotten. 

If Dean hadn’t been there the day Castiel fell, he would’ve thought the guy flew. In mere seconds Cas was standing directly in front of Dean’s chair with his hands resting on the hunter’s shoulders. Silence enveloped them and all Dean could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and chest.

“Cas-”

“No, Dean. No talking.” 

Lips were attached to Dean’s before he quite knew what was happening. A gasp broke from his throat only causing a tongue to find it’s way into his mouth. Not three seconds passed before Dean’s hands were tangled in Cas’ hair and his eyes were closed as he kissed back with every once of breath he had in him. The kiss might have only lasted a few minutes, but by the time they broke apart Dean felt like years had passed with his lips locked to the angel’s.

“What. The Fuck.” Dean’s breath was choppy and his cheeks heated as his eyes opened to stare into drowning blue. “Was. That.”

“A kiss.” Castiel raised an eyebrow at him with intrigue. “To express that I enjoy waking up in the same household with you every morning.”

Dean couldn’t help but melt into a gooey lopsided grin. “Maybe you should kiss me again… and maybe I would enjoy it if you woke up in the same bed as me every morning.”

Cas’ eyes lit up far brighter than they every had, even when Grace used to course through his veins, as he wasted no time in capturing Dean’s lips in his own.

Like A Virgin

ao3 link

All Dean wanted was a one night stand to loosen up a bit, to relieve some stress in his life. He figured maybe he’d find a younger guy with an amazing build, or maybe a really hot girl with great boobs. But, what he found was not exactly either of those two fantasies.

Dean was standing at the bar, about to make his move on a petite little brunette, when he saw him out of the corner of his eye. He was this gorgeous guy with these chiseled cheekbones, and perfect, pale skin, cheeks slightly flushed as another older man crowded him, flashed him a smile that was downright predatory. Dean could tell that the guy who was shying away was uncomfortable, so he decided to take some action.

“Hey, babe, is there something wrong?” Dean asked as he sidled up next to the attractive, younger man. The taller man who had been crowding him backed off a bit, his eyes flickering between the two.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t know you two were together,” the man said, beginning to back away. Dean smiled, and nodded surely. “Sorry,” he mumbled, turning to walk away as Dean sat across from the attractive, mystery man.

“Thanks, you know, for that,” he said softly, holding out his hand. “My name is Castiel,” he told Dean as they shook hands. Dean smiled at the name before pulling his hand away.

“Dean,” Dean simply told him. “I like that name, Castiel,” he complimented, and Castiel smiled softly.

“Thank you. Not many people appreciate it,” he sighed.

“Well, they should appreciate it more,” Dean said kindly.

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anonymous asked:

fic with bottom!dean where cas is really dominating and rough but in a passionate tender kind of way??? like cas gets super turned on by seeing dean so submissive and just proper goes for it and takes what he wants but deans loving every second of it pleasepleaseplease ily <3

/all i can say is that maybe putting off writing for a few days did me some good because this is fresh and i kinda like it and i dont know if that’s only because its 2:30 in the morning or because its actually good but have fun, enjoy it/ 

The first thing Cas notices when he becomes permanently human is his hunger for touch. It’s a rough itch just beneath his skin, one that he can scratch, one that he scratches far too often, to the point where he just can’t stop. Too touch as a human is different, he finds, without the barrier of his grace it is much like touching lightning.

He first learns this when he touches Dean. How very fitting, he thinks, that the man he traded Heaven for is the man to bless him with this realization. He’s gripping Dean’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, but the joints of his fingers lock in place, dig his digits into the flesh.

Since that instance, Cas is casual with his touches, like an addict shooting up again and again. He flits his fingers against Dean’s when he passes him the coffee in the morning, grips his forearm to pull him from the line of fire when he’s careless on a hunt, stitches Dean up with star sparks and thick, black thread when the gash on his side is vivid compared to the neutral beige of the couch he’s lying on. Deliberate, he presses his fingers into Dean’s skin, shameless.

It feels no less intoxicating, breathless, when he digs his nails into the thick flesh of Dean’s thighs a week later, sitting between the hunter’s spread thighs, watching his back muscles jerk in anticipation.

“Dean,” he growls low in his throat, proud feeling in his chest when he sees Dean’s fingers twitch in the sheets. Cas rubs roughly up his thighs, then steadies himself with a hand on the bed, the other one splayed on Dean’s back, moving up to squeeze sharply at his neck. The hunter has his face buried in the crook of his arm.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs again, curling his finger in between Dean and forcing his arm away from his face. Cas knows Dean won’t move if he doesn’t want to, Cas also know that Dean will move for him.

