untangle your life

Nicotine

Castiel imagine requested by anon! “I need really, really angsty reader/Cas in love and they both are annoyed by it but they cant help they love each other I just need it in my life maybe based off Nicotine by Panic! At the Disco or Alone Together by Fall Out Boy” Love the idea! I didn’t know the FOB song back in the day (it’s now my favourite song of theirs) so I went with Panic! At The Disco. Hope you like it!

His hands wrapped around your upper arms with a powerful conviction reeking of unyielding passion, his forehead bent to yours, your back forced against the plaster wall of your bedroom in the Men of Letters bunker. You didn’t mind the abrupt nature of his actions: he had become your glamourized drug dealer, spiking your veins with delectable adrenaline, his every touch shocking the serenity from your body. You met his lips as he lowered his mouth to yours, your hands pulling him closer as they clawed at his back, his own hands trailing down to your waist, locking your hips on his, his fingers holding you steady. His breathing was ragged in your ear, the only sound that could surpass the raging rush of your excited pulse, beating like a bass drum through your veins. It was a strange, unwound sound to come from such a stoic figure… well, he was statuesque everywhere but here, with you. He was teetering on the fine line that divided civility and savagery, and you could hardly mind. He was water to your grease fire; he only serviced to spread your flames higher.

Your blood was boiling like a sulfur pool, Castiel’s tongue stroking over yours as your fingers tangled in his already tousled hair, cementing his lips to yours. He grunted as he pulled away from your hold, his movement effortless despite all the effort you were putting into keeping him by your side, his eyes hardening almost as quickly as you had seen them melt not ten minutes ago, sapphires crystallizing once again. Damn it, he was gone. He tugged on his collar with unruly fingers, straightening himself up in preparation to leave your venomous presence, your own hands securing the hem of your camisole to meet the tops of your pajama bottoms. You hadn’t realized that the fabric had lifted. Your mind was understandably occupied elsewhere. You didn’t understand why he was so dead-set on looking professional every time you parted ways; the violent hickeys splotched over his throat were a giveaway that his visits were as far from professional as was possible. He hid those crimson marks well, you knew, but the swelling of his lips was another story. Sure, he could poke himself in the face and cure himself of any… battery he had received, but he never did. It was almost as if he was unconscious of the fact… or perhaps he was proud of his disarray, wearing his tangled hair as a medal of honor, the truth scrawled somewhere on his heartstrings. You couldn’t be sure his motivation. All you knew was that he made certain attempts to remain obvious.

In truth, he would never need to tidy himself after one of your heated arrangements. The time read one in the morning: the likelihood of the angel being stopped on his way out was very slim. If Sam or Dean were awake, the last place they’d stumble by would be your bedroom. You were located in a hallway branching off of the kitchen, not the library, away from most of the foot traffic that patrolled the bunker. You were safe from the prying eyes of the late night researchers, and anyone rifling around in the kitchen would be heard, their presence noted. Castiel would never leave with Dean chomping down a mere yard from your bedroom door. The angel in question glared down in your direction, his eyes glimmering dully, before he spun on his heel to leave. The tails of his trademark trench coat ruffled in the wind his stride elicited, his body hugging the wall as he deserted you, his form slipping through your door, wordless. You ran a shivering hand through your hair, inhaling deeply the lingering scent of the Heavenly creature, his cologne clinging to the air, clearly less inclined to depart than Castiel as. Damn it, you loathed your situation. You loathed these shadow-swept meetings, you loathed yourself for playing along… but you couldn’t find it in you to loathe him. You had struggled in vain to smother your accelerated heart beat, your blush, the way your mind went flat every frickin’ time he popped up beside you, but it was no use. He was very much your puppeteer, stringing your nerve endings to a cross and marching you around, even if he was unaware of his control. You couldn’t even do your job anymore without feeling the urge to crush your body to his bubbling beneath your feverish skin.

