#castiel reader insert

[supernaturalfreewill]

"Cas! Ideas! Now!" you said urgently.

He looked about as frantic as you felt. "Well, the reasonable thing to do would be—"

"Stop. Look at me. Have I ever, in my entire life, been reasonable?" you countered.

Despite the circumstances, Cas smiled and looked at you fondly. It touched his eyes and seemed to send them sparkling an even brighter blue. Your cheeks warmed at the sight. "Alright. The unwise, slightly insane thing to do would be..."

"Thank you."

Prompt: "Well, the reasonable thing to do would be—" / "Stop. Look at me. Have I ever, in my entire life, been reasonable?"

[gilverrwrites]

Takeout Tuesday

Pairing: Human!Castiel/Fem!Reader (Season 9)

Reader has AFAB body parts, hair long enough for pulling, & feminine pronouns’ are used.

A follow-up/sequel too If you will have me, I am yours. But can 100% be read as a stand alone.

Plot: The reader fulfills Castiel's fantasy of reenacting a porno he once watched. (AKA Clarence the pizza-man & the babysitter)

Rating: M/18+

Words: 3138 (all smut)

Content: Porn without plot, roleplaying, Dominate Cas, cheesy porno dialogue, kitchen sex, dirty talk, degradation, name-calling, rough sex, hair pulling, spanking, clothed man/naked woman, teasing, doggy-style, denial/edging, oral (female receiving), bodily fluids, size difference (slightly), begging, choking, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, swearing.

Excerpt: You force yourself not to cringe at the cheesy dialogue as you make your offer; “Maybe I could pay you with my body?” “That would be acceptable.” He responds curtly, taking a decisive step forward, into the doorframe of your shared apartment. 

You checked the time on your phone; 19:45. It was Takeout Tuesday, and Cas should be home any minute. Normally he’d be home by 2, and it was your job to pick up dinner after your own shift finished at 6. But someone had no call, no showed, and ever the Samaritan; Cas had stayed late to help out. He’d called you on his break to let you know he would be home late, and that he would grab food on the way back.  

The sound of knocking on your front door made you jump. Careful to remain quiet, you made your way over, stopping to grab your gun on the way. Carefully you pressed the firearm to the door and leaned up to look through your peephole. Hunter instincts never really die.

Relieved and confused, you lower the gun and unlock the door, finding Cas on the other side. Your confusion only increased as you realised he was not dressed in his normal button-up and blue vest. Instead, he was dressed in a red and black polo and cap, and holding two large pizza boxes, all bearing the logo of your local pizza shop. 

“Cas, I… I don’t know what to ask first.” You wondered aloud. “Where are your keys? Why are you dressed like that?”

“I do not understand.” Cas stated, tilting his head, and narrowing his eyes. You would almost believe him, were it not for the quiver in the corner of his lip. He was holding back a smile. “My name is Clarence. I am here to deliver your pizzas.” 

“Ooooh, right!” You nod hesitantly, a smile sneaking onto your face. You recall a conversation about sexual fantasies, in which Cas had expressed wanting to reenact a porno he’d once seen in which a babysitter had paid for pizza with sexual favours. You stepped back into your hall, simultaneously returning your gun to its designated spot, and pretending to search for your purse. Purposefully arching your back and sticking your out your ass as you acted out searching through drawers and countertops. 

“I’m really sorry, Clarence.” You say, trying to make your voice sound airy and sexy; rejecting the urge to laugh at yourself. You return to the door where you begin to trail your hand up your body slowly, directing Cas’s eyes over your curves as you move upward until you loop a finger in your hair and begin twirling it. “I don’t have any money to pay you.” 

“That is unfortunate.” Cas responds. His tone is serious and deliberate, but the pink in his cheeks, the way he sucked in his lips, and the growing bulge in his pants told you he was enjoying himself.

“Maybe I could pay you another way?” You ask, batting your lashes at him as you continue to play with your hair. You internally pray no neighbours are passing through to overhear you. 

“What would that be?” He asks, unable to prevent himself from nodding, urging you to continue in your little roleplay. 

You grin at him, leaning forward and fiddling with the top of your shirt, pulling it down to try and expose some of your cleavage. You force yourself not to cringe at the cheesy dialogue as you make your offer; “Maybe I could pay you with my body?”

“That would be acceptable.” He responds curtly, taking a decisive step forward, into the doorframe of your shared apartment. 

You briefly contemplate teasing him, telling him to leave the pizza and come back later, once you’d put the imaginary children you were supposed to be babysitting to bed. But the thought passed quickly, he might actually play along, and you were horny, and hungry, but mostly horny. You did not want to wait.  

“Please, come in.” You tell him, stepping back to allow him full access. He quickly passes you. The apartment is small, the front door leads directly into a joined kitchen and living room. The only other rooms are your bedroom and the bathroom. In a few strides, Cas is already standing in the kitchen area where he deposits the pizza boxes on the counter and turns to watch you. You stare right back, taking him in. His shirt is just slightly too tight, drawing attention to the shape of his chest. His arms look thick and strong protruding out of the too-small sleeves. Heat tingles through your body as you watch him cup himself over his jeans, readjusting his growing erection. 

“Do you like what you see?” He asks you, his lips stretching into a mischievous smirk. 

You nod, locking the door and following him into the kitchen. As you approach, he reaches for you, his hands firmly wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. A hand snakes under your shirt, and you enjoy his warm, gentle touch as he slides it up your spine, guiding your upper body in close so he can plant his lips on yours. 

It starts slow and tentative. The brim of his cap rubs against your head as he delicately ghosts his mouth against yours. The kiss quickly grows heated, his lips pressing ever harder against yours. Knees growing weak, you grab onto his shoulders as you open your mouth up for him to explore, and in return his other hand cups the back of your head, locking you in place as he delves his tongue into you. 

You trail one hand down his chest until you reach his belt and begin to unbuckle him. He groans into your mouth, savouring the moments before clamping a hand around yours and pulling you away. Pouting, you break away from the kiss to look up at him. He returns your questioning gaze with a stern one. He places one last kiss on your lips before locking his fist in your hair and pulling you away from him. 

“If you behave, I might give you what you want, but right now you have a job to do.” He taunts, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips. You’re about to ask him what he wants, but he beats you to the punch, releasing your hair as he instructs you. “Take off your clothes.” 

“Yes sir!” You respond before correcting yourself. “Yes Clarence.” 

Castiel hums appreciatively as he watches you undress. Unable to keep his hands off you, he begins assisting. Making quick work of your bra and kicking your jeans across the floor once you get them off. Your face grows hot as he holds you in place, his eyes unabashedly raking across your body, taking in every inch of you. 

“How would you like to use my body?” You question. 

“I want to kiss every inch of it.” He answers matter-of-factly before doing just that. Pushing your back against the kitchen counter he starts pressing passionate, open-mouthed kisses against your jawline, his tongue traces over your skin as he works his way down your neckline, over your collar, your chest. He holts momentarily over your breasts, giving them extra attention. He catches a nipple between his lips and rolls his tongue against it. Your body jerks at the sensation, and his muffled laugh serves to fuel the sensation. Strong fingers replace his lips, both hands roaming your body before attaching to your breasts as he lowers his head further. 

“Hmmm, you like that?" He asks as he drops to his knees and you let out a breathy pant in response. You’re rapidly losing composure as he peppers more kisses over your stomach, and hips. The rough texture of his hat brushes your thighs as he situates himself between your legs. His breath is warm against your core, and you thrust yourself closer to him. He places one last chase kiss on your folds before leaning back to look up at your flushed face. 

His hands release your chest and gesture to the small dining table in the centre of the kitchen area. “Bend over.” 

You’re barely able to open your mouth to complain before he interrupts. “Don’t whine. Do as you’re told.” 

You remain silent as you follow his order. Unable to refrain from frowning at him while you cross the small space and angle your body against the table. Cas is on you before you’re able to finish adjusting yourself. He slips his feet between yours to nudge your legs apart. Firm hands settle in on the curve of your back, directing you to arch your rear out. 

“You have been a very naughty babysitter.” He growls. 

You wiggle your ass at him as you respond. “Are you going to punish me?”

You hear the slap of his hand coming down on your ass cheek before you feel the sting.

“Yes.” His voice is solemn, and you barely have time to think of a response before his hand comes down on you again. You moan out in pain and unconsciously clench your hands around the edge of the table as you brace yourself for the next hit. Cas hesitates slightly, taking a moment to caress your reddening skin before reeling back to deliver another smack. You moan out again and again with each blow. Your head growing fuzzy, unable to think of anything but the heat pooling between your legs, and the stinging of your butt.

When Cas pokes two fingers between your folds you flinch, not expecting the sensation. He runs his fingers up and down, collecting the wetness before retreating. Lazily you stretch your neck back to watch as he brings them close to his face for inspection. You expect him to taste it, he’s never been shy about his affinity for your wetness or cum before, so you’re surprised when he looks over at you with a devious glint. 

“I think you’re enjoying this too much.” He says as he leans over your slumped frame and presses his fingers to your lips. Following his lead, you open up, allowing him to push his fingers into your mouth, to rub your wetness against your tongue. It's sharp and bitter, but you close your mouth around him and suck until his fingers leave your mouth without wet pop. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

That felt like a trick question. Any semblance of an answer is immediately lost when you feel him grind his crotch against your backside. When you don’t respond, he continues. “Do you like this? Being bent over, and spanked like a filthy whore?”

The words sound so outlandish, coming out of Cas’s mouth. Castiel, (former) angel of the lord, calling you a whore. Outlandish, but so fucking hot. 

Unsure if he’s warning, or chastising you, he pulls his body back and lands another strike on your cheek. 

“Fuck. Yes!” You cry, jolting back, pushing your ass against his crotch again. 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I like it!” You stare forward, unsure if you could look at him without breaking again. “I like being spanked like a filthy whore.” 

Castiel rewards you by placing a gentle kiss between your shoulder blades. His voice is hoarse as he leans up and whispers. “Then we shall have to find another way to discipline you.” 

You might regret asking, but that doesn’t stop you. “What did you have in mind?”  

Strong arms lift you; Cas turns you to face him and paces you back onto the table in a seated position before dropping to his knees and maneuvering your legs over his shoulders. 

“Keep your hands behind your back.” He instructs, and the moment your arms are locked behind you he delves in, dislodging his cap along the way. He presses his tongue flat against your clit and licks at it mercilessly. A finger inches up your thigh, and circles your entrance before plunging in. 

You want nothing more than to grip his hair, to use it for purchase as you rub your cunt against him, but you can’t. The added challenge of remaining positioned only adds to your growing frustration. The synchronised feel of his finger fucking into you, and his tongue lapping at your sweet-spot has you panting. 

“Holy fuck. Don’t stop, please.” You muster, trying and failing to buck in rhythm with him. “That feels so good Cas, Cas, Ca- Clarence.”

He murmurs something incomprehensible between your lips and the vibration has you coming undone. Your muscles seize, your legs shoot out, and your head rolls back as you approach your climax. No sooner has it started when Cas pulls back, releasing you completely. 

Your mouth falls open, ready to ask him why he stopped, ready to beg him to come back, to finish you off but all that escapes your lips is a frustrated groan. 

“Don’t worry.” Cas assures you, re-adjusting his hat as he stands up. His arousal is evident from his blown-out pupils and the playful smile on his lips. He cups your face between his hands and pulls you in to rest a kiss on your hairline. You don’t miss the chuckle he tries to suppress. “I’m nowhere near done with you.” 

“Are you going to fuck me, Mr Pizza-man?” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Please?”

“You would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” It’s not really a question. “You’d like me to bend you over again and stretch you out like a needy slut. You’d liked like me to fuck you right here, wouldn’t you?”

You shiver at his words and reach up for him, wrapping your arms around his neck to draw him closer.

“Yes.” You speak between languid kisses to his jaw, and neck. “Please, please Clarence. I would do anything to feel your cock inside me.” 

“I thought you might. You naughty girl.” He states, grasping your wrists and pulling you away from him. “Turn around.”

It’s an order, but you needn’t act. Using your arms and hips for purchase Cas flips you back over. Fresh waves of excitement shoot through your body as you hear his belt and zipper opening. Your breath hitches when you feel the head of his cock at your entrance. He doesn’t make you wait for it, pushing through your lips and bottoming out in seconds. A low moan escapes him as he does so. 

“You don’t cum until I say so.” He commands as you both adjust. The feel of his dick stretching your walls out makes you feel lightheaded. You whimper your response and begin rocking your hips, urging him to start fucking you. Your motion is halted when you feel his hand in your hair. With little warning, your head is whipped back. “Your body is mine. I will decide when and how to use it. You’ll be fortunate if I let you cum at all. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You answer hastily, you suspect you look like a deer in the headlights. 

“Since you seem to want this so badly, beg for it.” You’re not sure which is more telling to your enjoyment of his dominance. The way your pussy twitches around him, or the involuntary cry you let out. 

“Please… Please Mr Pizza-man, use my pussy.” You begin, through shaky breaths. The excruciatingly slow pump of his body pushing against yours encourages you to keep going. “Use me however you please, I want you, I want to make you cum.” 

“Since you asked so nicely.” Cas pulls back and slams back into you harshly, hand still firmly latched in your hair, keeping you in place as he begins pounding into you, riding you from behind. 

Still on edge from his previous assault, it isn’t long before you felt an orgasm approaching again.

Knowing you won’t be able to fend it off for long you speak up. The jolt of Castiel’s thrusts causes your words to be punctuated by involuntary moans. “Cas, I’m. so. close. Please, I’m. gonna- “ 

“Not yet.” He barks. A moment later he tightens his grip on your hair, forcing you further back until you're close enough for him to lock a hand around your neck. 

Fingers squeeze either side of your throat and you fear you’ll lose your resolve any second. 

For stability, and to try to distract yourself from the growing tension in your cunt, you hold onto his arm. As if determined to make you suffer, Cas slows his speed, focusing on deliberate, torturous thrusts that fill you up and hit all the right places. 

Gurgled cries fall from your lips, attempts to beg for your release, but nothing is intelligible. Unable to move, to breathe, or to think straight, all you can think of is the orgasm you’re barely holding at bay. The pressure of your fingers around the arm holding you by your neck is sure to leave bruises. And then it happens. 

“Now.” He releases his grip on your hair and slides his hand to your folds, erratically pawing until he finds your clit. 

You didn’t really need the extra assistance. You fall apart in an instant, your walls convulsing around his cock, as your body rides the high. Your already tingling, pulsing cunt tightens when you feel the warmth of Castiel’s cum spilling inside you. Low, lethargic hums leave his chest as his thrusts grow sluggish and strained. 

Spent and panting, Cas lets his hands relax, electing to rest them on your waist as he pulls you in, back to his chest for an embrace. His softening cock dislodges as you move together, and you feel his cum trickle out. You elect to ignore it for now, enjoying the hug, and the delicate kisses he places to the back of your head. 

“Do you understand why the pizza-man spanked the babysitter now?” You asked.

The rumble in Cas’s chest as he laughs tickles your skin. “Yes. That was exceedingly enjoyable. How was it for you?”

“That was, amazing.” You concede, turning in his arms until you’re able to rest your face against his chest. He’s smiling down at you, blue eyes filled with admiration. “I should order pizza from Clarence more often.” 

“If that is what you want.” Now that he has a clear view of it, you can see him examining your neck. You’ve no doubt it’s still red, but you doubt it’ll be bruised, at least, not half as much as your ass. “We should get you cleaned up.” 

“Good idea.” You reach up onto your toes and kiss him on the lips. On impulse, you also decide to steal the godforsaken cap from his head and place it on your own before backing towards the bathroom. “Put those pizzas in the oven to reheat, then meet me in the bedroom?”

Cas nods, seemingly unbothered by your thievery as he watches you go. You’ll have to ask him where he got the costume from later. You ask him one last question as you reach the bathroom door. “So, was there ever a sequel to this porno?” 

[arjwrites]

— Good to know bc im here to request another Castiel x Winchester!reader (oldest sister) hehehehe...

Remember when Castiel became a human and that reaper April used him? I was thinking about the reader in her place, where she ACTUALLY likes Cas and takes care of him. The reader really loves him and doesn't care that he's a human now with no angel powers, he's still the man/angel she loves and care (I'm still mad that Dean kicked Cass out of the bunker)

It's his first time being human, he deserves some love 😞 (And I rlly need some comfort aughhh)

I think I wrote too much, sorry! It's just that I really love human Castiel, he deserved more ❤️‍🩹 — 👼 angel anon

Lessons on Humanity- Human!Castiel x Reader

Summary: Human!Cas arrives on your doorstep in need of a helping hand. Taking him under your wing, you offer him more than he bargained for.

Warnings: None (I don't think???) GN!Reader, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Well, this took forever. Idk why this gave me the WORST case of writer's block ever, but.... I think I just wanted it to be perfect for you, angel anon!!! I hope you enjoy hehehehehe <3333

Leaving hunting behind had been a tough decision, but leaving your brothers and Castiel behind had been even harder. But after all the years, your body screamed for rest, and your heart mourned the years of loss and trauma. It wasn’t like you had completely up and abandoned them- you still took their calls, visited the bunker from time to time, and took on many a research request (which had always been your specialty anyways). But you had grown so tired of the life. And as much as moving into the bunker had been a massive improvement from the endless series of motel rooms you’d grown up with, living in a concrete man-cave with your brothers had proven difficult. And you had always craved a home- somewhere that could be uniquely yours. This had led you to settle down into a sweet cottage, a bit off the beaten path in a quaint little town- not too far from the bunker, but far enough. It was cozy, nothing fancy by any means- two small bedrooms, a slightly outdated kitchen, and a snug little living room you had furnished with thrifted couches and a secondhand TV. What it lacked in elegance, it made up for in character. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

It was a Friday night. You had just gotten off work, ordered a pizza, popped your favorite playlist in your speakers, and were currently dancing around and vacuuming your living room. Ah, domesticities. It was always a nice feeling to be done for the weekend, to have a job you could hang up for a few days and not worry about until Monday morning rolled around. Not like hunting, with its worries that clung tight to you all hours of every day. After finishing your cleaning task, you flopped to the couch, clicking through the TV to find a suitable show to binge alongside your food. 

