rayraywillis

[rayraywillis]

The photos from the Radio Company show broke my brain and I was forced to draw this 😅

The inspiration/reference image for Dean is from a photo from the Radio Company show, credit to cookcamera on instagram. Misha then released those spn tape ball photos and I was powerless to stop myself from drawing this.

[rayraywillis]

Do you think you could do some Destiel fluff? <3

destiel, 1.1k, finale doesn’t exist, fluff, domesticity, background saileen, unedited

Honestly, it’s a wonder that Dean was able to breathe at all, sometimes.

He and Cas had been… whatever they were for two weeks. Kissing and cuddling and indulging in each other for two weeks. It was fucking scary, shoving past the part of his brain that said he was undeserving, that said he didn’t get to be happy, that eventually it would end like everything else good he’d ever had. But whenever he got too in his head, Cas was there with his stupidly soft smile and stupidly soft lips, and melted any coherent thought from his brain entirely.

His heart still stopped whenever he kissed him, sometimes he had to remind himself to keep breathing, or more embarrassingly, Cas had to remind him.

Whatever. Who fucking cares. He finally had what he wanted — Castiel.

Bacon was sizzling in the pan in front of him when he felt warm palms against his waist, and Dean honestly felt butterflies. And fuck off, he wasn’t a thirteen year old girl, but Cas had an unfairly huge talent at getting him speechless and flustered.

The arms slid forwards and around his waist, strong arms squeezed, and his heart stuttered in his chest when he felt a kiss pressed between his shoulder blades. Jesus Christ.

“Last time you distracted me in here we almost started a fire.” Dean scoffed, voice still a little deep with the lingering cling of sleep. Stood in an old tatty Metallica shirt and boxers, it was clearly the angel’s favourite look on him. In the mornings he was handsy.

“I promise to not let you start another fire, Dean,” he murmured into his shoulder blade where another kiss was pressed. Dean shivered. “I simply wanted to hug you.”

It should have been criminal how gooey he went inside. Cas had attached himself to his back like they were a pair of stickle bricks, and he didn’t have it in him to make him let go. He’d never been comforted by the touch of another before. On the hard days, days after bad cases or nights plagued by nightmares, the angel’s touch was enough to break through the fog in his head and soothe him entirely. He’d spend an entire lifetime in his touch if he could.

“Sap,” he scoffed instead, not mentally there enough to convey just how sweet it was, though his hand left the handle of the frying pan and reached down, squeezed one of the tanned arms snaked around him. “Gonna stay there all morning, facehugger?”

A soft huff of breath against the back of his neck. “I’m attached to your back, Dean, not your face.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, pity.”

The arms around him shifted, and before he could make the connection to his brain what exactly happened, a warm palm was on his cheek and tipped his head to the side in time for his mouth to slot over Dean’s easily, and it felt like his heart was on the way to just giving out. A breathy little sound escaped up and out of his throat and his hands clutched at his shirt, frying pan and breakfast and the fire from last time completely forgotten.

It wasn’t even a particularly steamy kiss. Cas’ mouth moved slowly against his own, a thumb stroked along the skin of his cheek like he was being committed to memory, and when the angel finally pulled back his expression was so soft.

“Dean.”

“Mm?”

“Breathe.”

His inhale was shuddery as he clung to the other’s shirt, absolutely detesting the way his ears heated up in embarrassment, even more so when he was being smirked at. “Asshole.”

Cas just kept smirking, amused. “I’m sorry, it’s just a very nice feeling, knowing that I can get you like that.”

His face was hot too by the time he turned back to the pan to flip the bacon again, grumbling as he did so.

There was a soft laugh behind him before Cas was velcro against his back once more. Warm palms that once held blades and fought in the battles of heaven dipped beneath his shirt and stroked the soft skin of his abdomen, and Dean couldn’t imagine the idea that his heaven could be anywhere else but right there.

They stayed in a comfortable silence as he plated up the bacon and eggs from the stove. Every now and then he heard a soft hum behind him, or a kiss to his shoulder blades, and every now and then Dean lifted one of the angel’s hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles with a smile.