The worst of it all was your lack of connection to the angel: a relationship had not been forged, nor were any plans in the making to solidify your… strange arrangement. No, he just threw himself at you whenever… you didn’t know, whenever the wind fluttered through his feathers, his lips dragging you in, his charms winning over your steely composure. The both of you desperately wished you could banish your affections, you knew, but the return to professionalism was always just out of reach, dangling an inch too far from your grasp, taunting you. You found yourself pacing back and forth between your mattress and the bunker’s wall, the slits between the wooden floorboards beneath nipping at the undersides of your socks, the pristine paint a mocking beige, your thoughts tangling like headphone wires, a knot you couldn’t untangle to save your life. You groaned, collapsing face-first onto the cushy comforter, decades of dust tickling your nostrils..No matter how many cycles these sheets endured in the washing, the dust always held strong. Somehow, it felt as though even the dust motes were snickering at your desperation. You nuzzled your cheek against the fibers, your hands clenching around the edges of the blanket as you muffled your scream of frustration, your face growing warm from exertion, your cry absorbed by the cotton. As if on cue (or perhaps he was listening), you heard the wispy flutter of wings by your head, and you knew your predicament had grown that much worse. Your head snapped to attention, your body rigid, your eyes lifting to find Castiel standing in all his glory at your bedside, his face a mask of concern. How uncharacteristic. You usually got either his unfeeling mask or fire behind his eyes, never… concern. You sat up instantly, your head rushing from the speed of your movement as well as the roar of fantasies running rampant behind your eyelids with every blink. You fought the images from your mind, waiting for the angel’s explanation of his sudden arrival. His eyes were glued on yours, the solidity of the sapphires easing to molten, a smile tugging his uneasy lips upward at the corners.

“I thought you were hurt, forgive my intrusion,” he whispered, wary of being overheard by the two sleeping giants somewhere on the other end of the bunker. Unreasonable, as always. You rolled your eyes, his voice electrocuting your heart, tingles traveling up your ribs, touching down on each bone before spiraling around your neck like a noose. Dear Lord, he was handsome. Maybe he was sent to punish you, for what you were unsure. No one could be so striking without a reason to chisel their cheekbones; his beauty was meant to cause a great deal of pain. You closed your eyes, ignoring the passionate scene that was projected against the black backdrop of your eyelids, calming your breath before you answered.

“Funny, you intrude quite a lot, but you’ve never apologized before now,” you fired, your volume hardly breaking a whisper, caught-up in Castiel’s unnecessary caution. Castiel’s chest puffed once with a silent chuckle, the bed dipping as he took a seat beside you, his hand covering yours, spreading a more tangible heat throughout your body. His action was far from expected, but you didn’t dare shiver away. The warmth he provided was… it was lighter, less overwhelming than the infernos you had grown accustomed to. It was sweet to the point of drawing tears from your eyes, if you were one to cry. You couldn’t explain the surge of tender emotion you felt well in your chest.

“You never seemed to mind my former intrusions,” he noted, his smile casting mist into your mind, your thought process hazing over like a shower stall door after someone abused the hot water for ten minutes too long. You took another breath with every intention to shoot some witty remark in his direction, but his lips cut you off, his kiss gentler than you ever remembered it being. His mouth was surprisingly gentle as he molded himself to you, his hand snaking to your neck, all traces of aggressive passion replaced by a longing, a patient care he had never bestowed onto you. He moved with you slowly, his hand caressing your cheek on his way to your hair, locking your lips to his. His pace accelerated, his lips becoming more urgent, every particle of your being split between thoughts of ‘stop him’ and a long string of lustful encouragements, though even those were tainted by a soft humming somewhere in the back of your brain. It was as if his very presence drugged you, poisoning your rationality, yet the way he had moved before was extinguishing small plots of the fire he was igniting over your body. His free hand pulled you to him by your lower back as he dipped you downward to the bedspread, not once breaking the contact between your lips. You noted the gentler movements, sparks flaring in your mind, heat transformed to the giddy warmth of summer sunlight. He was smiling into your kisses, though his brow was knotted in restraint when you opened your eyes. He too was cracked down the middle; he knew he shouldn’t be feeling the way he was, the amorous actions he was taking defied nearly every characteristic of his being… but he too was ensnared with little hope for rescue or escape. His hands were on either side of your body, his lips on your neck, the uncontrollable fire dimming to flickering flames as his newer passions took root. Your body hummed, and you forgot to hate yourself for enjoying his attentions; there was suddenly something to love about this ordeal. “I love you,” he whimpered, his words more exhale than speech, the both of you going stiff at the sound. His eyes, fueled by his gentle passion seconds earlier, now went blank with fear. Your jaw dropped, your hands frozen on his face. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in terror. The angel stammered, trying to find a way to explain his statement, turning in circles as he searched for loopholes to free himself. His eyes left yours to dart around the room, looking anywhere but your face, a delicate pink colouring his cheekbones. You put a finger to his lips, your soul screaming at you not to-

“Damn it,” you whispered, letting yourself relax into his touch, your heart the lone victor. “I love you too.”