#but i’ll spare u…. but my askbox is open

[bleushark]

made time to draw (procrastinated writing an essay) refs for a secret santa my friends and i are doing :D

these are probably my favorite ocs right now. i’m so happy i got to draw them, their old ref was super outdated

[foolgobi65]

Hey Maya! I was so thrilled to see that Chitrangadaa fic that I couldn't help storming into your Askbox. Can I please request a Hogwarts AU for Chitrangadaa if you haven't done it yet? Thanks! :))

ah im so glad u liked it!! please feel free to send me as many prompts as you want! also this is completely unedited and possibly quite terrible, and i decided to go with gay ulupi and chitrangada this time which is … lowkey canon anyway but still i really hope you like it! if you dont just send another prompt and i’ll try again lmao!

1. Chitrangada’s family is old, reputed, and cursed – every generation shall bare only one child to continue the family line. When Chitrangada is born, her father spares a brief moment to be disappointed that she was not a boy before kissing her forehead. After all, his grandfather was born of the Clan Mother and there are still stories that attest to her strength of will.

“My beautiful daughter,” he whispers and kisses her soft cheek once more, “Chitrangada.” 

2. Chitrangada enters Hogwarts the only daughter and heir to her family’s vast Welsh fortune. Traditionally, they are a family that has kept to themselves, far enough from the grip of London that they are easily forgotten amongst the high drama of the Sacred 28. Not for them are the vices that often plague the privileged – they cannot afford to lose an heir to liquor or grudge at the gaming boards. Even less do they suit the political intrigue of the English, the power plays and ideological warfare that has led to Kamsa’s 25-year iron grip. Chitrangada is raised safely in the family home, told to keep her head down and finish seven years without attracting any notice from those who might try to have her fight their battles. Courage too is just as likely to cull the lineage as stupidity.

“Gryffindor,” the Sorting Hat screams the moment it touches the 32nd in a line of Hufflepuffs.

3.“You know,” Chitrangada hears from somewhere in front of her,“there’s an easy fix to your problem.”

Chitrangada looks up, furiously brushing away her tears and attempting to pretend that she wasn’t just crying in an abandoned classroom.

“What do you know about my problems,” she asks the girl, a Ravenclaw by the looks of her robes, perhaps a year older than Chitrangada herself. The girl lowers herself to the ground, resting her back against the wall next to Chitrangada.

“You want to fight, yes?” Chitrangada bites her lip.

“It’s not so easy, you see my family–”

“I know about your family.” Chitrangada furrows her brow. “Then you know why my father won’t accept it.” She snorts. “And he would be right! I would be endangering everything my family stands for, for nothing!” Tears leak from the corner of her eyes and she buries her face in her knees once more.

“But you’ll do it anyway, won’t you.” It isn’t  a question. “Why?’

“Because things are so horrible, and I knew nothing,” Chitrangada says to the blessed dark behind her closed eyes. “I can’t go back to my home and spend the rest of my life reading obituaries and know that I did nothing to keep people safe!” She swallows.“I won’t run,” she says finally,“especially knowing how many people don’t have the option.”

The girl shifts closer and sighs, bringing her own knees up to her chest until they both sit side by side, shoulders a seam.“That’s as good a reason as any,” she says,“and so I’m going to help you.”

Chitrangada raises her head, and it is a moment that she will remember for all the rest of her days. The moonlight streams through a window, and it makes the other girl’s hair shimmer, brushes against the delicate planes of her face, nestles in the curve of her slight, faint smile.

But most of all, it lends a gleam to her eyes, iron that has turned into the steel of certainty. Chitrangada’s heart skips one beat, then another, and suddenly she feels like there is nothing she cannot do.

You only die if you lose,” the girl says,“so don’t. I’ll help.”

Chitrangada blinks. “Don’t lose?”

“Easy, right?”

Chitrangada smiles.

4. The girl, Ulupi, turns out to be a born researcher who for some reason has decided to focus her considerable energies into turning Chitrangada into a fighting machine. Ulupi finds books, pamphlets, old scrolls squirreled away in the recesses of the library, ranging from defensive spells to healing salves, battle theory and runes that turn one’s steps silent. 

The only thing Ulupi is not is a duelist, which means that Chitrangada by her fourth year is a master of theory, but only middling in practice. At night, she starts to slip out of the Common Room to practice stinging hexes at targets.

If practice is merely an excuse to drown herself in work, to have something to do when not with Ulupi than think of Ulupi, of how pretty and smart and lovely she is, and how she cannot give Chitrangada children,then no one but Chitrangada and her poor conjured dummies needs to know. Ulupi would conjure bubbles and remark that they are better training for reflexes, but Ulupi also prefers to be asleep between the hours of 12 and 8, so Chitrangada and her dummies are alone.Or, that is what she thinks, until she walks into her usual classroom and finds herself dodging a stunner.