Fuck the white picket fence and the mortgage, this was the apple pie life he desired.

Eileen’s soft laugh from down the hallway drew Dean’s attention from the soft mouth on the back of his neck and his hands reached down to pry the arms off of his waist. “Let go, you’re like a weed.”

Castiel grumbled against his shoulder. “Why won’t you just tell them?”

“Because it’s funnier not to.” Dean snorted.

He and Cas had already been having sex for a whole week when Sam came to him and gave him a lecture about feelings and how much you mean to Castiel. And instead of spilling the beans on the whole relationship thing, he’d bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile until he laughed about it to his angel later. In his eyes it was hilarious, he honestly just wanted to see how long it took his giant baby brother to figure it all out.

Cas huffed again, though that time he did let go, and stepped across the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine as Sam and Eileen wandered into the kitchen. His brother’s hair looked like a bird’s nest and she was wearing one of his shirts like a dress — something he teased her for with a wiggle of his eyebrows to get Sam to glare at him with pink cheeks — but it was just nice to see his brother so happy. All those years ago, he hadn’t got to see what Sam was like with Jess, the girl who had once been it for him. It left a warm feeling in his chest whenever he got to watch Sam smile all dopey at Eileen, sickly-sweet in love.

He dished out plates of food, meeting his angel’s eyes across the room whilst Sam and Eileen talked away at the table in their own bubble.

“You owe me.” Cas mouthed, and the look on his face made Dean’s insides go all silly stupid with want again.

“Love you too.” He mouthed back, grinning.

[rayraywillis]

Seperis save us. Please. America needs your fanfiction now more than ever.

[rayraywillis]

Speak and I'll Listen

Cas and Dean have been neighbors since they were six years old, the fact that Cas is deaf meaning little to Dean until an accident makes it all too clear. Valentine’s Day special.

Dean had lived across from Castiel since he was six years old. He still remembered when the Novak’s had moved in, and how excited he’d been when a little black-haired boy with a bee stuffed animal had tottered into the house after his mother. Because they’d been the same age, and as far as Dean’s six-year-old brain had figured, that meant he got to make a new friend. Dean had always been happy to make friends.

He’d begged his mother for days – from the arms of their couches and edges of countertops – to go and meet them. With Sam on her hip, she’d said, “no, not now,” leaving Dean to wander up to his room dejected and staring out his window at the blue house across the lonely road.

Until the weekend had finally arrived, at which point Mary had packed together a welcome basket, spurred John out of the garage, and held Sam’s hand as they headed from one side across to the next. Dean had been jumping with excited nerves, smiling with his new football held in his tiny hands.

Up the stone walkway to the porch and front door of the house, Mary had knocked, the group waiting with varying degrees of anticipation.

A thin, mousy, blonde haired woman had answered, looking them up and down in silent surprise that Dean had failed to notice. He’d been too busy trying to peek past her legs into the house, looking for the little boy he’d thought he’d invite to play out in the yard.

“Um, hello,” the strange woman had greeted. Mary had said some nice words, introduced them, and soon enough they’d been in the house. Gathered in the kitchen, Dean had looked between the adult’s legs with a vigorous kind of searching, hands flexing around the football. Until, finally being noticed by Mary, an explanation had been given.

“Dean saw your son, I think,” she’d said to the strange woman, a questioning smile on her bright face, as if to make sure she’d been assuming correctly. “He’s been bugging me all week to come over and talk to you so they could play.”

“Oh…” Dean had turned hopefully up to them, not perceptive enough to see that the blonde – her name was Amelia – had been fidgeting in unease, her voice hardly above a murmur. “Well…” She’d looked Dean up and down – at his ruffled blonde hair and dirt-smudged face. He’d been teaching Sam how to catch earlier, to little success. “I suppose that… that might be alright.”

Both Mary and John had been perplexed by her hesitance, but said nothing on it as she’d walked from the kitchen. Figuring that perhaps she was simply overprotective, they’d instead focused on stopping Sam from wandering under the bar chairs, getting him rounded up just in time for Amelia to return to the room.