Two crisp knocks at the door pulled you from your search. That was quick, you thought to yourself. You practically skipped to the kitchen to grab your purse, wanting to hand the delivery driver a few extra dollars for the particularly speedy service. But when you swung the door open, more than just the chilly evening air sent a wave of shock your way. 

“Oh my God,” was about all you could whisper. In front of you stood Castiel, though he didn’t look much like his usual self. He wore a sweatshirt you didn’t recognize and had a slightly unkempt, unshaven look to him. But beyond his appearance, it didn’t feel like Cas. His shoulders were slumped over as if he was carrying the weight of them for the first time. He wore an expression so tired, so hurt, that your heart broke at the sight of it. 

“Cas, honey. What happened?” 

“I don’t have my grace. I… lost it. They told me I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to bother you, but… I didn’t know where else to go.” 

“Oh, Cas. Come in, God, come in.” Your brow furrowed as you gestured for him to enter, concern filling your body. What had you missed? Why didn’t he have his grace? Why wasn’t he with Sam and Dean?

Cas gingerly stepped through your door, barely making it inside the threshold before turning to you, as if he was waiting to follow your lead.

“Come, come sit,” you beckoned him after you, leading him into the living room and patting a seat for him on the couch. He sat, glancing around your room before landing his gaze back to you. You could tell there was something different about him- it was like he was seeing everything around him for the first time. 

“So tell me what happened, Cas,” you hummed, gathering every ounce of soothing calm you could muster in hopes you could offer him some comfort.

Cas jumped into his story, telling you all about Metatron, the angels, and him losing his grace- all the things you had missed out on since stepping back from hunting. You nodded along, listening intently, compassionately, quietly- that is, until he told you about the events that lead him to your doorstep.

“He kicked you OUT?” You rose to your feet as he said this, unable to contain your anger in your seated posture. You felt the rage bubble from the deepest part of your stomach, rising quickly to your chest. Poor, sweet Castiel, who tries so hard and deserves so much. Cast out like he was nothing. It was enough to drive you into a blind rampage. Cas, on the other hand, remained seated, eyes fixed to the carpet, dejected. 

“I just don’t know what to do. I have all these… feelings I’m not used to.” 

“Of course you don’t, honey. It’s all so new. I’ll help you figure things out, alright?” You thought for a moment about what may be most urgent. “Cas, how long have you been human for?”

“Well, a few days now.”

“And have you eaten? Drank water? Slept?” 

“I had a candy bar.” 

“Oh, you poor thing, Cas. Look… Sit tight, I’m going to get you a glass of water, and I have food on the way. Do you like pizza? No, you don’t know if you like pizza, do you…” You let your voice trail off as you hustled to the kitchen, fixing him a glass of water and returning it to him hastily. 

Cas lifted the glass, inspecting it, before tipping it back and downing it in one go. You watched the water slide out of the cup, disappearing down his throat in record time. There was one basic need supported. 

“Alright, Cas, why don’t you sit there and relax for a little? I’m going to go make up the guest bedroom for you. Is that alright?” You tilted your head to the side to better gauge his thoughts on the matter. Cas returned you a soft smile and nodded. You let out a subtle puff of breath in relief before retreating up the stairs. 

As you grabbed bedding from the linen closet and began to stretch the fitted sheet over the mattress, you couldn’t help but allow your body to take over the menial routine, while your mind fluttered off elsewhere. The angry pit in your stomach persisted, a deepening disgust for the way the angel had been treated, including by your brothers, of all people. But nestled in your chest above your swirling stomach sat your heart, which swelled at the thought of Cas, here with you. In all honesty, he had always meant a lot to you. You had so much admiration, so much reverence for the angel- of course, now that he wasn’t exactly an angel, that didn’t change anything. That was never what it was about. You saw deeper than just Cas’s angelic power- you saw him. Grace or not, there was no changing that. This was still the same angel, the same man, the same being you had always known. Only now, he really needed someone to be there for him. And you intended to do that- slowly, surely, gently. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your name being called from down the stairs. Instantly, your mind snapped to the worst-case scenario- call it a lingering hunter’s instinct. You raced down the stairs, only to find Cas perched on the couch, exactly where you had left him.

“Someone knocked on the door,” he whispered wide-eyed, as if it was some sort of intruder behind the door, waiting politely to be let in so he could go about his business.

You breathed a sigh of relief, willing yourself not to get frustrated at the poor man- he had no idea. Scared, lost, confused Castiel. 

“It’s just the pizza, sweetheart. Don’t worry,” you replied, giving him a soft smile of encouragement. 

With the pizza paid for, food on your plates, and your favorite mindless comfort show on TV, you and Cas began to settle in for the night. You and Cas. It was insane to see the angel in such a domestic setting. The two of you were sat at opposite ends of the couch, nibbling pizza in silent unison. You weren’t sure what to do or say, overwhelmed by Cas’s newfound presence, heartbroken by the things he had experienced, and overall just worried for his wellbeing. But, out of fear of pushing his limits- he had already been through so much the last few days- you fell into a comfortable silence that padded the space between you. 

That silence was broken by a yawn coming from the other end of the couch. Cas’s face contorted in a decidedly un-angelic expression, before drawing inwards in confusion. A giggle inched its way towards your lips, but you suppressed it.

“You must be tired, Cas. Let’s go up to bed,” you hummed. Quickly and efficiently, you snapped off the TV, balanced your drinking glasses and plates on top of the pizza box, and slid everything into its rightful place in the kitchen. Re-emerging to the living room, you extended a hand to Cas, pulling him up to his feet before turning to lead him up the stairs. 

“This is your room, over here,” you pointed, ducking in the door to show him around. You snapped the bedside lamp on to illuminate the space. “The bathroom is just down the hall if you need to use it. And my room is just next door, if you need anything at all.” 

Cas’s eyes scanned the room before settling back on you. He threw a tight-lipped smile, murmuring his thanks. He was bashful, certainly overwhelmed by the avalanche of human emotion and sensation he was experiencing. You really didn’t want to push it, but there was one more thing you wanted to offer him. 

Crossing the room, you pulled Cas into a hug. You felt his hands hover for a moment before he rested them across the middle of your back.

“I’m sorry, Cas. You didn’t deserve any of this. But I’m here to help you, whatever you need, okay? You deserve to have someone be there for you.” It was a desperate plea for the man to recognize his self-worth, to provide him with a bit of comfort during this terrifying transition. Your words weighed heavy in the room, anticipating a response that never came. But, you could’ve sworn you felt Cas’s shoulders dip and the muscles of his back soften into the hug. 

After a minute, you pulled away, snapping back to your lighthearted self. You wished the man a good night, retreating from the room and closing the door behind you. Crossing the hall and tucking yourself into bed, it wasn’t long before you drifted to sleep.

-

You rose early the next morning. Usually, you would stroll downstairs in your bathrobe or whatever mismatched pajamas you slept in, but this morning you hopped in the shower straight away, dressing and fixing your hair. Once you made your way down to the kitchen, you got to work pulling together a breakfast you thought Cas would enjoy- pancakes, bacon, and some fruit, all while brewing a pot of coffee. You weren’t sure he’d have much of a taste for it yet, but you certainly were in need of a cup. 

As you neared the end of your preparation, you heard the guest bedroom door swing open. Cas descended the stairs into the kitchen, somehow looking slightly more disheveled than when he had arrived on your doorstep the night before.

“Good morning, sunshine!” You offered, hoping he would take it in jest.

“Hello,” he responded. His eyes were puffed with sleep, his hair stuck up in every possible direction, face dotted with yesterday’s stubble that was inching into scruffy beard territory. Looking at him was a clear reminder that you needed to help him figure out how to clean himself up today. 

“How’d you sleep, hun?” In any other conversation, this would be a simple pleasantry, but in this case, it was an earnest inquiry.

“Not well. I think I had a dream. It was terrible,” he replied. His gaze remained vacant.

“A dream?” You thought for a moment- was it the sensation of dreaming that he wasn’t used to? Or was it a nightmare? “Tell me about it, Cas.”

“Well, I don’t remember a lot of it. I just remember I was running. And when I woke up, my heart was pounding and I was sweating and I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t actually run- just in the dream.” 

“Oh, Cas, honey, you had a nightmare.” You approached him, reaching up a hand to run a thumb over his stubbled cheek. “If that ever happens again, you can always come into my room. I’m right next door.”

“How will that help?” He inquired.

“Well, sometimes it’s nice to talk about it, if you want. Or, sometimes it’s just nice to be around someone else, so you don’t feel like you’re facing it alone.”

His nod in response sent a surge of care through your body. Rather than sitting there, gushing over him, you figured you’d channel your worry into something productive- getting him fed. 

“Well, I made some breakfast. Have a seat, I’ll make you a plate.”

You pulled out a chair for him at the table, gesturing for him to sit down, before scrambling to pull together a plate piled high with a stack of pancakes, a few slices of bacon, and some strawberries and bananas you had carefully sliced. You rested the plate in front of him, giving him a minute to inspect it, before returning to grab food for yourself. 

“Well, what do you think? I figured chocolate chip pancakes would be a safe bet. Everyone likes chocolate chip pancakes.”

Castiel clumsily sliced another bite from the pancake, lifting it to his mouth. He chewed pensively, mulling over the question.

“How do I know if I like it?” 

You thought for a moment.

“Good question. Does it make you feel happy?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

“Well, Cas, I think you’ll find that one of the great joys of humanity is the opportunity to figure out what makes you happy. We don’t get a lot of say in what goes on down here, but we do get to pick our favorite foods, favorite colors, favorite people, and fill our lives with those. It’s the small pleasures that make the difference.”

He considered your words for a moment, before spearing another bite with his fork. You giggled to yourself. It was adorable to watch him navigate the things you took for granted with so much fascination and uncertainty- something as small as taking a bite of food required all of his concentration and contemplation.

As you sipped your coffee, you considered the task that lay before you. It was your job to teach Cas how to be human- something you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself an expert on. With hunting dominating your upbringing and occupation thus far, you certainly hadn’t had the normal human experience. But you took the challenge in stride, knowing that Cas had much to learn. 

-

Saturday had come and gone. You had spent the entire day teaching Cas a crash course in human life skills, covering important topics like brushing your teeth (which proved more difficult than you thought it would be), remembering to drink water (you struggled with this yourself most of the time), shopping (the two of you thrifted him a whole wardrobe), and anything else you could think of as you went about your usual routine. 

As the day wound down, you and Cas sat on your back porch. The emerging twilight buzzed, and a warm breeze filtered through the trees and wrapped itself around the two bodies curled up in the lawn chairs. You were tired, he was tired, so another comfortable silence had settled into its now familiar place between the two of you. You could faintly hear the sound of children laughing and a mother calling after them, voices muffled by the distance that separated you from these neighbors down the street. You smiled to yourself, and Cas took notice. 

“Thank you for helping me today,” he offered hesitantly, as if afraid to disturb your thoughts.

“Anytime, Cas.” You were still a bit lost in thought as you responded.

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Why does being human feel so… Heavy?”

There was something about his tone of voice that snapped you out of your daze. Turning to him, you instantly recognized the worry that was weighing on him. 

“I just… I used to be a soldier. I had divine purpose. I’ve always had something to work towards, and now… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Life is a complicated thing, Cas. Most people spend an entire lifetime figuring out their purpose. You may be thousands of years old, but you’ve only been doing the whole human thing for a few days. Be patient with yourself.” 

“You seem to handle it all pretty well. Leaving hunting, making a life for yourself. You have it all figured out,” he frowned.

“Want to know a secret?”

He nodded, silently, eagerly. 

“I’m not handling it well. And I don’t have it all figured out. Nobody does. That’s the whole game. That’s life. You take what you’re given and you do what you can with it. But the beauty is, you get to choose.” 

“How do I know what to choose?” 

You smiled in spite of yourself. 

“That’s the big question. No one knows what’s right for you except you.” 

Cas’s hand reached across to yours, giving it a squeeze that sent your heart aflutter. Fingers intertwined, you settled back into the evening, pensive.  

- 

Sleep that night hadn’t come easy by any means. What had started as worry had now spiraled into full-on anxiety, warding you away from slipping into sleep. Each time you closed your eyes, your mind drifted down the hall to Castiel, separated from you by nothing more than a dozen footsteps and couple pieces of drywall. It was as if you could feel his inner turmoil. And beyond that, your heart ached for the man. All you wanted to do was go to him, be with him, comfort him. But the fear that you were taking advantage of his newly human state still plagued you, so you lingered rigid and sleepless in your bed. Just as you rolled over to attempt comfort and hopefully find some sleep, there was the faintest knock at your door- so quiet, you barely registered it. 

At first, you weren’t sure if you had actually heard the sound, but when the noise was followed by slow footsteps shuffling away, you snapped up in bed.  

“Cas! Come in,” you called. After a second, the door swung open.

“I had another one. A nightmare.” Cas spoke matter of factly, and yet, very soft and reserved. He lingered in your doorway, timid, waiting for you to give your blessing on his entrance.

“Oh, come in, sweetheart. Come sit.” You patted the space beside you, the noise muffled by the thick, fluffy comforter. Cas made his way into a seated position on the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, hesitant to pry but insistent on providing support.

“No.” His response was tense and succinct without being rude- you knew he was processing a lot of feelings, and wanted to give him grace.

“That’s okay. Would you like some time to think through it? Or would you like to be distracted?” 

“I’m not sure.”

“Take your time. I’m here.” 

There was a beat of silence. Giving him space was your top priority, as much as you wanted to leap across the bed and into his arms. 

“Maybe, distracted?”

“Sure thing. I’ll put on a movie, we can watch for a bit.” You snatched the remote from the table beside you, flipping through a few movies you thought Cas may enjoy, before settling on a lighthearted Disney movie. Your finger pressed play and adjusted the volume to a dull hum. 

You watched for a while in silence. As the movie was picking up, breaking out into a cheerful musical number, your eyes darted to Cas. Expecting to see him enamored by the animated wonderland, you were taken aback when his eyes locked with yours instantly. It was like he had been looking at you the whole time. 

“Hey, Cas.” He wouldn’t look away, and the eye contact was entrancing.

“Hi.” His voice was gruff, a mix of sleep and something else you weren’t entirely sure of, though you were starting to get an idea. 

“How are you doing?” 

“Better, now. Because I’m with you.” His words sent a wave of warmth through your body as you felt yourself inching closer to him, subconsciously. Clearly, he felt the same pull, as you both shifted to face each other directly. 

“Can I ask you about another feeling?” He was usually bashful with his questions, but this time, his voice was steady. His eyes were fixed on you with an almost palpable intensity, a kind of focus that made you fidget, suddenly so aware of yourself. 

“Of course,” you responded. He was now just inches away from your face. 

“What is this feeling I get when I’m this close to you?” His words were slow and genuine, and yet in some ways, it seemed like he already knew.

“What do you mean?” 

“It feels a lot like the nightmare. My heart beats fast and I can’t breathe. But it’s… Different. It’s good. I like it.” His eyes flickered as the words melted you.

He was so close to your face you could feel each breath tickle your nose and lips, as if pressing gentle precursors to tease you into taking the next step.

“Can I try something else you might like?” You could barely speak above a whisper.

He began to nod, lifting his head, but before he could complete the motion, all your defenses came crashing down, and you melted together- lips and limbs intertwining as one. And for the first time since becoming human, Castiel truly felt peace.

-

There’s something special about humanity. Sure, it has its ups and downs. There’s pain, fear, grief, death. Cas knew all those things already. They were what scared him most when he lost his grace. But he could have never known this, without experiencing it for himself. 

The early hours of the morning crept into the bedroom. Everything about the room was warm and soft- a kind of heaven that rivaled even the real thing. Cas watched as the rays of sun slipped through the window to kiss your skin softer, sweeter, more intimately than he ever had. Yet. 

There were many things about being human he hadn’t been prepared for. He had lost purpose, drive, direction. When he was first stripped of his grace, it had felt like his newfound heartbeat was mocking him with every pulse. But now? That heart served to pump more than just blood through his veins. His heart beat for you. His whole angelic life, he had been guided by divine word, but nothing had ever felt as holy as you, here, sleeping in his arms. You had taught him humanity, alright. And now, he finally had the chance to do something, to feel something, to experience something more beautiful than he could’ve ever imagined. He could love you.

Cas let the sounds of your breathing lull him back to sleep.