“Protego,” she shouts instinctively when she feels the whiz of the next, without even the sound of an incantation for warning. It is the new moon, and the room is still pitch black.

“Lumos.” In the light, Chitrangada sees her attacker and gasps: Arjuna, two years her senior and said to be the most gifted duelist in generations stands with his wand out. He blinks.

“What are you doing here?” Chitrangada’s eyes widen.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes move from her to the dummies spread around the room. “I was practicing.”

“In the dark?” And yet, Chitrangada looks and there are marks on the dummies that she knows weren’t there the night before. It is true: Arjuna has learned to duel in the dark.

An expression crosses Arjuna’s face, but he is too trained for Chitrangada to decipher its meaning.

Another stunner, and Chitrangada puts up a shield. He aims another, nonverbal the whole while, and Chitrangada is annoyed enough that she sends a stunner back. Arjuna’s shield is a work of art, his stance a mirror of the dueling text Ulupi had found last winter, and they begin to fight in earnest, trading spells until finally Chitrangada is panting, her wand in Arjuna’s left hand.

She will never be an auror, she thinks, and blinks away her hot, furious tears. She will die in the streets of London, ending the family line by 18. She will break her father’s heart.

“You’re good,” she hears from beyond the veil of her intense self-pity, “if a little unpracticed. Why don’t I know who you are?”

Chitrangada frowns. She is rich for sure, but Arjuna is a Kuru of London, one of the Sacred 28. Headmaster Bhishma himself is his Grandsire, and it is common knowledge that Arjuna has been trained as a duelist since three years of age. He attends classes to satisfy his elders but notoriously refuses to spend free time with his peers. Why would he know who she is?

“I’m younger than you,” Chitrangada finally offers when she realizes the question wasn’t rhetorical.“We don’t share any classes.”

“But we have people of all years in Dueling Club and I thought I knew everyone there.” Chitrangada’s eyes widen – the Hogwarts Dueling Club is a society for the elite, and while it is open to anyone in name, entry is usually based on invitation. Chitrangada trains in secret, in order to prevent word from getting to her father.

“I was not invited,” she says, and then when she sees Arjuna attempt to object, she adds–“My father would not approve.” Better he think her father old-fashioned than be forced to explain the family curse.

Arjuna’s eyes harden. “How have you trained so far?”

Chitrangada shrugs.“Books.” To speak of Ulupi is to think of her, her sweet smile, the way she smells of flowers, the brush of her fingers when she passes a pamphlet across their shared desk. Chitrangada ruthlessly crushes the thought of her best friend.

He exhales.“Books.” Chitrangada nods.“Then you are remarkable – to have lasted so long against me without proper training. Are you sure you won’t join the Club? We can be very discreet, and you are probably better than a fair few.”

Chitrangada smiles, heart light at Arjuna’s praise. Perhaps she might make it to 19 after all.“No,” she says,“as much as I might like to, I’m afraid it’s quite impossible.”

“Fine,” Arjuna shrugs, and Chitrangada tries not to feel hurt at how easily he brushes her aside. But then he moves back into the dueling stance and Chitrangada’s heart skips another beat. He smiles, tossing Chitrangada back her wand.“I’ll just have to train you myself.”

Chitrangada’s jaw drops. She is in love.

5.“You are not in love with me,” Arjuna says a year later when Chitrangada confesses her deep, abiding passion for her illicit dueling master.“I don’t know why you just won’t tell Ulupi.”

”Ulupi?” Chitrangada splutters.“If you don’t like me you can say so, there’s no need to make implications!”

Chitrangada managed to keep her midnight sessions with Arjuna a secret for an entire week before Ulupi came barging into their classroom, furious at being kept out of the loop. By the next week, she had drawn up a new schedule that allowed Arjuna and Chitrangada at least four hours of sleep and given Arjuna a tome about training to duel without the use of each of the five senses.

“I don’t need to make implications,” Arjuna says,“she’s already told me.”

“Told you what?” Chitrangada blushes crimson, reminding herself to breathe. Does Ulupi know? Chitrangada has tried so hard to keep her feelings to herself.

“That you think you need to be with someone who can give you an heir, and since Ulupi cannot you are convinced it is best to live in misery, hopefully marrying some man who will give you a child before you die in the Auror service.”

Chitrangada’s knees shake, and she feels herself sinking to the ground, her lungs tightening until she can’t breathe. She hears Arjuna calling out, and when she next opens her eyes it is to the horrifying sight of Ulupi’s face, one single tear running down her cheek.