The hunter’s arm draws away from his face slowly and Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s neck as a reward. He slips a hand back down along Dean’s side, finding the slope of his ass, scratching his nails against the skin there just to hear Dean gasp.

Withdrawing completely, he peels himself from the expanse of Dean’s body, skin away from skin despite his craving. He finds a small bottle of lube in Dean’s drawn in just a few seconds and then he’s back, mouthing at the skin beneath Dean’s shoulder blades, rubbing the flesh on his sides and hips, scratching at the back of his thighs until Dean is desperate, propping up on his elbows with his head dipping to his chest and his mouth hanging open in little gasps of breath.

“Cas, Cas please,” he says and Cas’ cock twitches. He pushes it against Dean’s thigh, makes sure he can feel it. His head swims with the aftermath of Dean’s plea, so helpless it drives him insane, sends adrenaline pumping through his unaccustomed system. His wet fingers are at Dean’s hole in moments, spreading him apart as the hunter presses his head against the palm of his right hand and groans. Cas isn’t sure whether he breathes out another plea or Cas’ name, but they both sound the same to him.

When Dean’s breathing evens out, Cas adds another finger and Dean’s arching his back again. In a rush, Cas’ hand finds purchase on Dean’s neck and pushes him down again.

“Lie still,” he whispers hotly. “That’s it,” he praises Dean over the hunter’s feverish breathing, soothing his hand over the muscles of his back, over the curve of his raised shoulders. “Dean,” Cas stretches the “e” and cuts off the end with a wisp of breath, saying Dean’s name with something bordering on wonder.

Dean chokes on a moan when Cas adds another finger, rocking into the mattress with increasing desperation. He’s close to begging, just doesn’t have enough breath left in his lungs to do so. Then he waits too long and Cas is pulling his fingers out.

Everything stops for a couple seconds leaving Dean dizzy and panting. Cas runs a hand down his side, shivers crawling down Dean’s skin in the wake of his fingertips. Rolling his hips into the bed, Dean comes up panting.

“Cas, Cas, please,” he gasps out. “Please, I need…please, fuck,” his breathing is heavy and his eyes are shut tight, fingers gripping the sheets, pleading with everything he’s got. Cas’ mouth is dry and his head is spinning. His fingers tighten on Dean’s hips.

“Tell me what you need, I want to hear it from you,” Cas dips closer and mutters the words into Dean’s ear, pressing him tighter to the sheets until Dean’s writhing.

“Need you, want you to fuck me,” Dean gasps incoherently, pushing back into Cas’ hand where it lies on the back of his thigh. “Please,” he begs. “I need you, I need you so bad.” His arms trembling from holding him upright. In a moment, they finally give out and he collapses onto his left arm, his other forearm curling in to cover his face again.

Cas sits in between his thighs again and Dean spreads them slightly for him, letting him slip between them as though it’s natural for them, as though it’s not their first time doing this.

The next time Cas speaks, he’s bottomed out, draped across Dean’s back.

“Mine,” he says, and Dean sighs, throat blocking up on something: a moan, or a gasp, maybe an affirmative. Cas fucks him slow and deep, single thrusts, one at a time. It’s less of him pulling out and digging back in and more of him pressing closer and closer to Dean, long grinds of his hips that only bring him deeper into the hunter.

Dean coughs out his name and Cas takes his hands, curling his own around them protectively as his hipbones dig into the flesh of Dean’s ass. “Fuck,” Dean chokes out and turns his head to the side, letting Cas bury his nose against the angle of his jaw, his breath hot on Dean’s neck and his body pressed tight to Dean’s own leaving no inch of skin bare. “Fucking…fucking thick, Cas. Please.”

Cas lets out a noise like a wounded animal and snaps his hips once, twice, before groaning and digging his teeth into Dean’s shoulder like he’s trying to mark.

“Mine,” he says again, voice a growl and grip that of a drowning man.

They’re on the edge in minutes, overheated and desperate, yet Cas has the sense to pull back. He falls back to sit on his heels and Dean cries out at the sudden emptiness, not a single sense left in him that isn’t primal.

“Cas-,” he gasps.

“Turn around,” Cas answers, nails digging into his own thighs to keep himself thinking straight. “Turn onto your back,” his voice is breathless.

Dean flips over quickly, eye lashes fluttering. The first thing he notices is Cas’ unruly hair, then his swollen lips, heavy lids covering his star dust eyes.  

“Cas,” he says again, one hand reaching to wrap around his leaking cock, the other reaching up to cup Cas’ face. The former angel has him falling back to the sheets, mouths pressed together in unquiet desperation.