[theshamelesssimp]

Me when I get to the part of a fanfic that has me giggling and kicking my feet

[corinthianism]

corinthianism's fic recs

here are my personal favorite fanfics! idk how often i'll update this, but i hope you like them as much as i do :) *indicates smut

last updated: march 26, 2024

MARVEL

loki laufeyson - from the void, with love — by whirlybirbs (my fav fanfic of all time!!! i think about this fic several times in a day bro) - riptide — by starks-hero - the tailor* (series) — by birdofhermes (ao3) - time after time (series) — by goldencherriess (ao3) - a friend from work — by cozy_the_overlord (ao3)

thor odinson - god of fertility* (request) — by charnelhouse - highway don't care (but i do, i do)* (part one, part two, part three) — by spacelabrathor

peter parker (andrew garfield) - agree to disagree — by delicate-dorothea - nerdy peter (request) — by webslingingslasher - good boy x bad girl trope (request) — by webslingingslasher - hold you here, my loveliest friend* — by p3mybeloved - your friendly neighborhood sensitive spider* — by jin0 - glad you're home — by withahappyrefrain - the mechanics of a soul — by irndad - 3 is the magic number* — by withahappyrefrain - crush — by ptersparkers - as it goes — by forever-rogue - here comes the sun (part one, part two, part three) — by withahappyrefrain - stability, reciprocity, and a romance for the ages (series) — by privateanxieties (ao3 - need an account to read)

steven grant (moon knight) - hold me close — by stormkobra-5 - gift of min* — by astroboots - puzzles* — by stormkobra-5 - first time* — by luvpedropascal - domestic adonis* — by peterman-spideyparker - where it starts — by silversweetpea - fallen from heaven, grown on earth* (series) — by davosmymaster (ao3) - call me poe* — by kittyfandom (ao3) - elemental — by batsingotham (ao3) - the boy with the thorn in his side — by eating_flowers (ao3)

marc spector (moon knight) - not him — by loud-mouth-loser - it's worth it, it's divine* — by the-archxr - i'm getting to know someone — by davosmymaster (ao3)

wade wilson (deadpool) - tea and sympathy (series) — by bucketsoffrogs (ao3)

SHERLOCK (BBC)

sherlock holmes - your hidden strength — by okay-j-hannah - sublime dexterity* (part one, part two) — by daydreamtofiction - literally everything by starks-hero

SUPERNATURAL

sam winchester - playing house (part one, part two) — by uncouth-the-fifth - baby i'll stay (heaven can wait) — by uncouth-the-fifth - move over.* — by ggwritesstuff - where's your head at?* — by beau55515 - birthdays: sam winchester style* — by karleekarma (ao3) - the comforts of home — by zepskies - under the hood* — by shawslut

dean winchester - whether you like it or not — by kbeautimous (ao3) - reading you wrong — by zepskies - cherished — by thatonewriter15 (ao3) - soft touch — by wearywinchester - i love her, that's why* — by kaleldobrev - drivin' me crazy* — by lis-likes-fics

castiel - salt n' lick* — by aperfectgrace (ao3) - a bite of apple pie (series) — by ac_deanc (ao3)

THE SANDMAN

the corinthian - bring me a dream* (series, ongoing) — by placeinthemiddleofnowhere - nihil — by lis-likes-fics

dream/morpheus - sweet dreams (are made of this) — by stranger-nightmare

CRIMINAL MINDS

aaron hotchner - from eden — by heliotropehotch - gold star — by honeypiehotchner - love, an abstract concept — by luveline - honeymoon phase* (series) — by hotchsbitch (ao3)

THE BOYS

soldier boy (he's absolutely horrible but so. so. hot.) - break me down* (series) — by zepskies (go read their other stuff too!) - talk to me — by zepskies

homelander (also absolutely horrible. would sleep with him.) - if i can't have you — by watchstarscollide - milky white* — by after-witch

GAME OF THRONES

jaime lannister - i'm not made by design — by ichorai (this legitimately changed my brain chemistry)

STAR WARS

obi-wan kenobi - like turning on the light* — by full-time-make-believer (deactivated acc) (this also changed the trajectory of my life) - where it wasn't* — by 221bshrlocked - your thoughts are loud — by spidersbane - empty me out* — by 221bshrlocked - house of memories* (series) — by meshlasolus - bad idea, right?* (series) — by mischiefling (ao3) - you make me feel like dancing — by saradika (ao3) - it's a wonderful lie — by firstofficerwiggles (ao3) - temptation's kiss — by karasong (ao3) - you make my dreams* — by wickedscribbles (ao3) - like a living mirage — by karasong (ao3) - broken drought* — by rosalindbeatrice (ao3) - never grow up — by doihavetoloseyoutoo (ao3) - never ending story — by kybercrystal (ao3) - volveré* — by kxnobi (ao3)

din djarin (the mandalorian) - the savior* (part one, part two, part three) — by dindjiarin - significant — by softlyspector - touching din — by archieimagines - uncharted territory* — by pedrito-friskito - creed* — by wheresarizona - home is wherever i'm with you* (part one, part two, part three) — by saradika

DRACULA (BBC)

count dracula - the székely* (series) — by theplumsoldier

LOTR/THE HOBBIT

thranduil oropherion - a boon* (series) — by inksplots (ao3) - beauty and the beast (series) — by tamurilofrivendell (ao3)

DOCTOR SLEEP

dan torrance - of monsters and men* — by helaintoloki & obitwo - domestic life (headcanons) — by thornsinmycrown - smut alphabet* — by daincrediblegg

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡When They Realised That They Loved You｡⋆.

Team free will x plus size reader (separately)

Warnings: smut, lil bit of angst, fluff, (somehow Dean’s isn’t the angsty one), undefined relationship (Dean), mention of scars, sam detoxing off demon blood, childhood friends to strangers to ?, heartbreak, pain, mention of torture and pain and Dean’s death, sam being sad, gentleness, Ruby can catch these hands, seemingly unrequited love on both sides, a kid being lost, castiel being stupidly in love and not knowing what to do with himself, humanity being good WC: 3.8k

Minors DNI

A/N: One assignment left baby!!

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Dean- When you were the only person he could let his walls down with

You weren’t exactly a hunter but you also weren’t exactly a civilian. You were… something else. You could shoot, recite an exorcism backwards and outdrink the most seasoned hunter but you also were stationary, paid your taxes, even had a retirement fund and to Dean, you were safe. And a damn good lay at that.

“That’s it baby. Move those hips for me.” Your nails bit into the muscles of his chest as you lifted yourself up on shaky legs, then slammed back down onto his cock. Dean hissed and bit down on his lip, desperately trying to keep his eyes open to watch you fall apart just one more time before he succumbs to the blinding pleasure he could only find with you.

“It’s too much, Dean.” You wailed but continued to roll your hips downwards like you didn’t even think of stopping. His hands clamped down on the meat of your plush thighs as you tightened impossibly around his thick cock.

“Fuck, baby. I know you’re close; just come for me. Cum, and I’ll give you what you want.” He planted his feet onto your bed and thrust upwards, hitting that one spot inside you he knew made your brain turn into TV static. “Thaaaaat’s it. That’s my girl.” He cooed as you slumped forwards, your mindless babbling only serving to spur him on even more.

You tucked your face into his neck, kissing and licking at his skin like you wanted to swallow him whole. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and pounded into you even deeper. Your soft body trembled against him as you tumbled into your final orgasm of the night, your cunt fluttering around him like it was made for him.

“Dean. Cum inside me.” You managed to gasp out as you rode the last waves of your high. Dean snarled and pushed himself in as deep as he could go as the dam finally broke and he succumbed to his own end. You moaned softly at the feeling of his cum filling you up. 

Dean relaxed back down into the mattress, your body a comfortable weight on top of his, easing away the pain inside him. He ran his hand down the length of your back, coming to rest on the gentle swell of your ass. “You good sweetheart?”

A quiet giggle vibrated through your chest. “I think I saw god, I am more than good Deanie.”

He rolled his eyes as he guided you to lay down next to him, his softening cock slipping from your warm walls. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“How many times have I told you not to wear your boots in the house?” You retorted with a jab to his ribs, quickly followed by a loving kiss against his lips. His heart skipped a beat as he wrapped a strong arm around your thick waist, pressing deeper into the kiss. You let out a pleased sound that made his spent cock twitch in interest.

But all too soon, you pulled away and laid your head down on his shoulder.

It felt so domestic, so real. If he just shut his eyes he could almost imagine that this was your shared home; a place for him to just be without the worry of saving the world or protecting Sammy, that maybe he could have a lawn to mow and tedious chores that he would be happy to do for you. He wished he could wake up in this bed every day instead of once or twice in a blue moon when hunting had dried up or he needed more supplies from your shop for hunters.

“Do you remember the day we met?” His voice echoed through the small bedroom, soaking into the old wallpaper that you refused to let him replace, claiming that it was just fine the way it was.

You hummed and glanced up at him, your eyes still hazy from an entire afternoon of ‘I missed you but I’m not going to say it out loud’ sex. Dean cupped your full cheek.

“‘Course I do. You broke into my shop at 4 in the morning and I almost shot you.”

“We still need to work on that aim of yours sweetheart.” You scoffed but snuggled closer to him, the sweet smell of your skin almost getting overwhelming. Your fingers traced over the scars along his torso, never flinching away or touching them like you wished they weren’t there in the first place. You were mapping out the story of him without question or hesitation.

“Yeah well why would I need to do that if I have you here to protect me?” You said it like it was a fact, that you never doubted he would come to your rescue at a moment's notice. “I’ve got Dean Winchester in my bed, I’m the safest girl in the world.”

His breath caught but before you could notice, he gave you that smirk that got him there in the first place and drawled out a low: “Yeah you do sweetheart.” You visibly flustered, burying your face into his arm to escape the heat of his gaze. 

“You’re always so mean to me.” His laugh bounced your head up and down. You began to giggle, unable to help yourself, and slid your arm beneath his back so you could wrap your body around him. Electricity followed your touch, his nerves sparking to life like the feeling of stepping out from the darkness into the sun.

God I love her.

The thought slammed into his chest, briefly knocking the air from his lungs. He expected a sense of panic, maybe dread, but all he felt was a sense of calm that settled against his soul. Dean just pulled you tighter against him and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. You returned it with a soft peck right above his heart.

He didn’t want to run from this, not this time. You were everything to him and he wanted to stay right here, even if he knew he didn’t deserve it. Your breathing evened out as you succumbed to some much-needed sleep.

Maybe staying another few days wouldn’t be so bad, Sammy kept telling him he needed a vacation.

Sam- When you were kind to him even after he broke your heart

Sam’s voice had gone hoarse over an hour ago but they still hadn’t let him out. He knew that they wouldn’t but still he had begged and pleaded, even succumbed to tears yet there was no answer from outside the heavy iron door. 

He slumped back against the cot in the centre of the room, the sharp metal scraped against his back but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt in every waking moment. The cold concrete beneath him did nothing to soothe the burning inside of him. 

“Please.” The word was barely even audible, escaping his lungs with little more than a whimper. Sam let his head fall back onto the thin mattress.

As soon as the door was slammed shut, all he felt was blinding rage. Didn’t they understand why he was doing this? The blood gave him the power they needed to help people! But when hours had passed without so much as a hint that they even heard him, the anger melted away into a sort of numbness. Dean and Bobby had tricked him into this, you had tricked him.

It was your face that he saw last as the door was shut. Your lips were pulled downwards, your eyes rimmed with red, your shoulders slumped. You had looked like you were in mourning. Guilt curled in his stomach, just like every other time he looked at you since the day he left for Stanford. But this time, the sour taste of betrayal filled his mouth like bile.

You were turning your back on him, siding with his brother when all he wanted to do was to make the world safer, for you. 

Sam forced himself to take a deep breath, even as his body screamed with the ache of movement. The air was stale and settled heavily onto his chest but he was grateful to feel it, he was grateful to feel anything besides the searing pain of his nerves. This was the first break from the hallucinations he’d had in days, or weeks, time, just like everything else, had no meaning within the iron walls that enclosed him.

The cotton of his shirt felt like it was rubbing his sensitive skin raw but to take it off meant moving and he was far too tired to withstand the pain anymore. His head turned, letting the right half of his face press into the cot. The single flat sheet on the bed smelt of the flowery laundry detergent that you always used, it made something inside of him twist sickeningly.

A single tear slipped down his cheek.

“Sam?” His eyes squeezed shut.

“Please not again. Please don’t hurt me again.” He begged with broken words. He cringed at the sound of metal scraping against concrete. He couldn’t do it again, he wouldn’t fight it. Sam was going to let the pain take him.

Soft footsteps drew closer. He braced himself for the first strike. Would it be the sharp pinch of a scalpel or the burn of a propane torch? Or would it be the voices of people he loved reminding him of just how tainted he was? How evil? 

He whimpered as they stopped right beside him. There was a beat, then two, then the gentle whoosh of air as someone kneeled down beside him. 

“Sam.” Your voice washed over him like a gentle breeze, easing the stiffness in his bones. “Sam? Can you look at me?” He wanted to say no, to yell at you to get out and leave him alone like you did when you first locked him in here but the exhaustion in your tone made him crack open one of his eyes.

You sat on your knees mere inches from him, letting him see you in stark detail. One of his flannels hung from your shoulders partially concealing the form-fitting tank top you wore beneath it. Normally, his heart would have skipped a beat seeing you wear his clothes, but now it only reminded him of why you stopped. Bruise-like dark bags marred your full cheeks, your eyes blood-shot.

“Oh Sammy. I-“ Your voice cracked. You reached for him but quickly thought better of it, your hand dropped back down to your side where there was a bucket of water now on the ground. “You know you can’t come out yet but I thought you might like to clean up a bit, maybe eat something that isn’t dried or jerkied.” 

Sam opened his other eye but made no other efforts to move. You sighed, your shoulders dropping as you sat back on your heels. “Will you let me wash your hair and change your clothes at least? I bought the softest ones I could find and even washed them in the fabric softener Dean keeps secretly buying.” Your lips quirked up, attempting some sort of reaction from him.

You looked so worn out, Sam wondered if you had sat right outside the door waiting for him to stop screaming. His head bobbed and the hardness in your gaze eased. “Thank you. I’ll be as gentle as I can, squeeze my leg if you want me to stop.”

He bit back a whimper as you guided him to the floor. His broad shoulders rested across your plump thighs, letting his head hang above the floor. You kept one hand beneath his neck, taking far more of his weight than he would be willing to admit, and reached for the small plastic cup floating at the top of the bucket. 

His fingers curled around your knee, his short nails digging into the denim as you poured a cup full of hot water over the crown of his head. You paused for a moment but continued when Sam loosened his grip. 

As you placed the cup to the side and retrieved a small bottle of fragrance-free shampoo, he let his eyes shut once more, this time, his mind wandering to the last time the two of you had spoken.

It had been in the days after Dean died. You refused to break down in the face of losing your best friend, the man that taught you to drive, to throw a proper punch. You wanted to stay strong for Sam and for Bobby but Sam knew it wouldn’t last long. 

You had been slowly, methodically cleaning Baby, just like Dean taught you to when the younger Winchester approached you with a bowed head and a duffle bag on his shoulder. Just like the day he left for college.

You didn’t wait for his excuses.

“You’re leaving?” You said but it didn’t sound like you, not really. Sam didn’t answer and you scoffed, throwing the sponge you’d been using onto the dusty driveway. “Just like that, running off days after-“ Your breath caught but you swallowed down your tears, “What are you planning, Sam? You know selling your soul won’t work, we’ve already tried that.”

Sam huffed and pulled the strap of the bag higher on his shoulder. “I’ve got a friend who might know a way to get him back.”

He should’ve seen the way your back straightened as your body went stiff. “A ‘friend’?”

“She knows a lot about hell and right now I’ll try anything to bring him back.” And then he did something truly stupid. “Unlike you.” 

Silence crashed down around you like a falling building, immediately filling the air with a tension so thick Sam could almost choke on it. He watched your shoulders draw up, your hackles raised before your chest expanded fully and you exhaled through your nose.

“Then I won’t stop you. I trust you Sam but I don’t trust Ruby and I won’t be around forever to fix up your messes, not anymore. I’m worth a hell of a lot more than just being the girl you always leave behind but keep running back to.” You fished Baby’s keys from your front pocket, tossing them at Sam as you passed.

“Ruby’s dead.”

“Is she?” You shot him a look before opening Bobby’s front door. “Don’t get yourself killed. Lose my number.” The door slammed behind you and suddenly Sam felt like he was making the wrong decision, again.

You ran a hand through his hair, letting the shampoo run through your fingers as you carefully washed it away with the lukewarm water and with it, you washed away his pain. He turned his head into your hand, soaking up every ounce of touch you were willing to give him. It’d been so long since he had felt anything other than lust or hurt pressed to his body. 

You refused to meet his gaze, not that he could blame you after everything he had done, but he wanted so badly to look into those perfect e/c’s even just one more time. To feel that peace and acceptance that had always swirled within the deep colour of your irises. 

Suddenly, all Sam wanted to do was curl up in your lap and cry. He’d spent so many years taking your warmth for granted and now, after months of being denied even a sliver of your presence, he couldn’t imagine ever being away from you again. He wanted to prove to you that you were worth staying for, you were worth everything to him, but all he could do was let you care for him with hesitant hands.

He loved you, he always had, even when he was trying to run away from his life, even as he fell in love with someone else. It was you that kept him from falling into that well of darkness that would be so easy to slip into. You with your sass and your gentleness, your softness and your bite, your laughter and your grief. He loved you.

But how could you ever love him back?

Castiel- When you made him remember why he loved humanity in the first place

It was the sound of crying that drew Castiel to the playground across the street from the motel you had been camped out at. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sound to the angel given his age and how many prayers he’d heard throughout his existence, but the pitch was so high, so truly filled with fear that he didn’t hesitate to follow it.

“Angel? Where are you going?” He glanced back at you as you were pulling on your boots.

“There’s crying.” He said simply before descending the concrete steps to the ground floor. You let out a noise like a scoff and scrambled after him, barely grabbing the room key and your hunting knife before the heavy door slammed shut.

“Cas!” His pace didn’t falter as the crying picked up in intensity but he was confident you were following close behind him. His blue eyes flicked over the colourful plastic structures, expecting some siren or ghost to pop out at him. The weight of the angle blade against his forearm and your steady footsteps behind him reminded Castiel that he would not fight this battle alone.

He slowly rounded the bright yellow twisty slide just as you skidded to a halt a step behind him. Thankfully, you remained silent, a palm pressed to his back to remind him that you had him covered. The crying was louder now, though it did not sound like it was from any creature he had encountered before. 

There was a shadow at the edge of the monkey bars. Castiel’s blade dropped silently from his sleeve, sliding perfectly into his grip. He took a single stride forwards, ready to attack before it could when your fingers suddenly snagged the back of his trenchcoat.