“How could you be so stupid!” Chitrangada is not sure if this is directed to her or Arjuna kneeling behind Ulupi, wringing his hands.“I’m talking to the both of you!”

“Ulupi,” Chitrangada begins, but stops at Ulupi’s outstretched hand.

“Did you really think that after everything, I wouldn’t have a solution?”

“Does the Hogwarts library have books about…” Arjuna’s voice lowers.“procreation?”

Ulupi rolls her eyes.“It has books about sex too.” Arjuna flinches.“But no, I found this at a Muggle bookstore last summer. You’re going to be a sperm donor!”

“A what?” Arjuna and Chitrangada say this as one. Ulupi laughs.

“Well,” she says,“the muggles have figured out how to isolate what of Arjuna is needed to create a child, and so he will….donate –”

“Donate my –”

“Yes,” Ulupi says, finally flushing herself.“In a little bag. Then we will… insert that into Chitrangada, and she will have a child!”

A moment of silence. “A child,” Chitrangada whispers. Is it possible?

“My child?” Later, they will all laugh at the sheer amount of scandal in Arjuna’s voice.

Ulupi glares. “Well it doesn’t have to be your child if you don’t want it to be! The child will have two parents once Chitrangada and I marry, and even if she dies I will be a researcher and stable enough to satisfy the family.”

“Marry,” Chitrangada breathes, gazing at Ulupi as if it is again the first time. In a way, it is. She is, if possible, even more beautiful than that first night, all blazing eyes and steel certainty that even the stars will move to align with her vision for their future.

“Yes,” Ulupi says, turning to grab Chitrangada’s hands and bringing them up to her lips. “Easy, right?”

[buckybee]

Once a bee learns to fly

Written for @acespnminibang​ 

Author: ifonenight / buckybee  Artist: Thette / @bold-sartorial-statement  Rating: Mature Pairing(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel Word Count: 5195 Summary: Cas, ace as they come, hand makes sex toys as a job-slash-hobby, and wears things that make him feel pretty in his spare time. He’s doing well all by himself, but when a client, impalabatmobile-67, asks for a special tutorial, Cas will find himself intrigued. Author Notes: I wanted to write a story where Cas didn’t care for sex at all, but still enjoyed some things that society associate with sex. And how he lived it.  Links to fic and art: FIC/ART

Mid September

The water was warm on Cas’ skin, chasing the last residues of sleep away. He tilted his head up, letting the spray hit him on his chin, nose, eyes, a last goodbye to the cozy atmosphere of his bed, and then turned the shower off, stepping out onto the worn out carpet. He shivered at the cold room - save money, save money, save money - and hurried to cocoon himself in his big towel, one of the only luxuries he allowed himself.

Mornings had always been hard for him. Waking up was really one of the worse parts of his days, which probably told something about himself he didn’t want to analyze too deeply. But alas, it had to be done.

He yawned, pulling on a soft pair of pants and an old sweater, and wandered in his tiny kitchen. Time to start the day, apparently.

Sitting at the kitchen table some time later, a cup of coffee and a snack on hand, Cas felt definitely readier to start his day. His laptop was silently coming to life in front of him, and he put his password in, lazily watching the enlarged photo of a bee appearing on the screen.

It was a nice picture, good quality and a lovely subject, and he smiled faintly at it; that had been a nice summer, the year he had taken it, mostly spent bonding with his sister and coming to terms - good terms - with his sexuality. It would always be a fond memory, captured in an almost monochrome photo.

As soon as all the icons settled on the screen he opened his browser, starting to type in the address bar - he need to check his email, couldn’t postpone his assignments any longer - but his eyes were caught by Tumblr’s little square, listed between his favourite websites on the home page.

He hesitated. He really should’ve started working on his essay, but he still had a week before he had to turn it in, and seeing how his business was doing wasn’t exactly the most irresponsible thing to do. Just a couple of minutes, ten at most, and then he would face the first, blank page of the essay.

His personal blog’s dashboard appeared on the screen, full of kittens’ videos and fandom posts, but he managed to resist the temptation and ignored them, quickly changing blog and switching to his professional one.

Dildos, lingerie, padded handcuffs, floggers, feathers, they were all there, showing up nicely in his layout. And he had had fun making every one of them.

His business was simple and entertaining, yes, if a bit unorthodox. Handmade sex-toys, not too expensive but of good quality, simple yet original, seemed to be well liked out there.

He had started making them for friends, fellow students who came to know about his art-and-craft skills by his brother.