Dean’s breathing hitches in between their lips as Cas slides back into him where he’s loose and wet with lubricant. He groans deep in his throat and Cas pulls away, locking their eyes.

“Made for me,” he gasps out, rocking into Dean with a different pace, different motion. “Made for this. Mine,” he rambles, mouth shaping words deliberately, lips loose. He sets them on Dean’s throat, insane urge to mark him up.

“Yours,” is just about the only thing Dean can say to him. There’s a slight twinge to where Cas’ lips are at his throat, and then the man’s breath is ghosting over the claim he’s made. His lips are back on Dean’s, opening up the hunter’s mouth to his own, licking into it like it’s his to explore.

His hands lock around Dean’s wrists, fingers making white imprints in the tan skin while he holds them down just an inch above his head. Dean’s so pliant to him, he doesn’t have to try hard to keep him there.

Their lips find each other again and the clench in Cas’ gut is unexpected. He’s coming before he realizes what’s happening; he rides out his orgasm while his tongue flicks flames across the spread of Dean’s lower lip. As though his vocal cords are broken, he barely makes a sound.

Somewhere between the push of Cas coming inside him and the pull of Cas’ mouth on his own, Dean spills his release between their stomach, sobbing in relief. When Cas lets his wrists go, he lunges up to cup Cas’ face as they kiss weakly with their draining strength.

With no rush to break apart, they take their time with the wet slide of their mouths and the comfortable dimness of the room, silent and clean around their bodies that still lurch like a calming storm.

/10 prompts left. yay/

So, this is my second attempt at writing, and this time it’s a high school au, slightly based on Lily/James story from HP. Once again, @destieldrabblesdaily​ saved my life, so go give her a big hug, cause she’s awesome :)

‘Go on a date with me, Cas!
- D.’

Was written on a note that was currently sticking to his locker. Castiel huffed in pretend annoyance and peeled the note off, crumpling it in his hand. Dean Winchester was the most irritating person on planet Earth, Castiel was sure of it.

They’d known each other pretty much their whole lives, what with growing up in the same neighborhood. In second grade they even were, what someone would call, best friends. But as they were growing up, their differences got the best of them. Dean was loud and cocky, and handsome, always acted like he owned the place, which resulted in him becoming one of the most popular guys in school. He changed girlfriends almost every week, played for the school’s football team, and had the company of his obnoxious friends. The whole package of the proud American heterosexual.

Castiel, on the other hand, was none of these things. He was too quiet, too shy, would rather spend his time reading a book than going to some party, and… yes, he was also gay. And if he was harboring a stupid crush on the captain of the football team, then no one needed to know. Except Charlie, of course. She transferred to this school three years ago and quickly became Cas’ best friend. One glance was all it took for her to find out about his feelings for Dean. She promised to keep it quiet, though never missed an opportunity to tease him about it. Overall, Cas was happy. He didn’t get bullied, and had a small group of good friends. What else could he hope for?

Castiel never entertained himself with the idea of Dean returning his feelings. That’s why when Dean asked him out for the first time, almost two years ago, with an overconfident smirk on his face, Cas actually laughed in his face, seriously thinking it was a joke. It hurt to think that Dean could be so cruel, making fun of the shy gay kid, so he chose laughing as his defense mechanism. But when the smirk disappeared from Dean’s face and his eyes filled with hurt and anger, Castiel realized that it was not, in fact, a joke.

‘Oh my god, you’re serious?’ Cas said, too shocked to even comprehend what was happening.

‘Yeah, I am… At least, I was. Never thought you’d turn out to be a homophobic asshole, though.’ Dean answered angrily, starting to leave. But Cas grabbed his forearm, making him stop.

‘I am sorry if I offended you, Dean. That was not my intention, I promise. You just… took me surprise, that’s all.’ Dean Winchester was not straight, is the Apocalypse near? Castiel gave him a small smile, which made Dean’s smile return, now brighter than ever, taking Cas’ breath away.

‘Is that a yes?’ He asked earnestly. Castiel contemplated. Yes, he thought Dean was very attractive, and the thought of going on a date with him, holding his hand made Castiel’s knees wobbly. But… He also knew Dean’s reputation. He didn’t want to be one of those people who dated Dean for a week and then got tossed to the side as the better option came up. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle that. So Castiel took a deep breath and answered.

‘No.’

Little did he know that this would only be the beginning.

Keep reading

Sam is sitting on his laptop when he sees it.

He’s just a room away with his laptop and books, and happens to look up right when Dean pushes cas back into the big map table, almost knocking them over onto it, mouths latched.