“It’s a kid.” You breathed, he imagined it was out of relief but your human emotions always confused him. You slid the knife into the sheath you kept at the small of your back, tugging down your shirt so it was completely hidden as you cautiously approached the small figure curled up in the wood chips.

“Hi sweetie, are you ok?” Your voice dripped with sweetness, like he remembered syrup to taste like. You leaned forwards, your shoulders dropped as low as they could go.

The crying stopped but small hiccups still echoed through the maze of playground structures. The sun had been steadily setting and now sat just above the horizon, the darkness creeping in. 

Castiel watched closely as you squatted a foot away from the child, a soft smile on your face. “Are you lost?” The child finally looked up, their eyes wide and sparkling with tears in the low light of the evening. They nodded.

“Can we help you find your parents?” Their nodding got quicker and they reached out their arms to you. Your smile grew wider as you stood up, easily pulling them up and resting them on your wide hip. You turned back to face Castiel, a hand rubbing up and down the child’s back.

They must’ve been only 4 or 5 and wearing an outfit that was far from appropriate for the dropping temperature. “We’re going to go to the police station, I bet your parents are waiting there for you.” They looked up at you, still silent, but now clinging to your t-shirt in a way that made Castiel’s heart inexplicably skip a beat.

“This is my friend Cas,” You leaned closer to their little ear and loudly whispered the next part, “He’s an angel.” The child’s eyes widened and their head snapped around to look at him. Cas stepped closer, the child didn’t flinch.

“I am and so is she, that’s how she was able to find you.” He could almost feel the heat from your cheeks even feet away but still the child seemed convinced. 

“Really?” You hiked them up higher on your hip, your arm wrapping tighter around their little body to keep them warm.

“Really really. Now why don’t we get you back home?” They rested their head beneath your jaw and nodded, snuggling closer to your soft body. 

Cas dutifully followed you as you walked out of the park, watching the child bounce with each of your steps. You chattered away about things you were seeing around the street, your voice filling the silence like a white noise machine. Cas could feel the calmness radiating from the child and it warmed something long forgotten inside of him.

You had no duty to this child, nor any other person that you saved and he knew that you would receive no thanks for your actions but yet you still did them. You threw yourself into harm’s way to protect complete strangers from things they could not possibly understand. You had once confided in the angel that you had been pressured into hunting but you had stopped trying to run away from it long ago.

He’d felt anger for you, just the same as he felt for the Winchesters and all the other unfortunate children who never had a choice. He felt angry for himself, at humanity.

But seeing you now, caring for this child like they were your own, Castiel understood why you stayed. You didn’t do it for the glory of saying you saved the world, nor for some duty bestowed to you by your parents, it was because you cared and because you knew what evil was. 

The near empty streets soon gave way to rows of shops and townhouses, leading directly to the lit up police station only a few blocks away. The child started to fidget against you as they began to recognise their surroundings, making you laugh quietly. “I know sweetie! We’re almost there. You’re so close.”

You came to a stop right at the entrance. “You can go right in and tell them your name and that you were lost.” They nodded dutifully while you carefully lowered them to their feet. “Ok sweetie, you were so brave today but make sure you stay with your parents next time.” You ran a hand over their head and stod to your full height.

They looked at you and Castiel before gracing you with a toothy grin. “Thank you nice angels!” Then they threw open the glass door and rushed inside just as two grown ups turned the corner behind the reception desk. They fell to their knees, catching the little one in their arms.

Something warm brushed the side of his hand, making Castiel tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. You took his hand into your own, your eyes shimmering with tears. You didn’t say anything and he found that no words were needed.

Tomorrow, he would tell you how incredible you were, that you were what angels should be and that he was feeling something for you that he never thought he could ever experience. But for right now, he wanted to watch this child reunite with the people that loved them most while the chill of the night and the monsters in it were kept at bay by the brilliance of your soul.

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[aroselaine]

Sweet Dreams

Masterlist, AO3 Cas x AFAB!fem!Reader Word count: 3.9k

Summary: Castiel watches over you as you sleep, but when you seemingly have a nightmare, he reaches into your mind to comfort you. Only it wasn't a nightmare ;) Content: smut !! Making out, Masturbation, Grinding, Oral Sex (f and m receiving), Body Worship, Breast play, p in v sex, cowgirl, cas loses his virginity, language :)

You closed your laptop, letting out a sigh. Sam and Dean had left hours ago, following up on a lead in town, leaving you to research. Usually, this was Sam’s job, but with Castiel in the wind, Dean claimed someone needed to “stay at home base” in case he came back. It was a weak excuse, but after the last hunt, you couldn’t blame him. You let vampires get the jump on you one time, and suddenly you were incapable of working a case.

At least they got me my own room this time, you thought with a chuckle as you looked down at your attire. It was rare to get time alone nowadays, and when it did happen, you liked to take full advantage. The small silk nightgown hugged your frame nicely. No matter how many crappy motel rooms the boys took you to or how many cheap army surplus clothes they surrounded you with, you couldn’t help but love an expensive pair of pajamas. It was your own guilty pleasure.

Deciding you’d done enough research for the night, you stood up and walked to the bathroom. Leaning down, you splashed water on your face. Distracted, you missed the flutter of wings, and when you stood up straight, looking in the mirror, you nearly had a heart attack.

“Cas!” you gasped, placing a hand over your heart. Turning around, you were met with the angel, his crystal blue eyes locked on you. “You scared me!” you exclaimed, walking out of the bathroom.

“I apologize,” he said gruffly, following you into the cramped room. You sat on the bed, watching as he took a place in the corner, standing stiffly.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were busy in Heaven,” you asked, crossing your legs. His eyes followed your movement, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks turned a shade pinker than usual.

“Cas?” you spoke again, watching as his eyes finally came back to your face. He cleared his throat.

“Right, my business in Heaven has concluded,” he paused, “I thought I would check in on you.”

“Check in on me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. He only nodded in response.

You stood up, walking over to him. “Is something wrong, Cas?” Concern filled your voice as you brought a hand up to his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, ignoring your question.

Up close, you could see his pink cheeks, his uneven breath, and feel his clammy skin under your palm. If you hadn’t known better, you’d think he was sick. But Cas had told you a long time ago that angels didn’t get sick.

Removing your hand, you watched as his eyes opened slowly. His mouth opened and closed like he didn’t know what to say.

“Castiel?” You said his name softly.

“I think I need to speak with Dean,” he finally spoke, his voice quiet.

Your brows furrowed. “Is it something I can help with?”

He shook his head quickly, stepping away from you and pressing himself against the wall. You took a step back as well, deciding that if Cas wasn’t going to tell you, you wouldn’t pry.

You looked away and turned your attention to the TV, nibbling on your bottom lip. It was a bad habit you’d picked up over the years.

Feeling his eyes on you, you turned back to Cas. “Want to watch a movie?” you asked.

He nodded once, staying quiet. You turned off the lights and climbed into bed, getting cozy under the covers. Realizing he hadn’t moved, you patted the spot next to you, giving him a soft smile.

You grabbed the remote and began flicking through the channels. You heard his footsteps on the carpet as he approached the bed. You listened as he removed his trench coat and shoes, then expertly undid the top buttons of his collared shirt. You felt your cheeks heat up and quickly looked back at the TV.

Despite knowing he could never feel the same way, you couldn’t help the crush you harbored for the angel. It wasn’t your fault he was so beautiful, so sweet.

You felt the bed dip as he sat next to you, and you fought the urge to look at him. Finally, you landed on How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Rom-coms were a guilty pleasure for both you and Castiel, surprisingly.

“This is one of my favorites,” you said quietly. He hummed in response but said nothing.

You fell into a comfortable silence, watching the movie together. You felt his eyes on you occasionally but did nothing, keeping your own gaze fixed on the screen.

When you were sure he was distracted by the movie, you caved and looked at him. Your breath hitched. The light from the TV illuminated his face, making his skin seem to glow.

Your eyes wandered, taking in his casual appearance. The undone buttons of his shirt gave you a glimpse of his chest, revealing a build you hadn’t realized he had under all those layers. He looked ethereal. And he was in your motel bed.

You bit your bottom lip and looked away. Relax, you told yourself. This wasn’t the first man in your bed, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Letting out a deep sigh, you sank further into the pillow. You could feel yourself getting drowsy. You turned on your side to face Castiel.

“Cas?” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. “I’m going to sleep now.”

He turned to look at you. “Do you want me to go?” His voice sounded deeper than usual.

You thought for a moment. “No, you can stay if you want.”

He nodded once. “Sweet dreams,” he said quietly, turning his attention back to the TV.

You tried to stay awake, just to sneak glances at the angel lying next to you. But you were only so strong, and it wasn’t long before the world went dark.

Castiel watched as your eyes fluttered shut and your breathing evened out. He was surprised you had asked him to stay. From what little experience he had with humans, he found most were uncomfortable being watched in such a vulnerable state. Dean had strictly forbidden him from watching him and Sam sleep, calling him creepy on multiple occasions. Which was a shame, as Castiel rather liked watching over his friends. They were so much more peaceful while asleep.

His thoughts stuttered to a stop as you shifted closer to him in your sleep, most likely seeking warmth in your unconscious state. He felt his heart speed up like it had earlier. Letting his instincts guide him, he shifted, putting his arm above you on the pillow, giving you space to move. A few minutes later, you had maneuvered yourself onto his chest.

It felt wrong to be this close to you. As an angel of the Lord, he shouldn’t be as fond of you as he was. Castiel’s role was to be a guardian to human life—nothing more. But as you snuggled into his chest, those thoughts faded away. He wrapped an arm around you, feeling the soft silk of your nightgown.

In that moment, he knew you were perfect. There had never been, and there would never be, another human like you. Castiel had always admired you—your bravery, intelligence, wit, and all the other good human qualities. He had convinced himself that was why his chest constricted when you were near and why he could hardly think in your presence. But lately, it had gotten worse. Now, when he was around you, Castiel felt lost for words.

Nothing he could come up with felt good enough for your ears. He now understood why humans worshipped false idols. As disturbing as it had been at first, you had become his. And he found himself not caring anymore. It felt right—in a way nothing ever had before. It was what he had wanted to ask Dean about earlier. If it was normal to feel this way.

Soft noises from you pulled him from his thoughts. He felt your heart quicken, your skin growing warmer. You let out a particularly loud groan, and your brows furrowed in a way they only did when you were upset. Worried you were having a nightmare, Castiel reached a hand to your temple and entered your mind, ready to ease your discomfort.

As he entered and moved around in your mind, he found himself back in the motel room, replaying the conversation you two had had earlier. Confused, Castiel continued to watch.

When you put a hand on his forehead, he watched as the dream version of him whimpered, pressing his face into your hand. Castiel felt his cheeks redden. He watched as you moved your palm to the side of dream Castiel’s face, leaning in gently, pressing a passionate kiss to his lips. Your hand slipped downward, taking his growing bulge in your hand and massaging it.

The dream shifted suddenly, becoming blurry. When it finally cleared, Castiel saw the two of you in bed together. You were sitting in his lap, and he watched as his hands went up your nightgown, resting on your ass. Your hands were in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as you kissed him roughly.

Castiel couldn’t help but move closer to the scene. He watched as dream him ripped off your nightgown, revealing all of you. Castiel’s jaw went slack, and his pants grew increasingly uncomfortable. Your back arched as dream Castiel took your nipple in his mouth and sucked. Dark bruises began to appear as he mouthed over your breasts.

In the back of his mind, he knew this was an invasion of your privacy—that you wouldn’t want him in your mind. But when the dream shifted again, showing you pulled to the edge of the bed with dream Castiel on his knees between your legs, he knew he wasn’t strong enough to leave. He didn’t know much about human intercourse, but this was heavenly.

As Castiel continued to watch, a tightness built in his lower stomach. The feeling in his groin was long past painful, and he groaned. Reaching a hand down, he palmed himself as he had seen you do earlier.

Dream Castiel slid his fingers inside you, and the noise you made had Castiel’s knees buckling, forcing him to sit down on a nearby chair. He watched as you reached down, pressing his head further between your legs, hearing his own muffled whimpers at your actions.

Now moaning himself, he continued rubbing, the tightness building. He didn’t fully understand what he was doing, but God, it felt good. When your back lifted off the bed and you screamed his name, Castiel felt the coil snap. His vision went white as he was pulled out of your mind.

When his eyes opened, he found yours looking back at him. The real you staring up at him. His chest was still heaving, and he could feel the warmth in his pants. Looking down at you, he saw confusion in your eyes, but you weren’t faring much better. Your pupils were blown, and he could feel your heart racing.

Your head ached as you fought to regain consciousness. It was so warm, you thought idly, snuggling into the heat source. Breathing in, your senses filled with the scent of pine, clean laundry, and something undeniably masculine. A distant alarm sounded in the back of your mind, but you were too content to care. As your awareness sharpened, soft groans reached your ears. One particularly loud one had your eyes snapping open.

You looked up and met none other than Castiel’s gaze. Gasping, you scrambled off him, sitting up beside him. Letting your eyes trace over him, you realized he was in quite a state—flushed, breathing heavily, and staring at you in silence. A sharp pang in your head had you groaning as you brought your hands up to massage your temples, struggling to keep up with the moment.

"Cas," you breathed. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. Are you okay?"

He cringed and looked away, suddenly finding the wall much more interesting. Not this time, Castiel. A wave of confidence surged through you as you moved back toward him, swinging a leg over his torso and straddling him. That got his attention. His hands hovered over your hips, not quite touching you.

"What happened, Castiel?" you asked seriously.

He hesitated for a moment, and for the first time, you could have sworn he looked... nervous. "You fell asleep," he finally admitted, his voice quiet as he continued to look past you. "You moved closer to me. You looked—" he paused, "peaceful."

You hummed in response, encouraging him to continue.

"Then you started having a nightmare. I knew I could fix it, so I entered your mind."

You bit your tongue, uneasy at the thought of someone—even Castiel—being inside your head. "Only—" he chose that moment to meet your eyes—"I don’t think it was a nightmare."

Your brows furrowed as you struggled to remember your dream. You had been in the motel room, talking to Cas, and—oh. Your face heated as the pieces fell into place.

Only, Cas wasn’t done talking. "I am still not familiar with human sexual behaviors, but watching your dream, something happened." He hesitated again. "Something in my groin."

Your eyes widened, and you instinctively glanced down—only now noticing the obvious wet spot on his slacks.

"I felt a similar sensation when I first arrived here," he continued, brows furrowed. "It seems I’ve lost control of my vessel."

You clenched your thighs together, struggling to maintain composure. "I see," you murmured. Silently hoping you were reading the situation correctly, you asked, "What do you want to do about it?"

He licked his lips, blue eyes darkening. "I would very much like to continue your dream—if you will have me."

A slow smile spread across your face as you leaned down, savoring the moment. You brought a hand up to cradle his cheek, the other resting on his chest. "Can I kiss you, Castiel?" you whispered, your lips ghosting over his.

"Please," he whimpered, the desperate need in his voice sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

You pressed your lips to his softly, giving him a teasing peck. As you started to pull away—thinking he might want to take things slow—Castiel made it clear he had other plans. In a flash, he wrapped his arms around you, flipped you over, and captured your lips in a searing kiss that left you breathless. You moaned into his mouth, matching his enthusiasm as he devoured you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

When you finally pulled away for air, you gasped, "Cas, where did you learn that?"

His expression was completely serious as he responded, "The pizza man."

A startled giggle escaped you. Before he could kiss you again, you pressed a hand against his chest, stopping him. He looked at you worriedly.

"As much as I want to continue this," you purred, "you are wearing far too many clothes."

Without hesitation, Cas nodded and snapped his fingers. His slacks and dress shirt vanished, leaving him in only his boxers. Your breath hitched. His body was even more perfect than you had imagined—marble-like skin, taut muscles, and a strong, broad chest.

You reached out, letting your hands wander over his skin, and he shuddered beneath your touch. His responsiveness had you dripping with anticipation. You could feel his arousal pressing into your thigh, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with longing.

"As much as I enjoy this," he rasped, "I would really like to touch you now."

Your stomach clenched in excitement. "Please do."

His eyes were wide, as he sat up and gazed over your body appreciatively. Sensing his hesitance, you decided to help. Grabbing his hands, you put them on your breasts, watching as he let out a deep breath. He began kneading them in his hands and you moaned as he experimentally squeezed your nipple. 

You let him massage you over your nightgown, silently pleading in your head for him to just take it off. No sooner than the thought had entered your mind, Castiel grabbed the top of your nightgown and ripped it as effortlessly as he had in your dream, finally exposing your breasts to him. 

You let out pornographic moans as Castiel began working you over. Sucking and nipping and kneading at your breasts until they began turning purple. His muffled noises drenching your panties. 

“Show me” he moaned into you, kissing your breasts, “show me what you want”. 

Your cheeks were red as the scene from your dream played over in your mind. At that moment you wanted nothing more than to see him between your legs. 

“I see,” he spoke into your skin, reading your mind. 

“You don’t have to.” you replied anxiously, staring at the ceiling. 

At that he lifted off of you, rising up and gently guiding you to meet his eyes. “I want nothing more than to worship you” he spoke deeply, causing you to shudder. 

He kissed you gently, before moving down. He placed kisses from your collarbone, to your breasts, and to your stomach before moving past where you wanted him. He kissed your thighs and you shook with anticipation. You watched with bated breath as he spread your legs, revealing your need. His eyes were almost black as he snapped his fingers, your panties disappearing. And without warning , he touched your center, causing you to fling a hand to your mouth to hide your ridiculously needy moan. 

Castiel explored, running a finger through your slit. You could see how focused he was, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

When he reached your clit, you bucked into his hand, causing his lip to upturn with pride. 