They were the ones that actually suggested to expand his work to something less innocent than stuffed animals, only half-seriously. He treated it as a joke a first, giving a sparkling dildo to a girl as a birthday gift, making the toys funny rather than useful, but it turned out he was actually good at it and he had slowly got more and more requests, until he had decided to make a little business out of it; he had also started to offer advice and tutorials after a while, for free. He didn’t earn a lot, but it was still something, and it was nice.

Despite the endless teasing his brother subjected him to every time he saw him, Cas was quite happy with what he was doing.

It wasn’t fancy, or big, but it was a nice way to help paying for his everyday needs. And it wasn’t really demanding - he only had to do what he liked to do, and he usually found a way to include his work in his classes’ researches, and that made things pretty interesting.

His askbox warned him he had almost fifty new messages; opening it, he began to sort through them: a dozen were specific orders – mostly for dildos and collars; some were from shy anons exposing their problems with their sexuality or gender and asking for someone to listen – and he would have to answer them before the next day, as he didn’t like to leave that kind of asks lingering more than it was necessary; one was from a customer who hadn’t understood that this blog was only a catalogue and that, unless it was a custom made order, clients were to go to his Etsy, linked at the end of each toy post, and in his description, and in his FAQs, and buy his stuff there; finally, there was a request for a tutorial.

He send back a short reply to the inattentive customer, redirecting him to his shopping page, and then, curios, he scrolled up to the tutorial request.

impalabatmobile-67 asked:

hi! uh, i know this probably sounds weird, but can you make a tutorial for edible panties? i tried to make them myself but they, like, melted before i finished them, but your tutorial are always easy to follow so maybe i’ll understand what i’m missing here. i get it if they’re not your thing, don’t worry. thanks.

Edible panties. Well, that was new and he would have to do some research before giving instructions to anyone, a couple of tries maybe, but yes, it was doable. And kind of interesting, as he usually found new things to be.

Sex-aced-it answered:

It’s not “weird” at all, don’t worry. On the contrary, quite vanilla , I’d say. I will have to investigate a bit on how to make them, since it is new to me as – I suppose? - it was to you, but yes, I will make a tutorial about it.

Are you interested in underwear in general or panties specifically? And will they be for male or for female bodies? I don’t know if this will influence the product, but better safe than sorry. Were you thinking of classic candies and sweets or something else for the food? Let me know.

He checked the message again, and then sent it. He got up to make a peanut butter sandwich, taking his time to spread the butter meticulously on the bread, and took a bite while settling in front of his computer again. He refreshed the page automatically, his mind already on the essay, when he spotted a new message at the top of the page.

impalabatmobile-67 asked: 

thanks man, you’re awesome. i guess underwear in general’d be fine, but my panties are for a guy. candies&sweets are good.  

Before he could have done anything, another one arrived, and then another.

 impalabatmobile-67 asked:

 didn’t mean mine like *mine*, only that i asked for them. and, uh, can you not show my url when you’ll do the tutorial? it’s kinda personal. i probably sound like a repressed guy but my little brother is on tumblr as well and i don’t want him to see this.

impalabatmobile-67 asked:

sorry, i’m rambling. u didn’t need to know that.

Cas sighed a little and hit the ‘reply’ button again. This guy didn’t seem a jerk, only a little… lost. His essay would have had to wait apparently some more.

Sex-aced-it answers:  

Again, please don’t worry. You don’t have to justify your actions with me and I’m not going to judge you. I completely understand wanting to keep your own business private. Have you already thought about the design? I could help you with that too if you’d like.

Unsurprisingly, impalabatmobile-67 answered only a couple of minutes later. He really had a piercing imagination.

They chatted for almost an hour, exchanging ideas about the shape and the size and what kind of flavors Dean would have preferred. He seemed nice, and when they said goodbye, Cas had a little smile on his lips.

  Early October

“Do you have the munchies?,” Gabriel asked, and Cas could hear some sort of admiration in his tone.

“It’s for a project,” he answered distractedly, examining a licorice strip and carefully lowering it inside a paper bag.

His cart was full of similar bags, stuffed with candies. He wasn’t sure he could add them to the panties, actually, but Halloween was close anyway. Better safe than sorry.  

“A project?,” Gabriel answered, amused. “For you porn blog?”

“It’s not a porn blog,” Cas answered automatically, passing the cart to Gabriel so he could ring everything up.

Gabriel snickered but didn’t press on. It was a familiar banter by now, nothing they couldn’t recite in their sleep.  

“What is this project about anyway?,” Gabriel asked, giving Cas his change and rummaging on his desk, triumphally popping a lollipop in mouth once he found it.  