She’d been bent over someone, hands on the small shoulders of the little boy walking ahead of her. He’d been gripping his bee stuffed animal, a look of nervousness painted across his delicate features as he’d looked the newcomers up and down. His black hair had been nicely brushed, no filthy spots on his clothes.

None of this had deterred Dean however, who’d bounded forward with a smile, successfully startling the other boy, whose blue eyes had widened in surprise.

Keep reading

[rayraywillis]

So this is the “pilot episode” for a comic I’d like to keep adding onto just for fun, the basic premise is that it’s a post canon fix it comic about Dean discovering who he is outside of his macho persona while also repairing his relationships and building new ones.

It is a Destiel fic but it’s gonna be a slow burn because Dean has decided he can’t talk about his feelings until all his emotional issues are resolved (spoilers that’s not how things like that work).

I also plan on peppering in some lore explaining how Cas got out of the empty, how they ended up with a house, and who is currently God in universe. I’m not sure when I’ll get to work on another installment but hopefully it won’t be long because this has been an AU rolling around in my head since 2020

[rayraywillis]

I just checked out this guy's YouTube videos and I literally lost myself for almost an hour. He is like watching a snake charmer and you are the snake, 5 mins in your completely mesmerized, drooling, and hooked. This man can pied-piper my ass to hell, or anywhere else he wanted to lead me anytime, with like no effort.

Go check out his other videos.....it gets better!!!!!

[rayraywillis]

joe biden, you stupid fuck. listen to me. Crimes are legal for sitting presidents as long as they’re official actions. Listen: Joe. You have one chance

[rayraywillis]

“God, you kiss like you’re getting air for the first time,” Dean gasped, because it was true. Cas kissed slow, and deep, and fucking deliberate in a way that stripped all the callouses from Dean’s soul. It made him feel like he was the only thing in the world that ever mattered—or would ever matter.

Cas unburied himself from the little hollow at Dean’s neck, scruff on his chin sliding up Dean’s cheek as those lithe fingers found their way around like old pros. He lipped Dean again, hands breeding chills as they walked under Dean’s shirt.  “If I do, it’s because you make me feel like I can finally breathe,” he whispered back.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck—

The room was tight and dark, but even if they’d had the space to back up, they wouldn’t have used it. Dean struggled with his belt, and Cas dropped to his knees.

[rayraywillis]

Animated scrap metal figures by Guillermo Galetti

[rayraywillis]

hi im just wrapped up my third reread of dean winchester take two and i just wanted you to know that its one of my favorites (if not THEE favorite) fic of mine in the supernatural fandom. i am absolutely fucking obsessed with how you write sam and dean's relationship and even more obsessed with dean and cas's. if i could send a billion kudos to that fic i would, but i'll settle for commenting on every single chapter with deranged passion. thank you for writing and sharing it!! 💖💖💖

I’m overwhelmed. My face is like. Burning. And im giggling but im also going absolutely bonkers banana.

THREE TIMES? Insane. Do you know how LONG that is?!

ONE OF YOUR FAVES? i can’t!! Im gonna fucking explode i swear to god.

Like WHAT DO YOU MEAN THATS CRAZY. you think im a good writer? Wack. Absolutely wild. Im in love with you.

Thank you so fucking much pls you’re too too kind and im breaking at the seams.

[rayraywillis]

Here! I've lost count on how many times I've read thru, but every time I seem to discover some new tidbit that I missed before. I just started another round thru and am reading map of the world atm. This fic has haunted me for years, and I can not pine for new chapters to be released. Not sure if @seperis has abandoned it or what, but I dearly hope not and maybe one day soon we can get to read new chapters. So yea, feel free to dm me or whatever to chat about this epic that has its grips deep into my soul.