“Castiel” you whined, unable to take your eyes off of him. 

Hearing your prayers, Cas finally granted your wish, moving his mouth to your core and sucking. Hard.

You gasped and moaned as his mouth moved over you, it was nothing like you had ever felt before. Not for the first time that night you wondered, where he had learned this.

“You're doing so well, baby," you praised, reaching a hand down to grab his hair, causing him to whine loudly into your pussy.

Interesting.

Feeling the vibrations of his moans against you and the scruff of his 5 o'clock shadow on your thighs, your release came fast and soon you were arching into his mouth, screaming his name as you came. 

It took you a few moments to calm down enough to speak as Castiel continued to lick at you gently, prolonging your high. 

Soon enough you reached down to his hair and guided him up to you, pulling him into a kiss. You felt the wetness on his face as you tasted yourself on his tongue. 

“Your turn” you spoke seductively as you pulled away, causing Cas to look away shyly. “That may not be necessary,” he said, causing you to look down between you. 

Oh my god. 

His boxers were wet with cum as he hovered over you; apparently he got off on eating you out.

You smiled, reaching a hand to caress his face, watching as he visibly relaxed at your touch. “Castiel, that is the hottest thing I have ever seen”, you told him honestly, feeling against your thigh as his dick came back up to attention. 

Apparently angels didn’t need downtime. 

His jaw went slack as you moved your hand up into his hair, scratching at his scalp and hearing him moan as you gently tugged. 

Deciding it was your turn to please him, you guided him to lay back and resumed your position on top of him, now pressing your groin into his. His boxers being the only thing separating the two of you. You rolled your hips teasingly, causing Cas to grab your hips tight enough to leave a bruise. 

You bent down, kissing his neck until you hit the one spot that had him throwing his head back into the pillows. You fixated there, sucking and nipping at the skin until Castiel was shaking with restraint underneath you. 

“Please,” he moaned, watching you through hooded eyes. 

Taking pity on the poor angel, you trailed kisses down his skin until your lips met his waistband. Meeting his eyes one more time, he nodded with silent confirmation and you pulled them down, watching as his cock sprung up, slapping his stomach. It was pink, long, and impressively thick. 

Even his cock was perfect, you thought absentmindedly. 

Castiel’s groans brought you out of your thoughts. He was painfully hard and had more than earned this. 

You spit on your hand and wrapped it around his cock, causing him to let out a hiss from the sensitivity. 

You worked him slowly, moving up and down a few times before leaning over and taking as much of him as you could into your mouth. 

Castiel let out a sinful moan, a string of enochian words coming from his mouth as you began bobbing your head up down, focusing your attention on the head and jerking off what you couldn’t fit. It wasn’t long before his abdomen tensed and he was pulling you off of him. 

Releasing with a pop, you looked up at him confused. 

“I want to finish inside you.” he spoke breathlessly. 

You bit your lip, climbing back on top of him. Reaching down, you grabbed his cock and lined him up. You were impatient and you could tell Cas was too. When you felt his tip catch your entrance, you sank down slowly. Feeling each inch as he stretched you, a pleasant ache in your lower stomach grew as you reached his base. 

You looked at Cas to see his mouth open and eyes shut, his head thrown back in pleasure. Shakily letting out a breath, you moved your hands to his shoulders, lifting yourself up until he was almost entirely out of you, before slamming back down. 

“Fu–ck,” Cas drew out, causing you to squeeze him in response. More desperate noises spewed from the angel as you felt yourself pulse around him. That was the first time you heard him swear and damn did you want to hear more. 

Catching his breath, Cas brought his hands to grip your waist as you began bouncing on his cock. Loud moans came out of both of you as you chased your high. 

You rode him until the ache in your thighs was too much to bear. You paused, praying to him silently to finish what you started. 

Castiel let out a feral noise as he read your mind. More than happy to take the lead, he held you still and thrusted up into you as he sputtered in enochian. 

“G geh ol madriax.” he moaned, “Ol trian forever boaluahe g.”  

His voice had you barreling towards your second orgasm. It wasn’t long before you felt the familiar pressure in your lower abdomen.

 “Castiel I’m gonna cum,” you let out pathetically as he fucked up into you. “Me too,” he groaned, as his thrusts became more sporadic. You felt yourself crest over and cried out his name as you came. Castiel wasn’t far behind you, a few more thrusts and he tensed, moaning as you felt his hot cum pour inside of you. 

Spent, you collapsed on top of him as you both caught your breath. A few moments passed as Castiel rubbed your back and played with your hair. 

“Thank you,” he spoke quietly, breaking the silence. 

You smiled into his chest, sighing happily, “No, thank you Cas.”

[take-it-on-the-run]

And I Love Her

Sam Winchester x Reader

The reader and Dean are being tortured by Gordon Walker because of her relationship with Sam, and all they can do is hope he'll get there in time.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Torture, graphic depictions of being cut into, descriptions of gore and severe bodily harm, Sam Winchester is out of character depending on who you ask

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Dean Winchester, Gordon Walker

@ghostlyaccurate requested: "Hii! Can I request a Dean and/or Sam Winchester (sepperate) x fem! Reader set in season two, with an established relationship, where it's like when Gordon kidnaps Dean, but instead of just Dean he also kidnaps reader. (I can imagine if it's a Dean x reader Gordon uses reader to get Dean to not try anything, and if it's a Sam x reader Sam just going even more ballistic than he originally does in the show). Thank you!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Beatles title. My first Sam fic! Honestly, it was really hard writing this one for some reason, and after five revisions I'm still not completely in love with it. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, and heed the warnings! Do not read if this will make you uncomfortable!

Sam Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Gordon stared blankly at the wall in front of him while you tugged at the ropes on your wrists. A bandana was tied tightly around your mouth that tasted like dirt and your own blood. Dean was tied up to the left of you in a similar state, and both of you were staring down Gordon like it would kill him.

Traps lined every entrance from the doors to every small crack in the wall. Sam was powerful, but you doubted he could break through solid brick. Grenades, tripwire, even a shotgun trap that looked like something straight out of a movie; Gordon wanted Sam dead at all costs.

You knew your boyfriend would come to you and Dean’s rescue, but damn was this cutting it close. Gordon had already tried his best with Dean, but when it was your turn, he took his sweet-ass time.

He punched you, kicked you, even spit on you. Now, you tried your best to not scream as he dragged a knife against the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder.

You failed.

Biting down on the bandana, a muffled scream ripped through your lungs. You tried focusing on Dean, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes which were spilling over with more tears than you thought were in your body.

You could feel your blood dripping down your back and your chest, slithering its way to the floor as Gordon wiped his blade with the rag in his back pocket. He wrenched your head to the side, forcing the fresh wound close and for more tears to streak down your face.

He repeated his process on you a few times.

Your arms.

Your hands.

Your legs.

Every time somehow hurt more than the last, the hunter pulling open your skin and snapping it back together like a rubber band. Your vision was spotty, but you held steadfast to the thought that your boyfriend would be here any minute to save the day like he always did.

Gordon took a step back, wiping sweat and blood from his face and arms. He looked down at you with a glare that you’ve held plenty of times for the less-than-human creatures in the world. You guessed that, in his eyes, you, Sam, and Dean, were held in a similar regard.

Snaps.

Taunts.

Cracks.

Screams.

All because you fell in love with someone born under a bad sign.

You didn’t regret meeting Sam. Kissing him, falling for him, even the idea of just having him in your life was enough for your mind to justify the situation you were in. It wasn’t his fault you were having your life drained out of you minute by minute, and you hoped he would be smart enough to know that.

“Sam’s going to be here any minute, you know. Gotta convince himself he’s the hero of this story, and I’m the big,” Gordon turned to you, knife in hand, “bad, evil dragon. But I’m not the one with demon blood, am I, Y/N?” He placed the edge of the blade against the bottom of your chin. You could feel the cold steel heavy against your skin, and any sudden move would surely spill even more of your blood.

Dean glared at Gordon, his face shades of purple and blue, which mirrored the pain you felt along your entire body. Gordon dug the knife into the bottom of your chin, piercing your skin ever so slightly, but not enough to fatally wound you. Your mind was trying hard to hold onto the cracks of reality that remained in your vision; the smell of the dingy house you were in, the feeling of the carpet making contact with your boots, anything that wouldn’t send your consciousness reeling over was enough of an anchor for you to hang onto.

Gordon walked away from the two of you, returning to his position of peering out one of the boarded-up windows in wait for Sam. You glanced at Dean, which granted you a glance back from him. His eyes were dry, but they held enough behind them to let you know what he was thinking. Sam was going to burst into this booby-trapped hellhole, and Dean could do nothing but blame himself.

It’s all your fault, really, a thought that smashed through what you knew was the truth said.

This isn’t any of our faults, you told it back, wanting to tell Dean the same. Sam wasn’t to blame for the two of you being taken, and neither of you was at fault for being used as bait; it all landed in the hands of the rogue hunter who deemed himself holier-than-thou.

Though you couldn’t see yourself, you knew you were starting to resemble a bloody pulp more than a human being. Dean could barely look your way for longer than a second, and deep cuts that surged whether you moved or not continued to scrape away at your consciousness.

Gordon disappeared, and as you tried to turn your head to follow him, you felt a burning pain across your chest. Highlighted by a spurt of blood splattering over your thighs, you wanted to vomit. The top of your head started to feel like it was being lifted off from the rest of your skull, and the black spots in your vision connected at the edges of your eyes.

You grunted, head going slack and opening wounds on the back of your neck. Either spit, blood, or bile dripped out of your mouth, but at that moment you didn’t care- the black at the corners of your eyes bled together, and all you could do was limply hope Sam would find you.

You blinked, slowly, noticing light creeping in from the boarded-up windows. The second thing you noticed was the searing pain in your body, coupled with grunting and what you could guess was a well-landed punch.

“Y/N!” Someone called out to you, but you could barely lift your head to meet their voice. The bandana in your mouth was pulled away and hands cupped your face, warming your skin that was ice cold after losing so much blood.

The hands left your face and moved to the ropes at your wrists, cutting them off quickly and placing your arms in your lap. You forced your eyes up high enough to see it was your hero, Sam, standing before you with tears starting to fill his eyes. If your face would’ve let your smile, you would’ve, but every movement flashed the memory of Gordon cutting into you.

Gordon.

“Where’s-” You managed to sputter out through a sore jaw and a severely dry mouth.

“Dead,” Sam answered coldly. For the first time, you noticed his knuckles were a hue of bright purple, complimented with blood splattering up his arm. Sam moved your arms around his neck and picked you up as gently as he could.

“Dean’s already in the car patching himself up. I’m going to try and lay you down in the back seat so we can get to the closest hospital. I left Gordon in the room by the first door, so keep your head to my chest if you don’t want to see him, okay?” He asked softly. The tears that were in his eyes had faded slightly, but you could see the emotions he’d no doubt try to hide later on. Regret, blame, guilt - the more he looked at you, the more you could sense that your battered state was tearing away at his consciousness. You wanted to reach out, hold his face, and tell him you’d be okay, you’d survived worse, that it wasn’t his fault, but your thoughts were halted by Sam stepping past Gordon’s body.

If you could call it a body, that is.

His nose was sunken into his face enough that his eyes were slightly popping out of their sockets. His mouth had more gums than teeth, which were scattered around the room. He was lying against a dresser, and his limbs were spread out in the wrong directions. You thought you saw a bone, but before you could look closer, Sam turned and shut the door behind you.

Sam laid you across the back seats of the Impala, trying his best to be gentle with the abhorrent number of cuts across your body. You couldn’t guess how the hospital wasn’t going to ask questions, but you hoped the brothers would figure that out. Your head laid in Sam’s lap, and he looked out the window as Dean buried Gordon.

“Sam,” you slowly moved one of your arms to his face, bringing his attention to you, “thank you. You saved us both. You had to do what you had to do.”

Sam smiled but still didn’t say a word as he dipped down and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You wanted to be able to tell him everything your racing mind was coming up with but were beaten by the overwhelming need to not move. Dean climbed into the front seat, beating the gas pedal to the floor and hitting the highway as Sam ran his fingers comfortingly through your hair.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 1 - Purgatorial

Main Masterlist - Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), angst, very light fluff, mutual pining, time loop!

Summary/Warnings: Something is frighteningly familiar about the day. You feel as if you've done this all before. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: Palm Springs top ten movies of all time. That's not at all what this is but I just wanted to do some non-sponsored promotion of my favorite time loop movie. Enjoy the story!

Word Count: 6.4k

Read on A03! - Chapter 2

You’ve been here before.

You’ve literally been here before.

Staring at the ceiling of your bedroom, a fluffy blanket tangled over your limbs but your bed stripped on its sheets, and Dean loudly singing from the kitchen. 

This is how you woke up yesterday. Or- This is how you woke up in your dream, or simply a while ago in a faded memory, because you remember yesterday but it’s all fogged and clouded, as if some had dragged it through mist and smoothed all its features. The familiarity is eerie, but it could just be the lost haze of whatever was making your head pound and the world spin as you push up on your feet.

You must have been drinking last night. You don’t remember drinking—you don’t remember much, past a haze of Dean voice grunting in your ear something that’s only jumbled noise in your brain—but that could just be a result of the drinking. Cas keeps impossibly strong vodkas in the kitchen, because they were the only thing that gave him a buzz and he likes to be included.

He always stops you from drinking them, when you try to climb on the counter and grab them while no one is looking.

Maybe last night you finally managed to slip past him, and you’re paying the price now. Everything just feels like Déjà vu because your brain is floundering to recover from the night of drinking what Sam had called legally poison. You’ve woken up in your bedroom countless times. Dean sings like that every other morning. This is how most days begin, so it’s probably nothing-

Something clatters and bangs down the hall, and you wince as the sound echoes through the room.

“Son of a bitch!” 

Dean’s shout is a higher pitch than you’ve ever really heard it.

But it’s still oddly familiar. 

And that’s probably nothing.

Pushing out of bed and shuffling down the hall takes more effort than it should, but you’re the room is spinning, and the bunker is filled with fluorescent lights that always seem to flare at the wrong time, and why does Dean always insist on being off key when you know the asshole can sing-

“Morning, sunshine.” Dean looks up at you from the floor, a mess of eggs and bacon on the floor across the kitchen, and you blink at him. 

You’ve seen this before. The pan upside down on the counter, Dean crouching with a rag in his hand, the trash can dragged to his side as he glares at the mess scattered across the tiles. 

“I- uh,” you swallow, everything moving too slow and your words mechanical and slow, because you’re sure you’ve said them before. “I think it’s more like noon?”

“Nah, eleven. Still morning.” Dean points over his shoulder to the sink, and a little bit of egg falls out of his rag. “Can you grab me the cleaner, sweetheart? Gotta clean this up before Sammy gets back from his run and tries to teach me how to use a mop again.”

“What do you say, Winchester?” You cross your arms, raising your brows at him, and that must be familiar because you’ve done it a million times before. And Dean’s always rolled his eyes like that, and you’ve always grinned at how adorably grumpy he can be. This is Deja vu because you live in these moments all the time.

Where Dean’s looking at you, and only you, and he’s glaring but there’s no hatred or real annoyance behind his features. He likes playing this game just as much as you do. 

He doesn’t love it, adore it, live for it every single second of every single day, but he enjoys it. 

And that itself makes these moments ones you replay a million times, because you have no other way to hold him with your hands, so you grab every grin and word by the throat and add it to the mural of Dean that covers your skull.

“Please,” he grunts your name, and there’s a light in his eyes that ignites over your ribs. “Save my ass and get the cleaner.”

“Hm,” you tilt your head at him, pretending that you’re actually thinking about it—you’re already sold, you were sold the moment Dean said can you and it was something that was possible—and hold his gaze just long enough for him to look a little worried, and then you grin. “Okay.”

You step over his arm—supporting him against the counter—to get to the sink, and it brushes against your thigh. Sparks fly over your skin and your blood fills with light for only a second, and then it’s all gone as you keep moving, and Dean stays behind you.

That’s happened before. It happens whenever Dean touches you, but it’s still familiar in a way that’s far too specific. Almost as if he’d hit a raw, open wound. A place he’d already shot and branded you before, and now the contact is twice at strong.

This whole morning feels too familiar. Dean has winked at you a million times before, and you’ve sat on the stool watching him so often it could be classified as an addiction, and the bunker door has always echoed behind Sam when he got back from a run, but this feels like more. Like a polaroid photo stuck in a faded but over saturated color, a snapshot of something you know you’ve seen before.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you.” Sam walks into the kitchen, and you’d already been looking at the door. As if you’d been expecting him. “You look like a keyed car.”

Dean’s head shoots up from beside you, where he’d been grumbling about the gross lack of food in the fridge and glaring at his hand. “Did someone key my fucking car-“

“No, it’s a metaphor-“

“Simile. Not a metaphor.” You hum, shredding the paper towel in your hands into tiny little pieces you—somehow—know won’t be cleaned later. “And he dropped his breakfast.”

Dean scowls. “Fucking frying pan burnt me, I didn’t just drop it-“

“Burnt you?!” You grab Dean’s hand before you can think, turning it over to find a swollen, blistering red mark. “You- Fucking Christ, Dean you need to ice that-“

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m fine-“

“Nah, man.” Sam leans over your shoulder, frowning at Dean’s palm in your hand. “That looks like it’s second degree.“

You swallow, your eyes fixed the mark—long and red and thin, in the shape of the pan’s handle—and you could fucking swear you’d seen it before. He hadn’t even said which hand he’d burned, but you’d grabbed the right one, and this is so strange-

Dean clears his throat, and when you look up he’s rubbing the back of his neck, staring at where you’re still holding him. “I kinda need my hand back. If you’re gonna make me ice the damn thing-“

“I’m not making you do anything.” You mutter, releasing him with a frown. ”But you should-“

“I gonna. I’m goin’ right now.” Dean pushes out of his seat, giving the fridge a longing, rueful look as he passes it. “Sammy, you goin’ out to get food later-“

Sam shakes his head. “I need to clean up, dude, I just ran ten miles-“

“That’s too many miles.” Dean mutters, and you can’t stop looking between them with a slight gape hanging from your mouth. You’ve heard this conversation before. “Gonna pull a hamstring or something-“

“I won’t. You would. But we,” Sam gestures between himself and you, and you stare at him, feeling a little frozen as you mouth along with his next words. “Aren’t made of grease and junk. We’ll be fine.”

