#anyway. i think castiel should just be greying straight up. but dean also deserves to have some grey in there

[sandsofsolstice]

alright listen. let the record show i do have oc art i could post but im soooooooooooooo estranged with art right now we're having a temporary divorce.

but i did manage to draw these after many a week of drawing absolutely nothing

sorry for getting into spn in 2024. you jump in to your friends' watch party (in s6, in some of s6's worst episodes) for funsies and then three days later youre watching s1 "just to have something in the background." and then you watch spn for 20 days straight from start to finish. and then the tragic little gay people haunt you

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

two awkward teachers au for Destiel?

Not sure if I really hit on the awkwardness but I hope you like it anyway! (also on ao3!)

When Dean graduated high school, he had been sure that his days of developing puppy dog crushes were over. But he had been wrong. So utterly wrong.

Because there he was at thirty three years old with a stomach full of butterflies and a face the color of a cherry. All because one of his co-workers had complimented his outfit.

Christ, he was pathetic.

He was a college professor for God's sake, he molded young minds and all that bullshit, he should not be blushing like a little schoolboy. Yet there he was, standing in his empty classroom with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

It was Cas' fault really. With those big blue eyes of his and his pretty pink lips and his messy hair that made it look like he had just gotten thoroughly fucked. With his dark stubbled jaw and radiant smiles.

With his perfectly pressed suits and dorky trench coat and backwards tie. With his awkwardness and his fascination with bees and the way he tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy.

Yeah, it was totally Cas' fault. That fucking asshole.

Dean had met Cas five years ago when he had started teaching at the University of Kansas, taking over for Professor Donatello Redfield who decided to retire after thirty years of teaching. But while the older man, who retired to a cozy house on the outskirts of town with his cat, had taught both chemistry and history Dean was purely a history buff.

He had always been a history junkie, from the time he was a little toddler running around in the backyard playing cowboys. His parents had thought it was adorable, indulging him whenever he asked to watch old black and white movies or begged to go with his dad to classic car shows.

Besides his dad and his uncle Bobby, his childhood heroes had been Eliot Ness and Samuel Colt. In high school, he spent as much time studying as he did chasing skirts.

The only problem was that when the time came, his family couldn't afford to send him off to college. His grades had been wonderful but just not enough to get him a scholarship.

So, with his other options exhausted, he followed in his dad's footsteps and enrolled in the army the day after he turned eighteen. He trained to be a mechanic, never actually see seeing any combat, and after a four year stint, the government paid for him to go to school.

He studied history at KU, focusing primarily on American history and dabbling in a bit of ancient civilization. After another four years, he graduated with honors and was offered a job replacing Professor Redfield.

He had met Cas just a few days later while he was moving into his new office — he had his own office! — a friendly face who offered to help him unload some of his boxes from the backseat of the Impala. Dean had been grunting and groaning as he tried wrenching one of his boxes of books out of the backseat when a deep, gravelly voice had come out of the blue to ask, "Would you like some assistance?"

Dean had been so startled, he had jerked upright and promptly smacked the back of his head against the roof of his baby, cursing at the pain. Shaking himself, he had backed out of the backseat to find the source of the husky voice that may or may not have had gone straight to his dick.

He had found the most gorgeous man he had ever seen standing by the back of the Impala. He had been wearing a quintessentially nerdy sweater vest and a shy smile.

After gawking at the man for a few minutes, Dean had shaken himself again and accepted the man's offer, handing him one of the lighter boxes. They had walked in comfortable silence to Dean's new office where one of the maintenance workers, Joshua, was scraping Donatello's name off the glass inlay of the door.

"Oh, you must be Professor Winchester," the yet to be introduced man commented as he followed Dean into his office. "Donatello's replacement."

"Call me, Dean. Professor makes me feel all old," Dean had countered as they set their boxes down on his already cluttered desk. After wiping his palm on his jeans, he held out his hand, greeting, "Nice to meet ya."

"I'm Professor Novak," the man returned, shaking Dean's hand. With a smile, he amended, "Castiel Novak."

"Well, alright, Cas," Dean had laughed under his breath. "You mind helping me out with the rest of my boxes?"

"It'd be my pleasure, Dean," Cas had returned with a beaming grin. Their friendship had flourished from there.

It turned out that Cas' office was just down the hall from Dean's, that he taught both literature and theology. He was a favorite among students despite his sometimes too formal demeanor, largely due to his empathetic nature and rather lax deadlines for assignments.

He and Dean had coinciding breaks between their morning and afternoon classes, giving them the opportunity to get to know each other better over lunches consisting of the cheapest junk food the school's vending machine had to offer. Typical topics of conversation spanned from their teaching plans to their personal lives to their favorite television shows as they sat in Cas' office and drank too-weak black coffee.

Apparently, Cas had a ridiculously huge family, admitting that he had scores of siblings he had never actually met before. All of them had been given either Biblical names or names of angels according to Christian mythology, thus Cas' fascination with theology.