Now, Sam isn’t as grossed out by seeing his brother making out as he should be. Maybe it’s all the times he’s been around when Dean’s picked up girls, and god forbid, the times he walked in on him with them. But most likely it’s the “ew” reaction being drowned out by relief. No more unresolved sexual tension, no sir. Not in this bunker. (At least until Gabriel magically shows up not-so-dead in like two weeks. But Sam doesn’t know about that).

With Sam’s sudden unintentional bird-like noise from across the way, the hunter and the angel break apart quickly. Dean staring at a corner with wide eyes, deep in horrible thought and realization, Cas, with a false calmness looks up to Sam, and back to Dean, and kisses his hunter again to shake him out of his trance.

Sam then starts the talk they’ve already come to terms with having far too soon, with a “So. You two finally got your shit toge- oh my god I have so many people to call.” Standing up and pulling out his phone to first call Charlie.

Cas has by now mozied the silent Dean nearer to a pacing Sam, with a “Charlie?”

Sam just nods, waits a tick, and says “Charlie, they did it.”

A far too loud “DESTIEL?!” Can be heard from the phone all throughout the room

“Yes. Call Kevin and tell him to hold up his sides of the bets. We’re winning tonight.”

Sam takes his phone from his ear as Charlie hangs up, and Dean finally speaks with a “Bets?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, you’re telling me… Sam you’re telling me you’ve had bets with Charlie on me and Cas…”

“Not just me and Charlie, and yeah, you and Cas finally boning each other.” Sam says with a ghost of a chuckle

“WE’RE NOT-”

“Dean,” cas says with a calming hand. Dean just grumbles and adds a “I can’t believe you bet. I can’t believe you knew

Sam just sighs and finishes dialing another number. He picks up with a “Hey Bobby, Call Jody, tell her to tell Donna too, why not, Dean finally grew a pair.”

Dean’s “HEY!” Gets cut off by Castiel’s snort. Dean then adds a snippy “what’re you snorting at.” “You.” “That’s rud- Sammy who the hell’re you calling now- How many friggin people were in on this? And when did you become the call center for this little operation? Every one of these people bet? How much’re we talkin here… Can I get in on this?”

“Dean, you cannot get in on the betting after the bets are won- and lost.”

“Yeah I can! I’m the one who made these bets…” Dean gestures wildly, trying to find a word. “Happen!” Dean exclaims from his seat he’s taken next to cas, as they’ve both sat down to watch this unfold.

“That’s… Not how it works.”

“Sure it is. How much’re we talking here.”

“Well,” Sam says as he sets down his phone finally, after sending out a few texts. “Bobby bet Charlie $170 you wouldn’t, though he then said promptly he thought you would. I think he just wanted to join in-” Sam stops at Dean’s face of pure shock, with a “What?”

“One… Seventy, like one hundred and seventy American dollars.”

“Dean, Balthazar bet eight grand you would by the end of that weekend that we hunted those four chupacabras. How do you think Charlie bought her new PC setup she’d raved about?”

Dean splutters out a weak and squeaky “eight grand??” Which Sam answers with a knowing “Nine years, Dean. We’ve had a lot of time sitting around watching you two stare at each other. Do you know how many times we’ve helped people and someone’s grabbed me and asked if you two were together? I won enough off of people who didn’t even know you to get this new laptop AND just about that whole bookshelf there of newer research.”

Dean settles into his chair a little, right as Cas taps Dean to get his attention

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Does this mean we can hold hands now?”

“Yeah, Cas.”

All That I Need

This is my entry for the wonderful Bev’s Song Challenge ( @chaos-and-the-calm67 ). My song was She Brings Me Love by Bad Company, and my pairing was Destiel. I suggest listening to it while reading :)

Warning: smut

Word Count: 1700

A/N: Have some Destiel smut. Hope you enjoy!

Dean’s almost drunk.

Completely drunk would be bad, would make him tired or sad or guilty or angry, or would make him pass out completely. Some nights, the passing out isn’t so bad, actually. But he prefers nights like tonight where he’s just almost there. The scotch he splurged on is sitting warm and sweet in his veins, his head is pleasantly fuzzy without being scattered, everything is hilarious, and nothing is wrong for the next few hours.

Dean can relax.

Keep reading

800 word fluff-ish i don’t get it either tbh who am i;

Dean settles onto the couch with a sigh, letting all the tension drop out of him like he’s slipping off a wet coat. His body aches with the remnants of the hunt; overworked muscles, unattended scrapes, bruised knees and elbows, raw throat. But everyone is safe. His mom is down the hall, with barely a scratch even though she saved their asses, and Sam is too, both asleep soundly in their own beds.

He stares at the TV with the full intention of turning it on, but Dean is just so tired, a bone-deep exhaustion keeping him from even reaching just a couple of feet for the remote.