Dean scoffs, and you know what he’s going to say as well. “I’m not grease and junk-“

“You were eating bacon.”

“We don’t have anything else, and I don’t hate myself enough to eat your damn rabbit food-“

“Well, that’s why you’d pull a hamstring-“

Dean scowls, and you feel your hands mirror his as he presses the ice to his palm. “I’m not in the mood for your health shit, Sammy, I’m starving and we have nothing-“

“We have Lucky Charms.” You say, and it feels like a cue. Like that’s what you were supposed to say, from some invisible script, at that exact moment. “In the cabinet. And I’m not going on one of your runs, Sam. Stop trying to convince me.”

Sam lets out a long sigh, giving you a disappointed look, and Dean’s grin could power the entire bunker for a year. 

“That’s my girl.” He shoots Sam a smug look, and you swallow.

He’s said that before. It had punched you in the gut in the exact same way, and his smile had been that exact amount of blinding, and you’d felt this electricity in your blood at the same voltage, and-

“I’m gonna call Cas,” your voice is a whisper, and you feel like a tape recorder. You’ve said this before. “We’ll go to the store after I get dressed.”

Sam and Dean nod, and you know exactly what happens next. Dean goes to grab the Lucky Charms, and you’re supposed to giggle when he lets out a loud groan and the lack of “normal” milk in the fridge. You tell him that you’ll get three bottles, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. And then he grumbles about having to use Sammy’s stupid fuckin’ plant milk, and puts his hand on your lower back as he reaches to grab it, and your breath hitches.

He stares at you. You’re supposed to stare back, and get lost in his eyes for a long second—just long enough to burn them like a neon light over your vision—before excusing yourself with soft words. 

You walk past the shower, and Sam’s singing Celine Dion. Your hands tap to the beat before you even pick up on the exact song, because you’ve heard it before. You get dressed and it feels like a costume. What you’re supposed to be wearing. 

Cas is right in front of your door when you open it, and you don’t jump like you usually would. 

You’d known, somehow, that he’d be there.

“I heard we are going shopping.” He tilts his head at you, and you nod slowly, the right words creeping into your throat.

“Yeah, if we don’t, I’m worried Dean will resort to something stupid.”

He may take drastic measures to get bacon. 

“He may take drastic measures to get bacon.” Cas hums, reaching out to hold you by the shoulder. “Have you eaten today?”

You nod slowly. “I had the last apple.”

“I will make sure we land near a bathroom, then.”

You don’t get further warning before the world turns to a blur. Molding and morphing from the bunker hall into the meat isle of a grocery store, and you feel sick, and-

“It should be to your righ-“

You’re stumbling to the bathroom before Cas can finish his sentence, and you always vomit like this after he flies you somewhere, but this is different. There’s a ghosting image over your vision of this exact bile in this exact toilet bowl, and when you shuffle back to Cas, you’re not surprised he’s not where you left him.

And you find him too fast. In the snack isle, scanning over the million Oreo flavors with a frown.

He doesn’t look up as you approach him. You hadn’t expected him to.

“I didn’t mean to wander.” He hums. “I find it fascinating that there are so many varieties of one, simple cookie. Is double stuffed not enough?”

“Not for most people, no.” You point to the Mint Oreos, and they feel like a fucking prop. “These ones aren’t even that good, but that’s never stopped anyone before.”

“Hm.” Cas shrugs, grabbing the Mint Oreos, and you’re pulling out your phone before he can even ask the question. “Do we have a list of our required items?”

“Yeah, I had Sam text me everything.” 

Cas opens his mouth. You cut him off a beat before you were supposed to.

“If I asked Dean, we’d buy half the store.”

Cas nods, and that’s the last Dean will be mentioned until the checkout aisle. You know that. You still can’t tell how you know that, but you do, and all of this still feels like it’s played out before. It’s more than Deja vu. It’s a show. You will stand on your mark, right at Cas’ side, and on cue you’ll make a joke to match his dry comment. You’ll let him buy five bottles of honey, and you’ll talk him into sharing a tub of ice cream with you, and you need to get these apples and not those ones because that’s that the invisible script calls for.

You’re not supposed to speak of anything but food and the pre-set list until it’s time to pay. Then Cas will say-

“You told me the list called for pumpkin pie.”

And you need to respond-

“That’s because Sam is trying to trick Dean into eating healthier.”

“Pumpkin pie is not healthy-“

“It’s healthier than other pies.” You shrug now, and the movement feels mechanical, and Cas is frowning at you.

“Then why is this cherry pie.”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to answer. You have to hum and fidget with your own fingers, until Cas speaks again. 

“You do not wish to try and change him. To make Dean try and be something else.”

Now you have to blink at Cas. “I- I want him to be healthy, I just know he doesn’t like being tricked like that-“

“Because you care for him.”

“Because I know him-“

“And your feelings bar you from engaging in deception against him.” Cas places the pie on the belt, his voice remaining too casual for how your heart is pounding at your chest. “If it is any help, I agree. I do not believe the way for Dean to improve his health is via deception.”

You swallow. “Um-“

“I do believe he would be helped by you being forthcoming about your feelings. It would serve as motivation.”

“I- what?”

“Your romantic and sexual feeling towards Dean-“

The air becomes too thin, but you’d been expecting it. This whole conversation is too heavy in your throat and making your heartbeat like a drum—right out of your chest to spill over the floor, because these words were never supposed to be said aloud, where people could hear them—but you’d been braced for it.

And you have a phantom memory of the same conversation, but you hadn’t been braced. You’re supposed to stumble back and gape at Cas, but you’d been ready.

You’ve done this before, so you were ready.

“I, um, there’s- You haven’t told him, right?” The words are falling out of you at a frantic pace, but it’s still not as fast as they should be. “Cas, don’t tell him-“

“He is not aware.” Cas frowns into the air, watching you carefully as he continues. “But I firmly believe that it would be to both your benefits to have a conversation-“

“No- it’s-“ Long breath. Run your hand through your hair. “It’s complicated. I- please don’t tell him. He can’t know. Please.”

Cas says your name, and his tone is cautious, and your blood is going to leak out of your body. “I am… more perceptive than most. I know you anticipate rejection, but I do not think the conversation would end as you fear-“

“Cas.” You make your voice firm, and shake your head. “Please. Drop it.”

He does. He looks like he’s going to push it, but you relax before he nods and turns back to the shopping belt, because you know he’s going to drop it.

Just like you know he’s going to only make you carry two bags, and will bring you back to the bunker right next to the bathrooms again. 

And you’ll vomit, and he’ll put all the groceries away. And Dean will be in the library when you get there, and he’ll grin at you, and you’ll flush.

“I got you pie.” You whisper, because that’s how you’re supposed to say it. “Cas put it in the fridge.”

His grin widens. “You’re an angel,” he’ll say your name, and you’ve already pulled a blanket over your body to hide the squeeze of your thighs. 

“No,” you return his smile, pulling a book into your lap. “He’s putting the pie away.”

Dean snorts, and it’s a horrible, cheap-shot joke, but it works. You’d known it would work. And Dean will ask what else you got, and you’ll tell him. Sam will come in after exactly three hours, look between you and Dean—pretending to read but mostly just talking and smiling—with a dramatic sigh, and then walk out again. 

“He’s grumpy you’re not falling for his death-traps.” Dean mock whispers, and you giggle.

“I don’t think he cares that much, Dean. They’re just runs-“

“You’re wounding him. Brushing Sammy’s massive ego by calling his runs stupid-“

You hum, giving him a pointed look. “Sam’s massive ego?”

“Uh huh.” A bright joy dancing behind Dean’s eyes as he holds your gaze, and you melt a little into your chair. “Turn a man down enough and he’s gonna start falling apart.”

“I think he’ll recover.” You drawl, and Dean just shrugs.

There’s a long moment of silence here. Dean will break it.

“You still seeing that guy from the city?”

You blink at him. “Huh?”

“The suit and tie asshole, from the bar last month.” Dean frowns at his book. He’s not going to look up at you for the rest of the conversation, and your heart is going to tighten and feel like stone, right here, until at least the end of the day. “Sam said you were out with him last week.”

“Sam is a liar.” You say, and guilt will twist in your gut because Sam’s not a liar. You’re the liar. You had gone to see the Suit from the City, because you’d been cold and lonely in your too-big bed, and Dean had come home the night before with a hickey, and you hadn’t known how else to handle it beside finding an artificial warmth that you’d known wouldn’t last.

Because it wasn’t Dean’s warmth. The only heat that ever lingered was set off by Dean, but it was never enough, and it always faded to something colder than before. Something that had more longing burned and tainted over your skin, that would be harder and harder to replicated and fill with flickering, weak embers.

You don’t know why Dean cares. Why he’s asking at all. You do know that, in about ten minutes, he’ll stand up, grumble that he’s going out, and leave. The slam of the door echoing behind him, and you’ll move to sit in his chair because it’s a simple, easy way to steal a little more of his heat. 

He’ll call you in five hours. His voice will be slurred over the phone, and you won’t understand half of what he’s saying but you’ll know he’s drunk, and shouldn’t drive himself home.

You’ll send Cas to get him. 

And Dean will shove Cas away from him the moment they pop into the bunker, collapsing over you instead.

You’re supposed to stumble back. But you’d been ready for it. Just as you’re ready for him to grab your face between his hands, and say your name like it’s… Something. Anything. More than just your name. 

“You’re- Look at her, Cas-“ His words mold together in your head, and you can’t really hear them because Dean’s touching you, and you’ve never been warmer. “Son a bitch, she’s pretty- I need- gotta tell her-“

He slumps slightly, his head dropping to your shoulder, and you don’t call to Cas for help. That’s not what needs to happen here.

You get to run your hand through Dean’s hair and hear him moan in your ear, and then you get to help him to bed. He’ll keep muttering low praise that you’re going to be stuck thinking about until the day you die, and when you try and put him to bed, he’s going to drag you right down with him. 

“Dean.” You whisper in his ear, and he squeezes you around your waist. Keeping you pressed his chest, and he smells like whiskey and you- 

You don’t know what you’re supposed to say here. 

For the first time all day, this is new. Nothing is familiar, and the world feels too real. Dean is big and strong around you, and you can hear the pound of his heart and feel every flex of his muscles. The world is sharp and bright and violent in your head because suddenly it’s too much, and you don’t know what’s about to happen. 

“Dean.” You repeat, because it’s the only thing you can know for sure. Dean’s here, and he’s—for now—still awake to hear you. “I- You’re holding me really tight-“

“Gotta hold you,” he mutters, hauling you a further up his chest and burying his face in your shoulder. “You’re gonna leave.”

“I-“ You frown, trying to push up on his chest to look at him, but he’s strong. You’re stuck. It’s doing unfair things to your gut and heart, and part of you knows you’re never going to recover from this. From Dean. From him holding you like this, and you not having enough will to fight it, because you crave it more than anything. “I’d never leave, Dean-“

“Good.” He hums, and you can feel his voice. Rumbling in his chest and moving into your ribs, breath fanning right over your ear and making your whole body shiver against him. “Can’t do it… Don’t- you need to be here, baby. Need you.”

“Dean.” He’s talking nonsense. You can’t hold onto this too tight, because he’s drunk and talking nonsense. You still can’t push away. “You need sleep.”

He hums, and his words are barely a breath. “Need you. Better than sleep. Love you more than sleep.”

The first snore tears through the room, and you can’t think. You can only hear Dean, over and over and over. Love. He said love. Dean said he loves you and he’s still here and love, why would he say love and then just fucking fall asleep, why would he say love at all-

Everything fades to black, and the last thought you have before a light seems to turn off far in the distance is just an echo of Dean’s voice, saying love.

———

You’ve been here before.

You’ve literally been-

Fuck.

The ceiling. Th blanket. No sheets and no memory of how they vanished.

Dean hits a horrible, off-key high note, you sit up with a start, and this can’t be right. Or good. Or logical.

But you’ve been here before. Twice.

And it’s not a dream or show or sense of Deja vu. 

It’s real. It’s happening again. And when you take a long, deep breath and dig your nails into your arms to make sure you’re still alive, you count down from three and-

“Son of a bitch!”

You almost vault out of the bed, discarding the blanket on the floor as you sprint down the bunker hall, slamming your gut into the counter as you skid to a stop.

“Fuckin’-“ Dean shouts your name, and a second clatter echoes through the kitchen as you groan. “What the hell are you doing?”

Dean moves to your side in an instant, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep your upright, and you should’ve leaned into him. On any other day you would’ve just whined and molded into Dean’s side, grumbling about Sam’s habit of wiping the floor until they’re practically ice rinks and letting Dean laugh as he took care of you.

But today is not any other day.

Today is yesterday. And—if your horrible, gut twisting feeling is right—the day before as well.

Today you grab Dean’s hand before he can protest, and feel your blood freeze through your body.

There’s a long, thin, bubbling red mark on his palm. When you look around his body to the floor, bacon and eggs are scattered on the tiles. 

Fucking- Fuck-

“You need to ice that.” You mutter, pushing yourself out of Dean’s grip and moving to the freezer. “It’s second degree.”

Dean shakes his head, trialing behind you. “It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m fine-“

“Ice it.” You snap, tossing him an ice pack with a firm glare. “And there’s Lucky Charms in the cabinet. Eat that while I clean.”

Dean looks between you and the ice pack, slowing pressing it to his palm as he watches you march to grab the mop. “You feeling okay? You’re- you seem a bit, I dunno, touchy-“

“I’m feel great.” Your voice is flat. Drained. You feel mechanical, as if you’re drifting through every motion, and that doesn’t feel like it will bode well for the future. “There’s no milk in the fridge.”

“You sound great.” Dean drawls, still only a few paces behind you. “And I saw milk in there before you busted in, we’re good-“

“It’s Sam’s milk.”

“No, it’s-“ You hear the fridge door open, and Dean cuts himself off with a groan. “Son a bitch-“

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you move back to the mess on the floor. “I’m going shopping with Cas later. After I clean this up and get dressed.”

He nods, and you clean, and this is a little different. Maybe you just needed to realize what was happening, and it will all be a horrible dream. 

Maybe you’ll scrape the last eggshells into the trash, and sit down next to Dean as he eats all the marshmallows in his cereal, and it’ll all be okay-

Dean gives you a wide grin, and places his good hand on your thigh. Right where he’d brushed against you before. Sparks. Sunlight in your blood. Raw and wired and beautiful right to the point of pain, just like before.

“You’re an angel, sweetheart, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you offer him a weak smile in return, and he takes a long, deep breath.

“I mean it. You’re- I mean- Son of a bitch. Never mind.”

Dean glares back to your cereal, his brows drawn and jaw clenched. Something’s off. This whole thing is off, but you still know Dean, and something’s off with him.

“Dean-“

“Dude, what’s wrong with you.” Sam walks into the kitchen. This whole thing feels like a crude, poorly crafted joke. “You look like a keyed car.”

Dean’s head shoots up from beside you. “Did someone key my fucking car-“

“No, it’s a-“

“Simile.” You whisper. You’re going to throw up. “It’s not a metaphor, Sam. It’s a simile. And Dean burnt his breakfast and his hand, but he’s icing it. You should go shower, you just ran ten miles.”

“I, uh-“ Sam blinks at you. “That was the plan, yeah. Are you feeling alright?”

You nod, and Dean makes a face in Sam’s direction.

“Course she’s alright, you didn’t force her on one of those stupid runs-“

“They’re not stupid, dude. Movement is good for the body-“

“Not if you pull a hamstring-“

“I’ve never pulled a hamstring. Neither has she. You would, but we,” Sam gestures between himself and you, and you cut him off with a choked whisper.

“Aren’t made of grease and junk. We’ll be fine.”

Dean shoots you a glare. “I am not grease and junk-“

Sam snorts. “You were eating bacon.”

“We don’t have anything else, and I don’t hate myself enough to eat your damn rabbit food-“

“Well, that’s why you’d pull a hamstring-“

“I have to go call Cas!” You half scream, shooting up out of your chair. “And I’m not doing a run, Sam. And Dean’s getting cherry pie, not pecan.”

Dean grins at you. “Awesome. Suck on that, Health Boy.”

Sam grunts, mostly just frowning at you. “Shut up, dude. Uh,” he scans over your panicked movements, saying your name is a slow, careful tone. “Are you sure you’re good-“

“Yeah! Just gotta- Cas. Pie.”

You scramble out of the kitchen, and behind you Dean chuckles, his words still somehow audible over your heartbeat.

“That’s my girl. Priorities, Sammy. Priorities.”

It’s amazing you stay on your feet. It’s amazing you get changed, and open the door, and manage to not scream at Cas for help the moment you see him.

You’d still eaten the apple. You still vomit when you reach the store, and everything falls in a disgusting, perfectly places picture of yesterday, and you find Cas staring at the Oreos.

“Double-stuffed isn’t enough.” You say, and he turns to you with a frown.

“I- That is exactly what I was wondering.” He nods over your shoulder. “What about Mint?”

“They taste like shit. I have a list, and we can get five bottles of honey.” You take a deep, shaking breath, watching Cas carefully. “Is anything- I don’t know do you sense anything that’s wrong? With the world?”