“Edible panties,” Cas said, hiding a smile when Gabriel choked on his own spit. For all his flamboyant sexual life, his brother was definitely more of a prude than Cas himself was.

“You’d be such a perv, I swear,” Gabriel muttered, and Cas gave him a dirty look.

Gabriel rose his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know, you can be a perv right now, too,”

Cas just grabbed his bags and got out the shop, giving Gabriel the middle finger on his way out.

  The ingredients were spread on the table, resting on a cheap table cloth.

Cas eyed them dubiously. The recipe seemed easy enough, but he wasn’t sure how resistant they could actually turn out to be. Or comfortable. Or igenic. Honestly, the idea of eating something that had rested on someone else’s crotch made him nauseous, but he guessed that once you swallowed what came out of a person’s genitals, you could brave anything.

He picked up his phone and shot Dean a message. They had abandoned the inbox a while ago and were using Tumblr’s messaging system now.

Sex-aced-it

I’m starting. I cannot guarantee a satysfing result though

Dean’s answers was almost immediate. Cas had warned him that he was going to try today, and apparently Dean was eager to know how it was going. He seemed very invested in these panties.

impalabatmobile-67

don’t worry 2 much about it man

impalabatmobile-67

i mean if they turn out a mess u can still eat them

Cas’ nose scrunched up and he looked down again at the table. The whole ensamble just didn’t look that appealing.

Sex-aced-it

If you say so

impalabatmobile-67

don’t u guys like sweet things?

Cas frowned down at the screen, leaning his hip against the table.

Sex-aced-it

What do you mean?

impalabatmobile-67

all those talks about cakes… made me wonder

It took Cas a moment to understand Dean’s allusion, and he found himself smiling when it clicked.

He could still go a little on the defensive sometimes, when the topic of his sexuality came up - and who could blame him, really? - but he found these sort of jokes funny, if a little cheesy.

impalabatmobile-67

im more a pie kind of guy myself

Sex-aced-it

Don’t you like cake at all?

impalabatmobile-67

oh I like cake alright at times ;)

Sex-aced-it

What was that wink for

impalabatmobile-67

like… cake as a metaphor for… someone ace?

impalabatmobile-67

nvm, it was dumb

Cas stared at his phone, the text clear on its white background. He admittedly wasn’t the best at social interaction, and social clues, in certain context, could be somewhat a mystery for him, but he most certainly wasn’t stupid.

Dean and him hadn’t started talking that long ago - a month at best - but Dean had been friendly and their interactions easygoing. And, sometimes, very clearly, flirty.

Not much, nothing over the top, just a joke here and a compliment there, but it was still more than Cas had done in some time, and definitely not something he usually did with his clients.

Dean seemed nice, though, and funny, and a little cute. Cas had always had a weak spot for cute boys.

But it still was only something to put a smile on his face after a tiring day - he didn’t stop to consider the implications, because he didn’t think there would have been any. Besides, an internet romance, without even knowing what Dean’s last name was, or where he lived, or what kind of skeletons he hid in his closet - Cas was brave, and he was reckless, but he had learnt self-preservation along the way. And this? This was not something he could endorse in in good conscience.  

But here Dean was, with his lame lines and flustered-looking backtracking, and Cas’ walls had never been that solid to begin with, honestly.

He had started tapping an appropriate reply when a new message appeared under the last one.

impalabatmobile-67

so are u gonna try to make them??? i’m getting old here dude

And just like that, the moment was lost.

Late October

Parties at Charlie’s were always very liberal, very queer, and almost always tipsy, at the very least.

Cas, throwing back a shot of vodka, mused that Halloween was the least probable time to be an exception to the rule.

His corpet was starting to squeeze him a little too much, and his ankles ached, but there was no way in Hell he would have given up his costume now. Well, thinking about it, maybe the shoes could go, the stockings were the important part anyway…

He tried to lift his right foot and unfasten the lace of the stiletto, but the room suddenly started to shift and here he went, falling from his heels with an empty glass in his hand and oh god please let there not be any sharp edges on his way down-

Something strong and firm collided with his chest, but it was a gentle blow, and Cas found himself staring at an illustration of a yellow bat.

He looked up, questioning, and green eyes blinked down at him, surrounded by a black mask with pointed years.

Cas started giggling.

The masked man frowned and straightened him, passing an arm under his armpits to help him support his own weight.

“Are you okay?” he yelled in his ear, trying to make himself heard over the music, but Cas was laughing too hard to answer.

The man rolled his eyes - so green - and started to drag him over to the stairs that led to the upper floor. Cas weakly hit his cheek to get his attention. “Bridal style, bridal style!” he hooted when the man turned toward him, trying to throw his leg over the man’s arms and managed only to send them both staggering against a wall.