Helloo! Currently in my... 4th? Re-read of all dta, im now starting the Game Of god, Are there any other member of patrol who are re reding by any chance and wants to chat?

happy to post this for you in the hopes you can find someone, and but also there's a dta discord server these days, so just message again if you want me to add you! <3

[rayraywillis]

Types of AUs (1 of 2)

Fairy Tale:

Angelhawke

Aschenflügel

Domesticated

Fairy Verse

For Me This is Heaven

One Small World

Out of the Deep

Shine

Supernaturally Enchanted

External Resources: destielmybeatingheart rec list

Historical:

Ann a bhios mo dhòchas

As You Will

The Ghosts of Blacktorn Hall

Leaping upon the mountains

Metaphysical Gravity

The Precision of The Fall

Taking Liberties

Twist and Shout

External Resources: AO3, destielmybeatingheart rec list

Serial Killers:

Angelface Verse

The Beating of His Hideous Heart and The Hanged Man

Chasing the Sky

Slavery:

Ain’t a One of Us Perfect (And That’s Okay) 

The Empire of the Lion and the Wolf

Let the Altars Shine

The Mechanics of Love

The Pet Whisperer

Some Kind of Courtship

To Call Your Own

To High Places by Narrow Roads

External Resources: AO3, mishas-assbutts rec list, spnkink_meme pinboard, spnstoryfinders

[rayraywillis]

For me it is DToA. I have lost count how many times I've reread this epic, and I find some little tidbit I missed before almost Everytime. This fic has invaded everything and I am craving for new chapters to be released soon like a junkie for their next hit. This is the fic of all time!

has anyone else ever had a fanfic that just... haunts them? like it's been months and maybe even years since you read it, but it just lingers with you and you can never truly leave behind the imprint it made on you? and maybe it's just a single line, one sentence that you can't shake off, that takes up residence in your mind and stays there, feeding into your psyche and subtly influencing your brainspace and maybe even your writing or other works?

[rayraywillis]

“Do you think, they followed us?” Dean asked pantingly, as he slammed the door of the drafty hut behind them.

“Sure hope not,” Castiel answered, equally out of breath.

In another world it was mid October, the air was growing cold again; the first storms had already hit their camp. Winter was coming. But since Sam accepted Lucifer as his vessel, they only had one season, and it was called war.

“Damn those Croats!” Dean was looking through the gabs in the wooden wall, searching for any persecutors. “It’s getting dark … we should get the sigils up and stay the night. There’s no way making it back to camp in the dark.”

“Whatever you say, my fearless leader.” He didn’t care whether he lived or died. Neither did Dean, but unlike Cas, he had people who counted on him.

Dean was shooting him a disapproving glance, but he chose to ignore it. Silently they started to decorate the miserable hut with sigils of red paint. Not so many years ago, these sigils would have pained Castiel, making it impossible for him to stay. But these times seemed an eternity away. His perception of time had become somewhat disturbed. Maybe it was the drugs.

“All done,” Cas declared after finishing the task. “Want some?” he asked, already lighting the joint. He had been craving it since morning, but they were on a mission. And on missions he was always (mostly) sober. It was a promise to Dean after he first started taking drugs.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Dean was settling next to him on the rotten floor, deeply inhaling the smoke.

They were relaxing into each other, waiting for the sun to set and the night to come; ignoring the cold slowly creeping in from outside.  

“Looks like we have some time to kill”, Castiel mentioned after a while of silence.

“Yeah, looks like it …” Dean answered absently.

“It’s gonna be a cold night too.”

Dean slowly turned his head to look into Cas’ eyes. The once sparkling green eyes were tired and visibly numb. “So, you wanna fuck?” Dean asked without emotion.

“Like the world is ending.” Because it was.

@wigglebox

[rayraywillis]

Exactly ONE person asked me for spn fic recs and it sent me into a mania i cannot explain. So here is my personal top fics that I feel no one talks about enough and that everyone should read right fucking now.