“Rough day?”

Dean starts, though he can’t even muster the energy to jump. He blinks, though, and turns his head toward the all-too familiar voice coming from the doorway.

Cas is standing there, hair a mess and coat askew, much like when Dean first knew him. It sends a warmth through him, right down to his toes. He nods in reply and gestures Cas over, scooting over on the couch as much as he is able to make room for Cas.

Cas sits beside Dean, perched on the edge of the couch, not quite as relaxed as Dean would like him to be.

“How’s the Lucifer-hunt coming?” he asks, though he’s not sure he really wants to know. The closer Cas gets to Lucifer, the more Dean has to worry.

Cas shakes his head. “He’s still in the wind. I have a lead, but I’m not sure… It’s a bit too high profile for someone who shouldn’t want to be caught.”

“You’ll figure it out. You’re smart.”

The compliment slips out easily, but Dean reddens when he says it. He means it, but he’s never been so open about stuff like that when it comes to Cas. That got them into trouble before, so he supposes this can only be a good thing.

Cas smiles, then, soft and a little surprised. He tips his head a bit to the side and replies with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Dean is still embarrassed.

He shifts in his seat and winces, something pinching in his back. Of course Cas notices, and the next thing Dean knows, there’s a hand on his knee and all of his pain from the hunt is gone.

“You don’t have to do that, Cas. Don’t waste the mojo on me.”

“It’s fine, Dean. You’re not a waste.”

Dean couldn’t possibly feel any more embarrassed.

“Besides, as far as I can tell, I’m at full power. You don’t need to worry.”

“I always worry ‘bout you.” Dean’s not sure he even has control over his own mouth anymore. He looks down at his lap even though he can feel Cas’ gaze on him.

“I worry about you, too. Constantly.”

He supposes Cas is trying to put them on equal ground again, bearing one soul for another, but his words make Dean light up from the inside even more.

“Jesus,” he mutters, running his hands through his hair and closing his eyes.

Cas doesn’t reply, he just stares. Dean finally looks up again, meeting the gaze, and he takes a deep breath.

“Your mother told me to be more open with you. I’m trying.”

“You’ve been talking to my mom? About me?”

“I talk to her about a lot of things. But most of them have to do with you, yes.”

Dean swallows. “She likes you.”

“She’s… She wants to know you. And Sam. I know you two better than anyone alive. I’m her bridge to the two of you.”

“Yeah, but… She still likes you.”

They stare at each other for another moment. Cas has this soft look in his eyes that Dean can’t look away from. 

“Are you tired?” Cas asks him quietly, breath warm where it brushes Dean’s skin.

Dean shakes his head.

“I would like to kiss you. If that’s alright.”

Dean’s cheeks are burning. “Sounds really weird when you ask, Cas.”

“Well, I need to ask. I’m not going to take what you don’t want to give.”

Dean rolls his eyes, though he appreciates it nonetheless. “Yes, Cas. You can kiss me.”

And boy, does he. Their lips meet, soft and sweet at first, but Dean feels like a drowning man, and the only air he’s going to get is straight from Cas’ mouth. He clutches at Cas, his heart nearly erupting in his chest. There’s a rushing in his ears and goosebumps spread over his arms. He runs his hands around Cas neck, into Cas’ hair, and Cas just grips him tight, pulling him close, fingers digging into his back.

“For future reference,” Dean breathes, backing up just an inch so he can speak. Cas follows him, hooded eyes trained on Dean’s lips. Dean is nearly salivating at the sight. “You can kiss me whenever you want. You don’t gotta ask.”

“Noted,” Cas murmurs. “No more talking. I want to kiss you again.”

Dean can’t say no to that.

The Bets Are On

Cas and Dean are roommates. People keep hitting on Cas, and Dean doesn’t really understand it. Bets are made. Smooches at the end ^u^

Six times.

Cas had been asked out six times within the past day, and Dean is this close to punching something. It’s not that he doesn’t think his friend shouldn’t date or not deserve to, but it’s obvious the guy isn’t interested in seeing anyone. Yet people continuously ask him wherever they are: in class, at the gym, at lunch, and even on their way to class. It was like they could sense his availability and hotness all of a sudden and sniffed him out like wild dogs – not that Dean sees him like that. They’re just friends. Best friends. And Dean doesn’t even like dudes like that. So what if he thinks another dude is good looking and has the urge to just compliment them and playfully banter with them? What ever happened to just being there for your bro and messing around?