“Dude, I’m not bringing you upstairs in my arms,” the man grunted, tugging him on the first steps.

“But I’ve been saved by Batman!,” Cas protested, gripping the man’s shoulder for dear life now that they were climbing the stairs. “I demand it!”

“Jesus, you’re really in the part of Frank, aren’t you,” the man muttered, but Cas, a little dizzy, a little nauseous, could still see the amused smile on his lips.

He didn’t remember much after that.

  "God,“ Cas lamented, trying to get his coffee machine to work. The smell of beans only had already cleared his head a little, but now he needed the real deal.

"Tell me about it,” Dean’s voice said, equally roughed, from Cas’s phone’s speakers.

Charlie’s Halloween party had been hard on Cas the night before, and apparently Dean had had a similar experience, if his pained tone was anything to go by.

“I was at this friend’s place,” Cas said, finally managing to turn the machine on. The scent of strong coffee rose from it, lazily diffusing in the air, and Cas had never known a sweeter blessing.

“Did you just moan?,” Dean’s voice came, a little belwidered, but Cas ignored it.

“I guess I had a little too much to drink,” he continued, pouring himself a cup of coffee and sighing in it, inhaling the fumes. “And then Batman saved me when I was about to fall on my face, and then I blacked out.” He reverently had a sip, and had to actively force himself to keep quiet, this time.

It took him a moment to realized the line was silent on the other side.

“Dean?,” he asked, catious, and Dean cleared his voice over the static.

“Were you wearing a Frank-N-Furter costume, by chance?,” he asked, voice neutral, and Cas froze.

“How do you know that?” he replied, confused and a little scared, but Dean didn’t say anything.

“Dean?,” Cas pressed, even though he should have had hung up, turned off the phone, what if Dean was a stalker, what if-

“Do you know Charlie?,” Dean finally said, and Cas’ heart almost stopped.

“How…?” he asked, and he heard Dean’s breath rushing out of him, amplified by the speakers.

“I think,” Dean said, very carefully, “that we have a common friend.”

Early November

The coffee-shop was crowded, but not unbearably so. Cas was sitting at one of the tables, near the window, nervously watching the street. Anxiety hadn’t really kicked in, but he was still a bit tense.

Rationally, he knew that this wasn’t like meeting a stranger, nor a person he wasn’t certain he could stand, but it was a big deal for him nonetheless. This was a relationship he had invested times and energy and feelings in, and if it didn’t work… He didn’t really want to think about that option.

Discovering that he and Dean lived in the same city had been kind of a shock.

Everything that Cas had been cautious of, that he had protected himself from thanks to the hypothetical distance between them, and the net’s impalpability, had suddenly came to knock at his door. Young feelings, still fragile and new, that were slowly twisting themselves inside Cas’ blood vessels and shooting right toward his heart, hidden among blood cells and oxygen.

And what was Cas supposed to do with them?

Meeting today had been a jump in the dark, that Dean had agreed to make with him. It had made the abyss a little less scary.

Still, perhaps arriving half an hour before the actual date hadn’t been the smartest idea he had ever had, since the more he waited, the more he freaked out. He sipped his water, checking his watch; he wasn’t supposed to be there for ten more minutes. He took another gulp, and then promptly choked on it when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

He sputtered, coughing and trying to breath some air in, feeling the light weight of fingers gently rubbing his back.

“Cas? Are you okay? Come on buddy, don’t die on me now.”

Eventually managing to breathe again, he turned his head up to see Dean smiling down at him, eyes actually a bit worried, and still so, so green, and really, Cas realized, everything could be really going to be just fine.

“Assbutt” he rasped, cautiously taking a sip from his bottle and glaring at him.

Dean’s laughter was so much more breathtaking in person than on the phone.   

 Mid December

“I’ve been hurt before,” Cas said, quietly, on their maybe fifth or sixth date, while they were having dinner at Cas’ place, on Cas’ comfy carpet. A sort of indoor pic-nic.

Dean watched him attentively, warm and reassuring, but Cas kept fidgeting with a loose thread on the carpet, not looking up.

“When I was young, by my own doing, trying to feel things I couldn’t feel, and later, by partners who said that they understood and that sex wasn’t a requirement when instead… it was.”

He could see Dean’s hand twitching to reach out, but they weren’t yet at a point where they could just understand what the other needed without asking, and Cas was particular about touching.

Hiding a smile, Cas brushed his fingers against Dean’s, and let him squeeze his hand in his own.

“I need you to understand, Dean,” he started, trying to make his voice firm.