“Many things are wrong with the world,” he shrugs. “The phenomenon humans have named ‘climate change’ is about 236% worse than your scientist believe, there are an uncountable amount of living creatures in imminent peril at this very second, and the washer in the bunker laundry room is jammed with sheets-“

“No, I know,” you shake your head, fidgeting with your fingers as you frown around the aisle. “You’re just more perceptive than most, and I was wondering if you’d noticed things being- I- Just off-“

Cas frowns at you. “Is this about you and Dean?” 

“I- no-“

“Sorry.” Cas tilts his head at you, his voice dropping slightly. “I did not mean to overstep. I am simply aware of your… complex feelings for him, and believe that it would be to both your benefits to have a conversation-“

If this is a part of every loop, you’re going to shoot yourself in the head.

“I don’t want to talk about this.” You snap, pulling out your phone and shoving it into Cas’ hands. “I’ll get the frozen and produce, you get the rest, and I’ll meet you at check-out.”

You’re being a bitch. Guilt twists in your gut and crawls over your skin, because Cas was just trying to help and you’re being a bitch, but your skull feels like it’s teetering on your spine and the smallest nudge will make everything topple. Something is so very wrong but no one else can see it. Cas had been the check, the only person you had on call who would’ve been able to tell you that you weren’t just going mad, but nothing was abnormally wrong.

Everything is stuck on a scratchy, slightly shifting repeat, but nothing’s wrong. 

You vomit when you return to the bunker, and Cas puts everything away. Dean is in the library, but he gets up the moment you enter this time, clapping his hands and grinning like a child about the pie he already knows is in the kitchen. He returns with a plate, drops back in his chair, and both of you pretend to read. Sam comes in after three hours, then leaves. You joke about hurting Sam’s ego, and nothing feels like you’re doing it. It’s like you’re a puppet.

Dean mentions the Suit from the City, and you still don’t understand the switch that seems to flip inside of him, and he storms out. 

You try to busy yourself. You find your sheets and make your bed, you find Cas and apologize for being, tense, but he doesn’t seem that bothered.

He brings up your feelings for Dean again.

You manage to escape the conversation when Dean calls you right on time, slurring and drunk and not safe to drive.

Cas volunteers to go get him.

You go yourself instead.

Dean shouts your name, a wide, boyish grin on his face the moment his eyes land on yours.

“This is-“ He burps, slinging his arms over your shoulders and pulling you right into his side, speaking to no one but the air and inanimate bar. “She’s the one. You’re- Shit, you’re so fuckin’-“

“Pretty.” You give the bartender an apologetic look, letting Dean keep himself upright as you pull out your wallet. “How much does he owe you?”

Dean hums in your ear, his fingers running through your hair as you settle his tab. “More than pretty, baby- I gotta- needed to tell you something-“

“I know, Dean.” You sigh, wrapping your arm around his waist and guiding him to the door. “C’mon, let’s go home-“

“Already home,” he mutters, burying his face in your shoulder. “Got you. Need you. That was- son of a bitch, is the room spinning for you too?“

“No, it’s not.”

“Then why’s is doin’ that.”

He sounds like he’s whining, and you have to bite back the smile on your lips. “It’s because you’re drunk, buddy.”

You can feel his frown on your skin, his body tenses around yours. “Not your buddy- needed to- Can’t just be your buddy-“

He shoves himself up suddenly, and you to try and steady him back against you on pure instinct.

“Dean-“

You’re cut off as his mouth slams into yours, and the whole world turns to only color and the smell and taste of whiskey, and Dean. This isn’t a reputation. This is real, and new, and amazing. His lips are chapped, but they fit so well against yours. He’s walking you back to pin you against the bar wall, and his body is so warm and sturdy, and he’s drunk out of him mind but you know he’d never let anything hurt you. That you’re safe here, being kissed stupid and weak-kneed, and he might regret this in the morning, but when he pulls back from a ragged breath, all you can see is adoration and affection in his eyes. 

“Love you.” He mutters, and it’s the most sober you’ve ever heard him. “So- Fuckin’ hell, I love you so much-“

The fade is starting. Dean’s blurring, but he can’t go yet. 

You yank him back down with a half-whine, he smirks against your lips as the kiss turns open and sloppy and needing, and there it goes. 

The light switches off, and everything turns to black.

The last thing to vanish is the feeling of Dean’s lips, pressed to yours, and the feeling of his groan down your throat. 

———

You’ve been here before.

You don’t wait for Dean’s shout this time before you’re out of bed. You march down the hall, and enter the kitchen right as Dean roars and the pan falls to the ground.

“Hey, you’re-“

“There’s cereal in the cabinet.” You snap. It’s harsher than Dean deserves, but you’re losing your fucking mind and you’ve been here before. “And that’s second degree, Dean. You need to ice it.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m fine-“

“Shut up.” You point to the freezer. “Ice.”

Dean just stares at you. “You feeling okay? You’re- you seem a bit, I dunno, touchy-“

“Ice, Winchester, now.”

You stomp past him to get the mop, and he catches your wrist. 

“Look,” he says your name carefully, and you can see the concern painted over his every feature as he holds your gaze. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything, even if it’s really dumb?”

You swallow, your heart turns to the tight stone hours ahead of schedule.

“Yeah.” You whisper, your voice softer. Weaker. “I know.”

You run a hand through your hair, and sigh. You clean up and Dean eats his marshmallows. It’s all going to be pointless routine until Sam gets back anyway, so you drop next to Dean and eat your apple, and prepare yourself for the spark through a raw wound when Dean places his hand on your thigh. 

“You’re an angel, sweetheart, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Weak smile from you. Deep long breath from Dean.

And something is different on his face this time. More determined.

“I mean it. You’re- I mean-“ He squeezes his hand on your thigh, and looks at you like you’re something priceless. Like you’re going to vanish out of his hold if he’s not careful. 

He doesn’t know just how right he his, and the stone triples in weight.

“Are you-“

“I’m good, I just gotta do this now. Before I-“ He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Needs to be now. Just- I- Shit-“

You know where this is going. It has to be a joke. You don’t want to dread it in the way you’re starting to feel over your bones. “Dean, you don’t have to-“

“I love you.” He blurts, staring at you with a wide, almost frightened expression. “You- don’t say anything, just- I fucking love you, and this never happened, but I needed to say it. And I mean it. So- Just- Yeah. Done.”

Dean looks back to his cereal, his face red and body tensed, and you can’t breathe. You can’t speak. It’s all going too fast, and there’s the light, but you weren’t ready and you can’t go, not yet-

Everything fades to black.

———

You’ve been-

No time.

You scream at Dean to ice his burn as you sprint past the kitchen, and a clatter follows seconds later. You don’t stick around to find out if he listened. 

You fly out of the bunker doors and start running. 

Dean was right. This is fucking hell. You don’t know how Sam does it all the time, but you don’t care because he does it, and it’s a million degrees outside but Sam has to be here somewhere, how can you possibly be missing him, he’s a million fucking feet tall-

Someone shouts your name, and you turn on your heels to see Sam jogging towards you, a deep frown on his face.

“Are you-“

“I’m not- Fuck.” You double over, clutching your stomach through ragged breaths. “Just- gimme a second-“

“What’s wrong?” Sam moves to keep your steady, his brow set in worry as he scans over you. “You’re not hurt, is Dean-“

“Dean’s fine.” You wheeze, shaking your head. “Sam- I- We need to talk. Now.”

End Note: Need a reverse limitless drug to slow down my brain. Enjoy the series!

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[deepdisireslonging]

Bound and Blinded Together

The Winchesters are out on a case, leaving Cas and the Reader to pack up the Bunker’s holiday decorations. Castiel gets a little overwhelmed by the task, but the Reader takes her time in helping him out.

Pairing: Castiel x Winchester!Reader

Warnings/Promises: Dean being uncharacteristically a grinch, holiday angst, plot without point, bad decorations packing, fluff, Smut, bondage with unsafe materials

Word Count: 3300

Note: This turned out surprisingly angsty. Apparently, I needed to get some things off my chest. I also played around with Cas’s Grace abilities in this one. Let me know what you thought with comments and reblogs <3 Happy reading! And Happy New Year!

Your eyes widened, trying to process what Dean just ordered. “What! You can’t be serious?”

He groaned and looked at the floor. “It all needs to come down.” Though it pained him to say it, the Christmas decorations covering the bunker floor to ceiling couldn’t stay up. “Sam and I probably won’t be back till January. And Rowena will be with us by then. We can’t have the Queen of Hell seeing all this.”

With a pout, you crossed your arms. “Why not? She might find it cute.”

Sam glanced at Dean before nodding in agreement. “It’ll kinda undermine what we need to ask her to do. You and Dean did a great job putting everything up, but –” He sighed. “If the place looks childish she might not cooperate.”

It was a load of crap. You knew Rowena had seen the boys at their most childish, and yet she still did everything Sam asked. He didn’t reply when you pointed out as much. But Dean’s jaw was set. So you might as well have been arguing with a brick wall. Not that it stopped you.

“We could probably leave this up year-round! It’s not like anyone can see this from the outside. We’re not the tacky neighbors using our Christmas lights to decorate for Fourth of July.” With a huff, you shot Cas a look, begging him to help you.

He turned to the brothers. “She is correct. The warding on the bunker prevents any beings from knowing what the inside looks like unless we let them in. And Rowena has been here before.”

You resisted the very Dean-move of tightly closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. You tried one more thing. “Come on, Dee. We worked so hard on it.”

For a split second you thought it worked. Dean looked around, soaking in the brightly colored lights. He grinned at the tinsel that had gotten everywhere while the two of you  decorated. All while playing Muppet Christmas music and every rock cover of classic holiday songs that you could find. It took the whole weekend to put up the three trees for the library, war room, and game room. That weekend was your new favorite memory. Especially when Sam and Cas came back from their case and helped trim the trees with the ornaments you had curated for them. Everyone had at least three apiece, each one referencing a funny moment on a case or other big moment. Dean had been particularly tickled with the angel tree topper you found for the library tree that kind of looked like Castiel. He glanced at that tree one more time before running a hand down his face.

“We did do good work. But we can do it again next year.” He turned and walked out of the library.

The pain in his shoulders finally revealed why he didn’t want to help the take-down: he didn’t want to see the bunker sad and drab until he knew he was coming back for sure. If things went sideways… the last memory you’d have of him was the putting it all up. The weight of realization hit you hard. You looked up at Sam with a lump in your throat.

“Is it really going to be that bad? I thought you and Rowena were still… friends.”

He swallowed. “We’re hoping so. But… we’re not sure all this is her doing. If it’s someone else, they may try to stop us from stopping them. And they might try and take out Rowena in the process.” He opened his arms for you to run into. “We’re trying to be careful. There’s too much we don’t know.” Shuddering a breath, he made eye contact with Cas over your head.

“But if it is Rowena,” Castiel gruffed, “then your brothers will explain to her what’s happening up here and convince her to stop.” He gave you a cheery smile as you turned your head out of Sam’s chest. “They will be fine.”

Sam kept smoothing his hand up and down your back. But you didn’t miss the hesitation and slight clench of Sam’s palm.

Castiel continued, “and I’m staying here with you. I’ll help pack everything away.”

As your body tensed, Sam kissed the top of your head. “You don’t have to do anything immediately. Wait till after New Year’s if you like. And we’ll try to call you with a heads up when we’re on our way.” He wrapped his long arms around you as you muttered “some Christmas present” into his chest. He chuckled. “If anything’s still up when we get back, we’ll tell Rowena its for Epiphany.”

----

For the first few days after they left, you refused to move a single bauble. Castiel put up with a lot on those days. You baked more cookies than the two of you could ever eat. And you watched every Christmas movie you could think of. And you found a few more on reels in the archives that you’d never seen before.

He didn’t push. But Castiel quietly brought out the storage boxes and readied the packing paper.

New Years Eve rolled around and over into the New Year. You talked with Sam and Dean over the phone. They refused to update you on the case. Part of you knew Dean was inwardly thrilled at the possibility that someone was listening in on their calls like in a spy movie. But it also meant they had to keep it short. The New Year dawned. And the bunker was quiet as a tomb.

“We don’t have to do it all tonight,” Cas started. “We could just do the ornaments.”

He was right. You knew it, even if you didn’t want to hear it. So, with a huff, you left the couch and slid over the ornaments box.

Cas joined you. He noticed your pause as you wondered where to start. He snapped his fingers.

“No!” Chest tight, you looked between the tree and the box. The green was only wrapped in lights while the ornaments were nestled safely in the box. “Put them back.”

“But I thought,” Cas’s head tilted. “If taking the decorations down is too painful, I can do it all like this.”

You shook your head. “No. You – you can’t do it like that. It’s… too sudden.” You knew he could read your mind. Opening the mental doors to him, you let him see the memories. Memories like coming back from breakfast on a case and finding your dad had dumped the cheap gas-station decorations in the trash so he could pile you all into the Impala the second you got there. And the time Dean decorated for Christmas with just the three of you the first winter in the bunker. Sam dragged you out on a case and Dean had taken everything down himself without telling you his intentions. You had come back from a rough vampire’s nest to the colorless bunker and broke down. The bunker was a home you hadn’t had since childhood. And it still felt like every small joy was being stolen from you. It felt like the earth was spinning faster every year and your small moments with family were becoming fewer and farther in between. And now your brothers were out there and might not come back and-

Castiel walked over and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. His shirt and tie were quickly soaked with your tears.

So what if the bunker looked childish when Rowena got here? You wanted to be childish. Hadn’t you grown up enough?

“Yes. You’ve grown up enough.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. The way he did when Dean was in the room but he still wanted to comfort you without raising your brothers’ protective ire. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” With the soft flutter of his wings, the ornaments were back on their branches, and he was in your arms again. Cas hummed as you kissed the underside of his jaw. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

The ornaments came off the tree the slow way. The delicate ones were wrapped in paper. The cheap plastic ones were squeezed together in the plastic cubbies of the box. And the angel topper went back into his box. Taking the strands of tinsel off was a struggle. Somewhere out there, you knew there was a good way to store the silver strands again for next year. But they somehow ended up scrunched down into a box you were sure needed to hold a decoration you’d forgotten about.

Castiel handled the lights. Or he tried to anyways.

One minute you were folding up the tree skirt. The next you were laughing till your sides hurt.

The poor angle had completely tangled himself. You weren’t sure how. If this had been another cartoon your group had gotten caught in, you almost would have thought the lights were like a tightly-wound coil. And they had somehow sprung. Castiel stood there like Tom from Tom and Jerry with the lights wrapped around his limbs like a spring.

“How did you – never mind. Let me help.”

He grumbled under his breath as you tried to untangle him. Once or twice he offered to snap the lights into conformity, but you were having too much fun. Soon, he was smiling too.

“Here, lift your leg. I’ve almost got it.”

But your tugging on the strand made him wobble. Cas made a surprise sound. Then he fell like a tree. You tried to catch him, but with the lights in the way, his arms were stuck to his sides. You winced as he hit the ground.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.” You clasped your hands over your mouth to cover your smile. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. His head tilted as you began to shake. “Are you alright?”

A giggle bubbled over your hands. “Mhmm. Just… you fell like a log. Like in the movies.” The giggles turned into full-body laughter. “Alright, let’s try this again.”

Reaching down, you tried to bring Castiel to his feet by tugging on the lights. But without his hands, he couldn’t help. And he wasn’t about to angel himself out of the situation. Not when you were smiling like that. Your wrist got caught in a circle you’d managed to tug loose earlier.

Cas’s eyes went wide. “Y/N.” Then he went down again. This time, you went down with him. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” Wriggling, you realized a few strands you’d freed the ends of decided to join the tangle. They tied you to Castiel across the back of your legs and diagonally across your back. You weren’t sure how they managed that, but then you squinted at your angel. He was terrible at hiding his guilt from you. “You know, I think you’ve been holding back on your understanding human humor.”

He looked sideways at the floor. “Not necessarily. But we’ve been watching those Hello Mark movies for days. And this problem showed up a few times. It made you laugh.” He dipped his chin before meeting your gaze. “I like hearing you laugh.”

With a grin, you leaned up to kiss the end of his nose. “Hallmark. The movies were from Hallmark.” You sighed. “I like laughing with you. I would say thank you for the reason to, but… how are we going to fix this? You gonna angel mojo us outta here or-“ With a start, you realized how pink the tops of his cheeks were. “Castiel. Are you trying to seduce me? With Hallmark moves, no less.”

“Not necessarily. Just wanted to cheer you up.” He settled back onto the floor. “Unless it’s working.”

You answered by nuzzling your nose under his jaw. It brought you no small joy that his whole body shivered when you finally kissed over his pulse point. “Perhaps it is. But it’s a little uncomfortable laying here on the floor, don’t you think? And if this is going to work, we’re never going to get our clothes out of the way with the lights tangled like this –”

A ruffle of wings later, you were no longer laying on the floor, but on the sheets of your bed. The air was cool on your bare skin. But the lights still twined around your bodies. They had moved too.

“Cas?”

His eyes were wide. Lust-blown. It wasn’t odd for you to have to remind him to breathe when out on a case so he looked human. But his chest heaved up and down now. It strained against the strand of lights crisscrossed against his chest. The strand hugged tight at his hips before spiraling around his thighs. There was a bit of give in the line before it began its twine around your body.

Yours were wrapped tight around your hips too. The lights crossed your torso and pressed in a tight figure eight around your breasts, pushing them forward. Another loop was around your throat. It wasn’t too tight. But if Castiel were to hook a few fingers under the line, like you hoped he would, it wouldn’t be hard for him to restrict your breathing. The end-caps of the lights pressed against your skin. Intersections of the lines collected at your egregious zones. You rolled your hips. Already you were trembling. “Like what you see?”

Cas nodded gently, mouth agape.