Dean paces back and forth in the living space of their small apartment, eyebrows pinching together and mouth twisting to the side. Cas looks up from where he’s reading on the loveseat at Dean, looking just above his reading glasses. Dean glances back at him, a warm fondness blooming in his chest at the familiar sight of Cas looking up at him with such concern and curiosity. “Is something troubling you, Dean?” Cas asks, marking his book and setting it down beside him. He takes off his reading glasses that Dean personally thinks makes him look like an old man and sets them down on the side table, giving Dean his full attention. “I don’t get it,” Dean says, ceasing from his pacing and standing before Cas. Cas tilts his head to the side – something Dean has found to be all too familiar and too damn cute for a grown-ass man – and asks, “Get what?” Dean huffs and throws his hands up in an exaggerated manner. “Why everyone is so suddenly attracted to you. I haven’t gone all day without someone asking for your number or whenever you’re ‘available’, whatever the hell that means. I mean you’re a great guy and very attractive and a total package deal, but why now? Who are these people and where did they even come from? Do you even know them? I swear, next time someone asks you out I’ll- I’ll- I’ll KISS YOU.”

Cas’s cheeks redden at Dean’s words. Dean reels back and cringes at the realization of what he’s just said. “No! No, that’s- that’s not what I meant,” Dean tries to save himself, but he’s already dug the hole and it seems to be getting deeper with every word. Cas looks up at Dean, cheeks returning to a normal shade with a spark in his eye that only Dean can tell means no good. “I bet you wouldn’t,” Cas says, smirking mischievously. Dean starts, “I- I bet you I would!” Cas’s cat-like smile stretches further as he says, “How much?” Dean pouts, “Oh come on! That’s not fair; you always win, and you know I have no money.” Cas raises his eyebrows in disbelief, making him fold. With a huff, Dean fishes out a crumpled five-dollar bill from his pocket and slams it down on the side table by the couch. Cas pulls out his wallet and lays down a crisp twenty-dollar bill beside it. “Twenty-five dollars on our chances of you kissing me the next time someone asks me out.” Cas nods firmly and sits back in a relaxed position, picking up the book and placing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “What do you want to do for dinner?” he asks as if nothing happened.

Dean is taken aback, but answers, “I don’t really care. Do we have anything here?” Cas doesn’t look up from his book. “How about burgers? We can go to that diner a couple of blocks away,” Cas says, glancing up at Dean. Dean peers at his friend from where he stands, suspicious of Cas’s intentions. “Alright,” Dean says slowly, “burgers it is.” Cas snaps his book shut and stands swiftly, nearly knocking Dean off his feet.  “Great! I’m starving; let’s go now.” Before Dean can even react, Cas grabs his wrist and drags him toward the door, grabbing both of their coats off the hanger on the way out.

At the diner, they seat themselves at a booth and wait to be served, shaking off the chill of the night air from their sleeves. A couple moments later, a petite brunette with a checkered apron tied around her waist walks toward their table with a notepad in hand. “Howdy, boys,” the waitress says in what sounds like a sarcastic tone, “What can I get you?” They order their usual – a burger and vanilla shake for Cas, and a burger with extra onions and a slice of pecan pie for Dean – and the waitress nods and heads to the back to place their orders. “What’s going on, Cas?” Dean asks, leaning in a little. Cas shrugs and sits back in his seat, a Cheshire-like smile slowly spreading across his features. “Nothing, Dean. I just really wanted a burger.” Crossing his arms, Dean squints at his friend and sits back, green eyes unwavering.

Their staring contest is interrupted by the waitress – Meg, her nametag reads – placing a tall glass of thick white liquid covered in frozen condensation and a straw in front of Cas. Cas sits up and looks up at her with full sincerity as he says, “Thank you.” Dean feels that warm feeling in his chest again, admiring how Cas can be so sincere and full of passion for being a decent human being. He’s too caught up in Cas to notice the look of interest and playful smile Meg gives him. “Your orders will be right out,” she says, hand reaching out, gently touching Cas’s shoulder and lingering for a moment, before sauntering back toward the kitchen. Cas doesn’t notice, however, and eagerly begins to unwrap his straw. By the time the food comes out, Cas is too wrapped up in his shake to say anything, so Dean thanks her with a sweet smile. She only sneers at him and whips around to take the food trays back.

Dean rolls his eyes and shrugs it off, digging in and moaning around the red meat and veggies. He notices Cas still working on his shake and pushes his plate toward him. “We came for burgers, remember?” Dean says playfully, sinking his teeth back into his burger. Cas pauses and glances up at Dean as if he just remembered he was there and then to his burger. “Right,” he says, releasing the straw and letting it sink to the bottom of the cup. “How do you not get brain freeze?” Dean asks jokingly, taking another bite. Cas ignores Dean’s banter and sinks his teeth into the fluffy bread and warm meat. “These,” he points to his burger, “make me very happy.” Dean smiles goofily at his friend and shakes his head fondly. “I know, buddy,” he says, “I know.”