No matter how happy he was with himself, how comfortable, there was always a little voice in his head that whispered to him he was being selfish, unreasonable, when he did this kind of talks. But he had built himself so much stronger than those ugly murmurs, now. Let them come. He was not afraid.

“We will never have sex. Ever. I won’t start liking it just because I’m with you, and I won’t do it just to make you happy.”

He looked at Dean, trying to see any sign of discomfort, but Dean’s face was blank. It happened sometimes, when Dean wasn’t ready to let others know what he was thinking, but it wasn’t necessary a sign of something bad.

And then Cas felt fingers drawing gentle circles inside his wrist, and relaxed a little.

“No matter how turned on you get by something, if you try to pressure me in any way… I won’t react nicely.”

Dean still didn’t say anything, and Cas smiled quietly at him, bringing Dean’s hand to his lips to kiss it lightly.

“You can get turned on, though, masturbate, whatever you need. I’m not sex repulsed, just indifferent towards it in general. Moreover, I don’t mind being in a open relationship, if that’s what you want, but we would need to establish clear rules in that case, and it’s an another whole conversation,” he added, interlacing his fingers with Dean’s. “If you want to stay with me, these are the conditions. I’m done with my speech. Now it’s your turn. Did I weird you out? I didn’t mean to.”

Dean looked at him for a couple of seconds more, and then nodded. “Alright,” he said.

“Alright?,” Cas echoed.

“Alright,” Dean said, and grinned at him with his golden, beautiful eyes, and Cas, somehow, trusted him.

Late January

“I still can’t believe I got to do this,” Dean murmured against Cas’ skin, in the quiet of Cas’ bedroom.

Cas shivered a bit at that and settled better against Dean’s chest. “Doing what?,” he asked, even though he knew exactly what Dean was referring to.

“Touching you, smelling you, hell, even seeing you.” Dean traced light circles on his covered belly with his finger, resting his chin on Castiel’s shoulder. “Are you okay with this?” he asked, loosening the hug.

Cas grabbed his arm and tightened his hold again. - I am - he answered, turning his head for a kiss.

Dean gave it to him, and Cas thought that that Heaven his mother was always talking about when he was little could be found much easier than she thought. And then distracted himself because thinking about his mother in that moment seemed really a waste of time.

When they separated, both of them smiling like the idiots they were, Cas hold out a hand and gently freed himself from the embrace.

“Wait there,” he ordered, pointing the bed. While Dean obeyed, he took an anonymous bag out of his drawer and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He wasn’t completely sure of what he was about to do, but then again, when ever had he been completely sure about anything? It didn’t matter. It was for Dean, and for himself, too, and if it didn’t work out, well, nobody would be seriously hurt. A bit embarrassed, sure, but he could live with that. Dean would have never made him feel inadequate.

 He undressed, folded his clothes, and opened the bag.

He took the stockings out first, feelings their softness between his fingers. They were beautiful, white silk and lace, and he couldn’t wait to wear them.

He put them on, careful not to break the texture, and spent some moments admiring his legs. Smooth and elegant, just like he liked them.

The white panties, adorned with black lace, were next, and he shivered a little at the feeling of them on his skin. He took his time adjusting them, and when he felt like they were good, he took the neutral lipstick out of the bag and turned toward the mirror above the sink.

His lips were chapped like always, but he couldn’t do much about it. Besides, Dean had never complained.

He uncapped the lipstick, and squeezed the tiny bottle to put some on his index finger. Watching his reflection in the mirror, he applied it on his bottom lips, and then pressed his lips together to spread them on the whole mouth. He cleaned the area around it a bit and smiled at his face in the glass, satisfied.

The thing was, Cas liked to be pretty. He liked to wear things that made him feel sensual, even though he didn’t care for others’ attraction toward him. If you asked him why, he probably couldn’t have explained it, but then again, the reason behind it wasn’t that important. It was all about sensations and nerves’ reaction to stimulus or something like that.

Dean had already seen him in flimsy clothes, but it was a costume, at the time. Just a mask, not the real Castiel, just being himself, in pretty lingerie. Showing off to his boyfriend in a way he never purposely did with anyone else.

Because Cas liked to be pretty, but he didn’t really like the attention that came with it. Or the expectations.

With Dean, though? Cas knew that Dean would look straight at him, and see exactly what Cas wanted to show him.

He turned to the bag once more, biting his lips. One last thing, and then he would be ready: a pair of black high heels, sleek and shiny.

The action of putting them on went less smoothly than the others - he stumbled and nearly fell into the tub, and had to yell at Dean he was fine and not to come in - but finally, everything was in place.