Dean had countered stories about Cas' older brother Gabriel with jokes about his moose of a younger brother who had just gotten engaged. When Cas told him the meaning of his name — speed of God — Dean told him that he had been named after his maternal grandmother.

They shared all sorts of family anecdotes from the time Dean carved his and Sam's initials into the Impala to the time Cas' brothers Gabriel and Balthazar had taken him to a strip club for his eighteenth birthday, only for Cas to admit that he was pansexual and while the women were very attractive he would rather go to a male strip club. They had even exchanged baby pictures so they could laugh at the mischief they had gotten into while still in diapers.

Dean had ribbed Cas for days about his car, an old Lincoln Continental that was unbelievably fitting for Cas. In turn, Cas had teased Dean about the copy of Busty Asian Beauties he had found in his office while helping him tidy up his desk.

Their routine of having lunch together on weekdays and occasionally hanging out on the weekends when neither of them had any other plans had continued for the next four years. And somewhere along the line, between the afternoons spent teasing each other and the nights at Dean's apartment binge watching Dr. Sexy, Dean had fallen head over heels for his best friend.

Which is why Cas' innocent comment about Dean's tie bringing out his green eyes turned the over-compensatingly butch, army vet, tough guy history professor into a pile of blushing goo. He was seriously fucked.

Especially when Cas sent him a wink afterwards before flouncing out of Dean's classroom to get to his own before his students showed up. When Dean's students arrived, shuffling into class with tired eyes and cups full of Starbucks coffee, he was still struggling to will away his blush.

He somehow managed to make it through his lesson about the atrocities committed by white settlers without embarrassing himself any further. As he handed out study guides for their next quiz, he resolutely ignored the way one of his students raked her eyes over him like he was a piece of meat.

Maybe his tie brought out his eyes a little too much.

He gave a quick little lecture about studying that was met with a chorus of exaggerated groans and a round of simultaneous eye rolls before excusing his students. As they filed out of the room, he grabbed his phone and shot a quick text to his friend Charlie, I think Cas just hit on me.

Charlie, the school's resident IT expert who taught an afternoon computers class on Tuesdays and Thursdays and was a friend from high school, answered a few seconds later. What?! 👀👀👀

Dean glanced at the clock as he typed out his response. Cas still had another hour left of class before his break, his theology class only meeting on Thursdays.

He said my tie brought out the color of my eyes then he winked at me! He winked at me! Dean texted her, feeling frantic. His palms were suddenly sweaty again as he replayed Cas' words over and over and over again, trying to eek out any hidden meaning, any intent.

He wasn't good at subtle flirtations, he was more of an actions over words kind of guy. Sure, he could charm the pants off anyone — well, almost anyone — but that was just when all he was looking for was a one night stand. A wham bam thank you ma'am, or mister, before he never saw them again.

But Cas was different. He deserved more than a meaningless hookup in the back of some dive bar or dirty alleyway. He deserved something special and romantic, like something Dr. Sexy would come up with.

Like rose petals spread out on luxuriant silk sheets with candles lit around the room. Like breakfast in bed with heart shaped pancakes and a steaming mug of his favorite earl grey tea.

Or maybe a nice massage after a long bubble bath with one of those bath bomb things that Charlie was always raving about. Dinner at a fancy restaurant that served more than just burgers and fries before a walk on the beach to watch the sunset.

Cas deserved all that and more. But Dean had no idea if he could give him that.

The longest romantic relationship he had ever maintained had been in high school. Even then, in the two years he had dated Cassie, he had been an idiot, a stupid teenage boy who was too fixated on when he was going to get laid again to bother sending his girlfriend flowers on her birthday or taking her out to dinner.

But hopefully, Charlie could help, even if it was just to tell him that he shouldn't get his hopes up. He eagerly awaited her response.

When his phone dinged with her reply, he couldn't open the message fast enough. And what did you do??? Charlie's message read.

I didn't do anything, Dean admitted, biting his lip as he mentally kicked himself for just gaping like a fish out of water. He left before I could do anything.

Oh, Dean. 😔 Charlie replied, her disappointment palpable in the text. That little emoji she included just seemed cruel.

Fortunately, she made up for any insulting, pensive looking emojis by sending him instructions. Alright, here's what you're gonna do. Go get him some flowers and flirt that perfect ass of yours off.

Are you sure? Dean sent back, his brows knitting together in consternation. He didn't want to fuck anything up just because he read too much into an innocent comment that meant nothing.

Have I ever steered you wrong before? Charlie returned challengingly. A second later, she tacked on, Except for that one time. It's not my fault he turned out to be straight!

Alright, thanks, Char, Dean answered, chuckling to himself at the memory of the time Charlie had set him up on a blind date with a guy so straight it was painful. At least the chicken wings had been good.