(In no particular order)

WARNING: some kind of have some dark themes but i have reread them more than once. So it’s worth it:

Canon-verse:

1. A second grace by Sometimeswelose

2. To the bone by bluehorses

3. The Lord Tests the Heart by imogenbynight

4. Unrelentingly in view by a_good_soldier

5. A complete kingdom by komodobits

6. Mouth to Manhattan by a_good_soldier

7. A thousand lives by fairy_tale_echo

8. Downstream by pantheon_of_discord

9. Cas’ Ultimate Pop Girls Mix by watchriverdale

10. By your ancient names by microcomets

11. Honorable mention bc I have to: Dean Winchester’s Take Two by alittleobsessed

AUs:

1. Sir this is a wendy’s by noviembre

2. It’s the end of the world (as we know it) by tiamatv

3. For all you young hockey players out there, pay attention by ThursdaysfallenAngel

4. Shut up (put your money where your mouth is) by kototyph

5. Where there is darkness by quittewandering

[rayraywillis]

A Simple Kinda Man

Dean’s a pretty simple man. He likes the things he likes and you can rarely get him to change his mind about it. 

He loves classic rock. Epic guitar solos that pour from the speakers and carry you away. Deep, pulsing, intricate bass lines that rock you to your core. Drums that block everything out. Lyrics that paint a picture so clear you can see it with your eyes closed. He rarely voluntarily listens to any music made after 1984, but will tolerate it if you’re driving - those are the rules, after all. And good luck getting him to admit he wiped away a tear listening to that Taylor Swift song you blasted from your room the other night. It won’t happen. Ever.

Dean loves a home-cooked meal, especially if it ends with pie. He doesn’t hate cake, but he finds the frosting too obtrusively sweet. He likes apple pie because it’s warm and tart with just a hint of sweetness hiding behind the biting cinnamon. He likes a rich, flakey crust that you can only get by using real, full-fat butter. Low-fat and calorie-free are not words he is familiar with and actively avoids when roaming the aisles at the grocery store. If he’s gonna eat, he’s gonna enjoy it, cholesterol be damned. He’d happily take a greasy double bacon cheeseburger over even the fanciest offering at a steakhouse and prefers his fries shoestring and deep-fried-orange, thank you very much. He picks his whiskey based on dollar amount not years aged. He’ll eat pizza cold and right off the floor if he has to. He’s not picky, but he likes what he likes. 

He pretends not to care about looks, but he’s been known to mess with his hair in the mirror for way longer than necessary, and he’s once or twice been caught with whitening strips clogging up his mouth. He prefers comfort over fashion but he damned sure knows how to find a tee that’s just a little too tight in all the right places, a pair of jeans that hugs his ass just so. He’s well aware how that deep burgundy flannel shirt brings out the freckles on his cheek and the green of his irises. He’s no fool. He knows he’s handsome; knows when he grins just so his dimples could ignite a fire in a thousand hearts. 

He loves kids but he tries not to think about it too much. Sure, whenever a stroller passes, he sneaks a peek at the tyke inside and wonders what it would be like if your DNA and his got squished into a little human, but he lets it go. As he tells himself: “Mars ain’t the kinda place to raise a kid”, and neither is the Bunker or the life he leads. 

He finds comfort in small touches- fingers grazing over the backs of knuckles, hugs lingering a moment too long. He falls asleep now to the sound of your breath, the slowing, gentle rise and fall as you run around in dreamland beside him. The warmth you emit under the blankets is enough to sustain him through tomorrow and the next day, and he wonders how he survived all those years sleeping alone. 

He’ll never tell you that, though. 

He loves you deeply but he’ll never say the words. 

He’ll prove it to you in a thousand different ways. In tender kisses and dreamy smiles. In whispered secrets and unwavering trust. He’ll protect you with his last breath. Give up his very soul to make you happy. But don’t ask him to admit it. Don’t force him to say the words out loud. It’s too much for him to handle. He’s battled monsters since he was a child, saved the world more times than he can remember, but the idea that you might not love him back, say the words in return… It’s too much, too terrifying a thought for him to risk. So he’ll tell you in the little ways. The simple ways.