Taking a deep breath and shaking his head a bit, as in to clear it, he squared his shoulder and exited the bathroom.  

Dean looked up from his hands in his lap and did a double-take, freezing on the spot.

Cas waited for his eyes to roam oh his body, taking him in, searching for what he could find sexy, but they remained fixated on his face, instead, without wandering even a little bit.

Actually, Dean seemed not be breathing at all.

It would have been hilarious if Cas hadn’t been so nervous.

“Dean?” he asked, finally, uncertain.

That seemed to shake him out of his trance, and he coughed, cleared his throat, and then diverted his eyes, fixing them somewhere on the wall.

“Cas, fuck” he answered, his voice lower and rougher than usual. “This is harder than I thought.”

Yeah, that wasn’t helping his nervousness at all.

“You said you would have liked it.” Cas said, confused and a bit mortified.

Dean let out a weak laugh. “I do, Cas, and that may be our problem here.”

Cas frowned, but after a moment, it clicked. It wasn’t difficult to understand what Dean was worried about, really. Cas should have anticipated it.

He approached the bed slowly, as if not to scare Dean, and sat next to him.  

“Dean,” he called gently, and Dean shot him a look, but he apparently couldn’t maintain it.

“Dean,” Cas said again, taking of of his hands in his own. “You don’t have to be ashamed of your attraction, just like I don’t have to be for the lack of mine. I wore this because I knew you would have liked them, and I also knew how you would have liked them, and done it anyway. Your erection won’t make me uncomfortable.”

Dean twitched at the word, and Cas laughed quietly against his cheek.

“Stop worrying so much,” he said, kissing the side of his mouth. “You won’t hurt me. I promise.”

“I just,” Dean said, but didn’t continue.

“You just?,” Cas repeated, nudging him, with his cold nose against Dean’s neck.

“I just don’t want to do something, without meaning to, and scare you off,” Dean finished, looking at the ground.

“Oh, Dean.” Cas grabbed Dean’s face in his hands, gently, forcing him to look at Cas in the eyes. “Let me lead, okay? I promise I won’t let anything bad happening to us.”

Dean’s eyes were still doubtful, a little afraid light shining in them, but he nodded, and Cas released him.

“I feel good like this,” he said, taking back one of Dean’s hand, putting it right on his legs, on the soft fabric of the stocking. “I wore all of this as much for you as I did for me. Will you look at me, Dean? Tell me how pretty I am?”   

Dean took a deep breath. “You’re always pretty, Cas.”

Cas stand up, letting go of his hand, and moved in front of him, between his knees. He put his palm under Dean’s chin and tilted his head up gently. Dean finally, finally, met his eyes on his own.

“Tell me again, like this,” Cas ordered him softly, smiling. Dean stayed still for a moment more, and then, surrendering, he slowly, hungrily, let his sight slide all over Castiel’s body. Cas felt it like a caress all over him, tender and butterfly light.

Once Dean’s look had reached his feet - and he had gasped loudly - his eyes met Cas’ own again, and they were dark and full of heat. “You’re beautiful.” he said, voice rough and full of awe. “So fucking beautiful, Cas.”

“As you are, my love,” Cas murmured, and letting himself be laid out on the bed, admired as a work of art, he thought that, yes, no matter how much it took for him to reach this point in life, it was well worth it.

  July, years later

“Sam,” Cas groaned in his phone, blindly patting around on the bed to wake Dean up. Dean grunted and swatted his hand away, cocooning himself against Cas’ back, warm as a stove. Cas tried to roll away but Dean sneaked an arm around his middle, lightning fast.

“I hope this is important, Sam, it’s eight a.m. on a Sunday.”

“Sorry!,” Sam exclaimed, excitedly, not sounding sorry at all. “But I think I found an investor for your shop!”

Cas abruptly woke up, finally managing to disentangle himself from Dean, whose protest was apparently to slobber all over Cas’ pillow.

“What?,” he asked Sam, putting a pair of pants on and quietly exiting their bedroom.

“Yesterday I went to this corporate party,” Sam answered, talking one mile a minute, “and there was this very rich european lady who I somehow ended up talking about your project and she was really interested in it!”

“Somehow?,” Cas asked, distractly, heart pounding.

“Well I may have done some research before the party… But who cares, her name is Bela Talbot, ace as fuck, very kinky. Loves your idea. I’ll drop by later to explain everything?”

“Yeah,” Cas mumbled, still dumbfounded, and the line went dead.

He felt Dean padding into the room and then hugging him from behind.

“Everything’s alright?,” he asked, voice deep from sleep.

And Cas’ face broke into a smile, toothy and huge. “Yes. Alright.”