When they’re finally done, Meg appears by Cas’s side with the copy of the check in hand and what seems to be something scribbled on the back. She looks right down at Cas, gaze unwavering. “Call me whenever you’re free, or just want to have a good time,” she says with a lowered voice and a mischievous smirk, winking before turning around sauntering toward the kitchen. Dean’s blood boils and, without thinking, he grabs the receipt and Cas’s wrist and charges toward the doors. Outside, he crumples the receipt and tosses it into the bushes. Dean takes them to the side of the building where no cars are parked and only one street light shines to light their path so they won’t be seen by a passerby. A luminous halo surrounds Cas in the dim light of the night, and all Dean can do is gap and stare at the beautiful creature before him. “Dean,” Cas says, slightly concerned, “what are you doing?” Dean lets go of his wrist and gently slides his hands down to slip his fingers in between Cas’s. “I’m winning a bet,” he murmurs. Cas’s breath hitches in anticipation, fingers shaking where they entwine with Dean’s. They’re close, breathing in each other’s air, eyes flicking between dilated pupils and parted lips. “What’ya think, Cas? Think I can win this one?” Dean rasps. Cas barely nods, their cold noses brushing as they lean into the other’s warmth.

Hands fisting into fabric, mouths hungrily searching, Dean and Cas pull the other as close and tight as they can, feeling like they can’t get enough and trying to drown in each other’s love.

Imagery

Request: After a hunt gone awry TFW can hear fem readers thoughts. The closer they are in proximity to her they can “hear” her better. Smut is highly welcome. Awkward!Cas is a plus. **Extra-credit: She ends up with all of TFW.**

Word Count: 2,600

Warnings: Make-outs, UST, minor cursing

Author’s Note: So, first off, when I think of mind reading, I’ve always wondered why it’s shown in TV or movies as just someone hearing a disembodied voice. Sometimes my thoughts are just images. But excuse me, I’ve been told this is a little weird, haha. Anyway, I totally intended this to be smutty-mc-smut-smut, but TFW insisted that this was where it had to end. For now.

Your name: submit What is this?

Dirt is caked under your fingernails and caught in the lines of your palm, masking the tender scrapes you’d received from the hunt. Internally, you’re complaining about it (there’s nothing worse than trying to get dirt out of injuries) but, well… It’s all part of the job. Dirt, blood and- you’re not entirely sure you want to think about what exactly went into the hex bags you’d destroyed. You wrinkle your nose as you lean your head back, letting it thunk gently against the top of the backseat.
You know exactly what you’re going to do when you get back to the bunker and it all involves stripping off these gross clothes, a steamy shower and the subsequent time you’ll have to-

“Son of a bitch!” Dean swerves the car, knocking you into Cas’ shoulder and then back into the side of the car as he over-corrects. Sam is holding his hands against his face and Cas looks- more stoic than usual?

“What the hell was that? Did you nearly hit an animal or something?” You ask, turning to glance at the road behind you. Unfortunately, it’s too dark to see more than the road lines speeding past.

“What?” Dean asks, sounding guilty.

Keep reading

Tattoo AU: Chapter 4

Word Count: 1,143

Warnings: Cursing, maybe some mild smut… 

Summary: You, the reader, live in a world where everyone has a soul-mate. However, you have two. Your parents died to protect you from that and only one person, well demon, has the information you need. 

Chapter 1       Chapter 2     Chapter 3    Chapter 5   Chapter 6   Chapter 7


You cocked your head to the side, “Why would they want that?” Your mind was running through any explanation it could find. You shook your head and asked, “Y’all called Crowley, right?” Sam and Dean stiffened immediately. “Why don’t we just call him here? Then we can get answers,” glancing at Sam, “that aren’t through a phone. I need to be able to tell if he is lying.” Dean began to speak but you silenced him with a look. Cas put a hand on your shoulder and looked at the Winchesters saying, “She has a right to question Crowley.” You glanced up at the… your angel in confusion. Why in Chuck’s name was he agreeing with you? Castiel looked down to meet your gaze and smiled sweetly, and almost nervously.