He’s rough but sweet. His hands are big but warm and gentle. He’s a killer. He’s a genius. He’s stubborn. He’s ridiculous. He’s unfunny. He’s adorable. He’s beautiful. He’s kind. He’s miraculous. He’s inspiring. He is a holy unnatural, amazingly flawed, perfectly damaged, horribly broken man.

He’s Dean Winchester. 

And you wouldn’t want him any other way. 

For @deanwinchesterswitch and all the true Dean Girls out there.

[rayraywillis]

A Simple Kinda Man

Dean’s a pretty simple man. He likes the things he likes and you can rarely get him to change his mind about it. 

He loves classic rock. Epic guitar solos that pour from the speakers and carry you away. Deep, pulsing, intricate bass lines that rock you to your core. Drums that block everything out. Lyrics that paint a picture so clear you can see it with your eyes closed. He rarely voluntarily listens to any music made after 1984, but will tolerate it if you’re driving - those are the rules, after all. And good luck getting him to admit he wiped away a tear listening to that Taylor Swift song you blasted from your room the other night. It won’t happen. Ever.

Dean loves a home-cooked meal, especially if it ends with pie. He doesn’t hate cake, but he finds the frosting too obtrusively sweet. He likes apple pie because it’s warm and tart with just a hint of sweetness hiding behind the biting cinnamon. He likes a rich, flakey crust that you can only get by using real, full-fat butter. Low-fat and calorie-free are not words he is familiar with and actively avoids when roaming the aisles at the grocery store. If he’s gonna eat, he’s gonna enjoy it, cholesterol be damned. He’d happily take a greasy double bacon cheeseburger over even the fanciest offering at a steakhouse and prefers his fries shoestring and deep-fried-orange, thank you very much. He picks his whiskey based on dollar amount not years aged. He’ll eat pizza cold and right off the floor if he has to. He’s not picky, but he likes what he likes. 

He pretends not to care about looks, but he’s been known to mess with his hair in the mirror for way longer than necessary, and he’s once or twice been caught with whitening strips clogging up his mouth. He prefers comfort over fashion but he damned sure knows how to find a tee that’s just a little too tight in all the right places, a pair of jeans that hugs his ass just so. He’s well aware how that deep burgundy flannel shirt brings out the freckles on his cheek and the green of his irises. He’s no fool. He knows he’s handsome; knows when he grins just so his dimples could ignite a fire in a thousand hearts. 

He loves kids but he tries not to think about it too much. Sure, whenever a stroller passes, he sneaks a peek at the tyke inside and wonders what it would be like if your DNA and his got squished into a little human, but he lets it go. As he tells himself: “Mars ain’t the kinda place to raise a kid”, and neither is the Bunker or the life he leads. 

He finds comfort in small touches- fingers grazing over the backs of knuckles, hugs lingering a moment too long. He falls asleep now to the sound of your breath, the slowing, gentle rise and fall as you run around in dreamland beside him. The warmth you emit under the blankets is enough to sustain him through tomorrow and the next day, and he wonders how he survived all those years sleeping alone. 

He’ll never tell you that, though. 

He loves you deeply but he’ll never say the words. 

He’ll prove it to you in a thousand different ways. In tender kisses and dreamy smiles. In whispered secrets and unwavering trust. He’ll protect you with his last breath. Give up his very soul to make you happy. But don’t ask him to admit it. Don’t force him to say the words out loud. It’s too much for him to handle. He’s battled monsters since he was a child, saved the world more times than he can remember, but the idea that you might not love him back, say the words in return… It’s too much, too terrifying a thought for him to risk. So he’ll tell you in the little ways. The simple ways.

He’s rough but sweet. His hands are big but warm and gentle. He’s a killer. He’s a genius. He’s stubborn. He’s ridiculous. He’s unfunny. He’s adorable. He’s beautiful. He’s kind. He’s miraculous. He’s inspiring. He is a holy unnatural, amazingly flawed, perfectly damaged, horribly broken man.

He’s Dean Winchester. 

And you wouldn’t want him any other way. 

For @deanwinchesterswitch and all the true Dean Girls out there.