His phone chirped a moment later with another message from Charlie. He smiled as he read it, I better be the maid of honor at your wedding.

Sure thing, kiddo, Dean shot back before pocketing his cell phone and checking the clock again. He still had forty five minutes until Cas' class ended, which should have given him enough time to run over to the florist on Third Street, especially if he disregarded the speed limit.

*        *        *       *       *       *

Dean made it back to the campus with ten minutes to spare, carefully tucking the bouquet of flowers he had purchased into the inner pocket of his jacket. He was careful not to crush any of the pristine petals as he hurried back into the main building and made his way back to his office.

He had been surprised by how busy the flower shop had been at ten a.m., finding a long line when he made it to Happy Petals. The line had moved along quickly enough, most people picking up online orders.

When it was his turn at the counter, he abruptly realized that he had no idea what kind of flowers to buy. The only person he had ever bought flowers for was his mother and he always got her the same thing, a bunch of sunflowers.

Luckily, one of the women behind the counter took him aside to help him put together the perfect bouquet. Apparently, there was an entire language of flowers, full length books detailing the different symbolic meanings of the flowers.

He had admittedly felt like a bit of an idiot until the woman, a brunette with kind blue eyes in a bright yellow apron, had patiently asked a few questions about who exactly the flowers were for. After Dean ended up rambling for ten minutes about how sweet and kind and mind-blowingly smart and handsome Cas was, she arranged a beautiful bouquet that was perfect.

Pale blue peonies made up the majority of the bouquet along with darker blue chrysanthemums. They were complemented by immaculate white roses and white lilies.

It was perfect for Cas. The blues reminded Dean of Cas' heavenly blue eyes while the white blooms were reminiscent of the wings of angels that Dean inexplicably associated with Cas.

He just needed to work up the nerve to give Cas the bouquet. It was much harder than he thought it would be.

He ended up pacing in his office, pausing every so often to glance over at the bouquet he had gingerly set on his desk as doubt started creeping into his head. What if Cas hated them? What if he thought Dean was an idiot for ever thinking their relationship could be anything more than platonic?

With a heavy sigh, he tugged his phone out of his pocket and snapped a quick picture of the bouquet. He sent the picture to Charlie, inquiring, What do you think?

Omg Dean those are perfect! Charlie announced a mere second later. She followed it up with a string of heart eye emojis and an encouraging assurance, He's gonna love them! Almost as much as he loves you 😜

You're an idiot, Dean informed her before closing out of their conversation, his phone buzzing with a new message from someone else. It was Cas.

Just finished up class, Cas informed him, his statement punctuated by a smiley face emoji. I brought leftover pizza if you'd like some. I'll be in my office.

Alright, now or never, Dean thought as he grabbed the bouquet from his desk. With a steeling breath, he left his office and started down the hallway towards Cas'.

He paused outside of Cas' door, taking a few deep breaths to brace himself for whatever might happen. Balling up his fist to let himself into Cas' office, he instructed himself, C'mon, nut up, Winchester.

He hid the bouquet behind his back as he strolled into Cas' office with a bright grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. Cas was sitting at his desk, hunched over his laptop as he munched on a slice of cold reheated pepperoni pizza.

He looked up as Dean entered the room, his face lighting up even as he continued chewing. Pausing in his typing, he waved Dean further into his office, gesturing at one of the two tufted barrel armchairs in front of his desk.

Cas set his slice of pizza down, wiping his hand on a nearby napkin, and stood. He rounded his desk to grab the box of leftover pizza from the coffee table by the old Chesterfield sofa beside one of his bookshelves.

He set his hip against the front of his desk as he set down the box of pizza, opening it to show off its contents. But for once Dean wasn't interested in food.

He made his way over to the front of Cas' desk, ignoring the confusion on Cas' face in favor of taking a deep breath and presenting the bouquet. He felt like a little kid offering a single daisy to his crush, the root still attached along with a clump of dirt.

"What...?" Cas murmured, trailing off as he looked up at Dean, his eyes narrowed in confusion. He glanced between the flowers and Dean's face, then back again.

"They're for you," Dean blurted without any further preamble. "I just thought... You deserved something nice, y'know? And I thought you'd like blue... The, uh, the peonies, I think, they match your eyes... I just— This was stupid, huh? I'm so—"

But before Dean could utter another word, Cas was shooting out his hand to wrap it around Dean's tie and yank him into a kiss. Any and all apologies that Dean had bouncing around his head were silenced as Cas' warm, slightly chapped lips moved against his in a wet glide.

He carefully set down the bouquet on Cas' desk before inching close enough to wrap his arms around Cas' waist, reeling him in closer. Cas hummed contentedly against Dean's lips as the other man enthusiastically returned the kiss.

Charlie was a freaking genius. Dean was sure to tell her that a few hours later.

And the tie? The one that brought out Dean's green eyes? He wore it on their wedding day.

Send me Destiel prompts!