Sam cleared his throat and grabbed Dean as they went to call Crowley and make the necessary preparations. Nobody calls the King of Hell unprepared. You were still looking at Cas and you could almost feel yourself drowning in his blue eyes. With a sigh, you leaned into Cas and inhaled his soapy-clean scent that always managed to smell a little like summer. Cas awkwardly wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly to him. Gently, he placed a kiss on the top of your head and whispered, “I’m glad it’s you, Y/N.” Your body responded immediately to his words and before you could stop yourself, you leaned up and kissed the angel. He gasped and you realized what you had done and tried to back away but Castiel had a firm hold on you. Keeping a steady gaze, he brought one hand to the back of your neck, and the other to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Slowly, he moved forward and placed a soft, chapped kiss on your lips. You couldn’t help it, you began kissing him back. Your lips melded together perfectly and created an enticing rhythm that made you moan. Taking advantage of that, Cas licked your bottom lip before capturing it between his teeth. Cas began kissing down your jaw, to your neck, right above your pulse point, sucking a mark there.

“Hey, Y/N we called… oh.” Dean’s baritone sputtered. Quickly, you backed out of Castiel’s embrace and felt the heat flood your cheeks. You sneaked a glance at Dean and dropped your jaw at the sight. Dean Winchester, flushed and very apparently horny, judging by the tent in his pants. Arousal flooded through you, “Dean,” you nearly moaned as you made your way towards him. Sam’s strong hand grabbed your shoulders and turned you to face him. “Ah, no. Crowley will be here soon. None of that.” Sam whined. Crossing your arms, you huffed and made your way to the kitchen to prepare the King of Hell’s favorite drink.

Just when you dropped ice into a glass, a familiar British accent floated through the room. “Now I hear that Y/N is making me a drink AND wants answers. This could definitely be worth my time.” You could see his smug expression without even turning to look. Yelling over your shoulder, “Hey, Crowley, why don’t you sit down and prepare for our little chat?” you continued making his drink… and yours.

You sat down on the couch across from Crowley and were immediately flanked Dean and Castiel. Crowley raised his eyebrows and tutted, “You boys have it bad don’t you? Poor bastards.” Shaking his head, Crowley began to nurse his drink, not taking his eyes from you. Sam sat down with the King of Hell and kept a steely gaze on him, which prompted Crowley to chuckle. “Aw, poor moose. No soul-mate for you! Oh, wait.” Crowley ducked just in time to keep his nose as Sam swung his fist.

“Alright, boys, except Crowley, out!” You began pushing Dean and Cas off of the couch and bitch-facing Sam. Cas argued, “No, we aren’t leaving you here with him. It’s not safe.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and just kept shoving them towards the door. “Look, I’ve interrogated Crowley before, I’ve even tortured him! We have a respectful relationship,” You looked back at Crowley with a threat in your voice, “don’t we?” Chuckling he shook his head yes and you booted the boys out of the room.

“So darling, I’m guessing you called me here for a reason and not to chat?” Crowley mused tilting his glass to move the amber liquid. You leaned forward and grabbed your glass, downing it swiftly. You looked back up and said, “Tell me why I couldn’t see my tattoo before now.” Crowley laughed, throwing his head back and nearly spilling his drink. Wiping tears from his eyes he managed to regain himself. “Oh love, it’s all because of Castiel. He’s an angel! Of course he will be able to see past whatever deal a demon made. Besides, I’m quite sure the demon your parents made the deal with is dead… So that probably made a difference.”

Stunned, you looked down at your hands. Crowley’s voice became warmer as he saw the tears collecting in your eyes, “Now, look. You and I have a ‘respectful relationship’, right? So, I’ll let you in on a secret.” You looked up and met Crowley with a cold glare. “Your parents really were trying to protect you. Being an angel’s soulmate is… well bad. I can’t say anymore than that really, I would if I could, but I bet feathers will be able to enlighten you.” He reached over and patted your hand, “If you tell the boys I was nice to you though, I will kill you.” Before you could smack his hand away, he was gone.

“CASTIEL,” you yelled. Instantly, the angel was by your side. “Why is it bad that we are soul-mates?” you questioned, crossing your arms. Sighing, Cas looked at the floor and shuffled his feet. “It could be perceived as bad…” he mumbled. You gripped his chin tightly and made Cas look at you. “Tell me Cas.” Sadly, he looked into your eyes and said, “You, Dean, and I are linked in a way that, to my knowledge, has never happened before. Therefore, you will feel my physical pain and Dean’s, and we will feel yours. When one of us dies, the others die as well.” You let go of Castiel’s chin and took a step back. “Then why haven’t we ever felt this before.” Castiel moved forward and wrapped you in his arms, and you heard the boys come in the door behind you. “We didn’t know we were soul-mates. You can’t be connected to one another without that knowledge…” Dean placed a hand on your back and asked, “But now that we are, what does that mean for us?” He looked at Sammy, “for all of us?”