Suddenly he leaned forward and caught you in a searing kiss. You would have wrapped your arms around him. But the light strand caught your wrists and pulled them back over your head. You had nowhere to go as Cas kissed his way across your collarbone and down between your breasts. He mouthed at the hollow of your throat to make you whine. Trapped together, he could feel every roll of your hips, and you jolted every time his cockhead caught your clit. As he caught your mouth, drinking in your sighs, you closed your eyes. Your skin warmed under his attention.

When you opened your eyes, you realized that the heat wasn’t just from the two of you. The more frantic Cas was to taste every inch of your skin, the brighter the lights flared.

“Are – are you doing that?”

“No.” He pressed his lips against your forehead as his hands kneaded your breasts. “My Grace might be affecting them.”

“Are we going to catch fire?”

“No. We might burn out a few of the bulbs.”

You arched as his kisses made their way down your throat and then up to the peaks of your breasts. “If this goes the way I think it will, I hope we pop them all.”

Cas growled against your skin. His hand spread wide over your lower tummy. A warmth spread within you as he made sure you were ready for his length. Before you could keen for his fingers, he gently nudged the tip of his cock at your entrance. The lights flickered. Cas’s gaze tunneled to where you were conjoined. Unable to wait another second, he pressed deep within you.

Your moan, high and needy, made Castiel ravenous. He muttered under his breath in Enochian. He must have been using some strong phrases because a few items rattled around the room. Or were you the one shaking? With the barest touch to your clit, Cas sent you soaring into release. You squeezed your thighs around him with a cry. When you managed to open your eyes a few breaths later, he was still moving, but he was entranced with the view of you.

He quickly worked you up again. Every breath that caught in your throat and every clamp of your walls added to his desperation. You could never be sure if he wasn’t using his Grace to help you along. But when an orgasm was ready, you didn’t care how he did it. You wanted him. Craved him. He freed your wrists so he could hug you close as he thundered into your sex. You clawed at his back as you came, muffling your sounds in his flushed skin.

And he never stopped thrusting. The last release didn’t fade away. Instead, it kindled and burned your nerves, quickly preparing you for another.

Cas’s hips were frantic. Under his drooping eyelids, you could see the wisps of blue light peaking out. He squeezed his eyes shut. But the bulbs wrapped around your limbs brightened. Your eyes fluttered closed under the onslaught of pleasure and light. With a shout, Cas spilled into you, sending you spiraling into a final release. If your eyes hadn’t been shut, you would have been blinded. He kept moving for a few more thrusts. Each one pushed his cum back into your sex. You were whimpering before he stopped.

“I think we burned the lights.”

You giggled. “Good.” A chill breeze washed over you. It the time it took to inhale, you were cleaned up and comfy in your pj’s. You snagged Castiel’s wrist before he could move away. “Oh, no you don’t.” You curled to one side, wiggling your body back into his torso. “You’re always too quick. Stay with me.”

He settled in with a hum.

Sleep had almost overcome you when he spoke up.

“I’m sorry about the lights.”

You grinned. “We can get new ones. Don’t worry about it.” Sleep called, but now your brain was thinking. “Does your Grace always react like that?”

Behind you, Cas’s nose pressed between your shoulder blades. “Yes. I have to focus to repress it. But the lights… picked up on my Grace somehow.” He kissed at your spine. “That was a… gentler display of what my Grace does when I orgasm in you. With you. Because of you.”

His words made your body warm all over again. But then he pulled you tighter against his body. So tight, you didn’t have room to shift or turn like you usually did when trying to fight off sleep.

Cas watched your eyes close. He listened to your breathing even out. And he held you close until you woke up the next morning, ready to welcome in a new year.

---

A few days later, the bunker door screeched open. Dean walked through first. Then Sam. And then their guest.

“Rowena!”

She smiled brightly as she descended the stairs. “Hello, Dearie.” With a giggle that you happily matched, she accepted your embrace. “The boys told me you didn’t want to give up your decorations for me.”

“They said it would make the place look childish.”

Rowena scoffed. “I already know they’re childish. It’s nothing new. Just like them, your meanie brothers, trying to keep up appearances they didn’t have to begin with.”  She glanced at Castiel. “What else have you two been up to?”

The angel froze.

“Oh, nothing. Lounging, researching,” you shrugged. “The usual.”

“Mhmm.” Her gaze traveled head to toe and back again over Cas. “Still, the place could be at least a little festive.” With a twirl of her finger she made a bundle of mistletoe hang from the door mantle between the war room and library. “There. Much better.” She laced her arm with yours and began to walk that way. “Can’t leave your angel in the cold just because your brothers are home.”

Sam grimaced. “Rowena –”

“What?” She tried to summon him over as she passed under the greenery. “Doesn’t just have to be for them.”

Now Dean growled.

“Oh, alright.” She inhaled deeply before taking your arm again. “I think it’s time you and I had a little chat, Dearie, to get you caught up on a lot of things. Shall we?”

***

Master List

***

Other Castiel Fics:

Satisfied (S)

Spell-Bound (S)

Other SPN Fics:

Need a Lift? ( SPN Fluff Appreciation Day 2017) - Sam x Reader

Short and Short Tempered (F, Implied S, Drabble) - Sam x Reader

Last of the Season (Food Mention, Fluff, S) - Dean x Reader

What’s Your Favorite Position? (S) - Dean x Reader

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Somethin’ Stupid (pt. 2)

Pairing(s): Sam Winchester x reader

Summary :You two are pathetic for each other, so much so that Dean can’t help but take notice. Maybe, just maybe his “playing wingman” will work out alright…

Word count : 3.5k

Tags: Reader and Sam have a crush on each other, fluff, no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns, carheartt!sam, heavy make out, kissing, fade to black, almost smut.

Notes; While this does read as a fade to black i may or may not have gotten a little carried away with myself and wrote part of the smut scene… it’s not included here but if y’all want that lmk!! I am so sorry about how late this is coming out! i’ve been very busy with back to school preparations. Notes and reposts are greatly appreciated

part 1 part 3

“Rise n’ shine, Sammy!” Dean announced, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

Sam flinches awake and like a row of dominos, the guitar that was in his lap is sent tumbling to the floor - creating a harsh cacophony of strings and wood.

The sound causes you to jolt from your slumber. You shoot up in bed in a flurry of confusion. “I’m up! I’m up! Where’s the Rugaru!?” You shout, whipping your head around the room.

“Woah, Good Morning to you too,” Dean chuckles, punctuating the sentence with an obnoxious bite of beef jerky. Sam makes a face. “Want some?” He points the jerky at Sam.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He runs his hands down his face. "I’m good, thanks.”

You visibly relax as the real world comes into focus. “Morning, Boys.” You say as the adrenaline wears off. Sam was still across from you, now flashing an apologetic smile and Dean was well- Dean, but in a cowboy hat. That wasn’t too unusual for him. Dean nodded a hello.

“Eh, more for me,” Dean shrugs with another bite. “Anywho,” He bends down and retrieves the guitar from the floor, now with a newly popped high E string. He hoped the motel wouldn’t charge him extra for that. “When’d you become Springsteen?” He smirks.

Sam was in no mood.

Then, his eyes lit up.

“Hey, Dean, what’s that, uh, mark on your neck?” Sam said, a grin only capable of being mustered by the most annoying of little brothers appearing on his lips.

“What mar- “Dean slid his hand down the length of his neck, stopping about halfway in sudden realization. “Oh- “He clears his throat. Mumbling something about getting banged up pretty badly, he dismisses himself to the med kit in Sam’s bag.

“Oh, and that explains why you’re just now getting back at, uh,” Sam glances to the alarm clock. “7am? from a simple salt-n-burn?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean scoffs defensively. “Cause you see, Sammy, I was actually doing my job.”

The early morning sun filtered in through the blinds and for the first time you realized that the wood paneling on the divider and both doors were made to look like a saloon door. Damn. They went all out with this whole cowboy theme. On the bright side, the sun gave everything a warm almost fiery glow. Despite the rather cozy atmosphere of the room, Sam and Dean were still going.

Only two things in life are certain: taxes and the Winchester’s arguments.

“The job that requires you to receive hickeys from girls in bars?” Sam laughed. He was now stood by the foot of your bed, stretching the tension from his shoulders. Man, even through a t-shirt his back muscles were attractive- carved like a Greek statue.

“Okay, when you say it like that it makes me sound like a hooker.”

“Maybe you are, Mr. hard worker.”

“Don’t objectify me.” Dean rolls his eyes, feigning offense . Dean was leaned over the dresser, looking in the mirror as he tried to cover a small purple mark on his neck with a square gauze patch.

He definitely wasn’t winning this one.

As if suddenly remembering something, his head perked up and he set his sights on you.

“How’s the leg?” He asked, looking at you in the mirror. He did genuinely care about your wellbeing, but it didn’t hurt that you were also a good out.

“Hm?” You were a little distracted; you’d almost forgotten about your leg entirely.

“Oh right. It’s fine really,” you swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

When you look down you find the bandage that was once around your thigh, half undone, twisted about and just an overall mess.

“Right, fine.” Dean chuckles.

“Woah, you okay?” Sam questions.

Before you know it, Sam’s closing the distance between the two of you and the roll of gauze is sailing through the air from Dean’s palm to Sam’s.

“Damn, I thought you were better at the whole first-aid thing, Sammy.” Dean remarks, happy to flip the situation back on his brother.

“I am,” Sam takes a seat next to you. He’s warm. And close. Too close. “But someone.” Damn he smells good too. Like a brand-new book. “Wouldn’t let me.” He said with a teasing expression.

“Hey, I didn’t do too bad.” Your cheeks flush.

“Riiight.” He gently tugs at an end of the bandage, and it unravels like a loose thread in a pair of jeans. “Not too bad at all.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” You reply, your face contorting to an attempt at annoyance.

“Hey, cheer up.” Sam smiled.

You couldn’t help but smile in return.

He gently slid his hand to the underside of your knee and placed your leg over his lap just as he did the night prior.

While you were busy tossing the wrinkled bandage into a small barrel-shaped trashcan near the sofa-chair, Sam took the opportunity to let his gaze linger. He drank in every detail of your appearance, hoping to seer it to memory.

For some reason, 3 things in particular stuck out to him: You never bothered to put your hair up last night, the way squinted as the sun reflected directly into your eyes, and the fact that you were still in his Carhartt. That last one especially made his heart beat a little harder.

Your lovely chaotic hair and the sun shining on your face inspired countless fantasies. Some as simple as kissing the tiredness from your expression, others, he felt bad for even thinking.

The minute you turn around his eyes are once again glued to your leg and you’re none the wiser.

“How’m I lookin, doc?”

Dean with his shirt tucked beneath his chin was rubbing ointment on what he wasn’t quite sure if it was another hickey on his abdomen or an actual bruise. Upon hearing your question he perks up, ready to make a dumb Looney Toons reference when Sam of all people beats him to the punch.

“Ah, just peachy, Bugs.” He replied in a nasally imitation of Daffy Duck.

“Huh.” Dean mumbles with some small shock. He watches the two of you from the mirror's reflection. He knew Sam had a thing for you, but this, this was something else.

The way the two of you giggled and just almost leaned into each other with every joke- pulling away in shy stupidity each time you got too close. The lingering eye contact, how Sam’s hand looked almost reluctant to leave you, the way one of you would stare when the other wasn’t looking. The whole thing left his stomach feeling like a pot of warm honey.

Damn. You’ve both got it bad.

An idea.

“Hey guys,” He chimed in.

“Hm?” You and Sam said in unison.

“Oh, sorry no you go- “you said.

“No, it’s okay you- “

“Well, you did fix me up it’s only fair- “just then you realized that your leg was still in his lap. You quickly pull away and smile apologetically. Sam does the same.

Dean just about face palms. You two are hopeless.

“Guys.” Dean clears his throat, capturing both of your attentions once more.

“I'm gonna go out and uh, do something.” Dean said with heavy emphasis on “do something.”

“Oh, okay..?” you said with confusion

“Oh, uh, need help with that?” Sam added, eaqually as confused.

“No! no, sorry…heh… I just mean that you both should stay here while I go make a move.”

“You… feelin’ alright, Dean?” You question.

“He’s still hungover I think.” Sam leans in and mutters.

“Y’know,” Dean turns his attention straight to Sam. “Making a move is always the right thing.”

“…So, you do want my help?”

“No, damnit,” Dean sighs in defeat. “M’goin’ on a coffee run.”

“Oh… okay…” Sam replied. “In that case, make two of ‘em decaf.”

“Aw you remembered?” You say with an expression reminiscent of a teen girl with a crush.

“Yeah, I know how it makes you jittery.” Sam replied, sounding embarrassed.

Dean watches as the two of you sit there smiling like idiots.

Yeah.

Extra hopeless.

- -

The latter half of the day is spent with Dean acting strangely and you and Sam struggling to figure out why.

A couple of theories arose.

“Maybe he is hungover.” You quietly conceded after Dean stretched his legs across the diner’s booth seat when Sam tried to sit down- forcing him next to you.

“Nah, he’s mean when hungover.” Sam replied.

- -

“Maybe we did something?” You suggested when Dean pulled the same diner stunt later at the library.

“Like what?” Sam replied as he studied Deans relaxed demeanor.

“Dunno. Maybe it’s 'cause we bailed last night?”

“C’mon we didn’t “bail”, you got stabbed and we all know if one of us didn’t stay with you, you’d come crawling back to finish the fight.”

“Fair enough.” You shrugged. “Well, I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“Me too. Just can’t figure out what would make him not tell us details on a case, it’s not like him.”

- -

You also happened to notice that Sam grew increasingly grumpy as the day dragged on.

Whether that was due to Dean, or his uncomfortable sleeping situation last night was lost on you.

- -

“Maybe he got roofied?” Sam mumbled when it seemed as though Dean couldn’t walk in a straight line- continually bumping into you - shoving you straight into Sam.

“Can’t be, after that whole witch thing he’s really careful with his drinks.”

“Hm…”

- -

“Mid life crisis?” Sam proposes in a hushed voice from the huddled corner of a motel lobby.

Dean had bought two rooms instead of the usual one accompanied by “we’re livin’ offa credit card scams and prayers. Besides, we’ve all pretty much seen eachother’s junk anyway.”

“He’s 30” you replied while watching Dean flirt with the woman behind the counter.

“With this job and his liver, it’s midlife.”

- -

Finally, the night had rolled around.

“Been dazed and confused for so long it can’t be true~”

The radio humming as the Impala raced down the road.

Normally, nights like this would be relaxing. Windows rolled down, the sounds of the cold and buzzing night mixed with the same five albums Dean rotated. Empty back roads and the three of you endearingly out of tune as you sang along.

But this night was simply and plainly, dead.

The air in the car had a tension not even Page and Plant could cut through. You all silently sat in your unassigned-assigned seats: Dean driving, Sam shot gun and you in the back watching the night woosh by.

It all came to a head earlier when Dean notified you and Sam that you two were on stake-out duty. You watched as Sam’s expression visibly changed into one of suppressed nausea. Sure, stakeouts usually sucked ass but did the thought of being alone with you really drive him to the point of sickness?

You breathed a sigh, sinking further into your seat at the memory.

Sam steals a glance at you in the rear view- you looked sad. Guess you weren’t too excited at the thought of a stakeout either.

The car stops about 50 yards in the underbrush in front of a dilapidated old building in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

The light previously provided to you by the stars was dimmer now due to the thick miles of pine trees stretching high above- looking as though they could touch the sky themselves.

“Aaand we’re here,” Dean said, switching off the ignition

“Mind telling us where “here” is exactly?” Sam quipped.

“Like I said, it’s a nest.”

“Yeah. That’s the problem. That’s about the only thing you’ve said.”

“Okay, fine- look, We’ve had a lot of duds lately and I didn’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up if it wasn’t the real deal.” Dean shrugs.

Dean was an incredibly good liar. Or as he liked to call it, thinking on his feet.

“Wow you are s- “

“Such a great older brother, I know. I’m gonna go walk the perimeter, shouldn’t take too lo-“

“Great I’ll come with!”

You watch as Sam quickly follows after Dean- not even letting his brother get the words out before he’s on his feet and out of the car like he’ll catch the plague if he’s alone with you.

Yeah. Stakeouts really sucked.

From inside the car all you could hear were Sam and Deans muffled voices, but even still, you could tell they were arguing…

“I’m not an idiot, Dean. I know what you’re doing.”

“Well I’d hope so,” Dean chuckled, holding his newly sharpened machete upward to inspect it. “Dad’d kill us if we ever even thought about going in dull and halfcocked.”

“Y’know you’re not the most subtle guy in the world.”

Sufficiently satisfied, Dean re-sheathes the blade and hooks it onto his waistband. “Dunno wacha talkin’ ‘bout, Sammy.”

“You forced me to sit next to her.”

“Leg got bruised las night, had to keep ‘er elevated.”

“Got two rooms?” Sam quirked a brow.

“So? What if i wanted to bring someone back?”

“Dude, you practically threw her into me.”

“Again, the leg. Can’t walk straight.” He shrugs, grabbing a vial of dead-man’s blood and putting it into his pocket.

“Alright, cut the bullshit. I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s not into me and i’m-“

“A dumbass.” Dean says sharply.

“E-excuse me?” Sam says, caught off guard.

“The girl is head-over-fuckin-heels for you. you must be a dumbass not to see it.” Dean points an accusing finger at him.

“I-“

“I see the way you look at her, hell, you busted out the guitar for her! ah- don’t give me that look, it was obvious. “

“Okay, fine, you got me Dean.” Sam throws his arms up in an exasperated manner. “I have feelings for her.” He pauses. This is the first time he’s said it aloud. His eyes go to his shoes. “Doesn’t mean she feels the same way.”

“Christ.” Dean slams the trunk, shoves his hands in his pockets and walks around the side of the car. Sam gives a puzzled expression. Dean jerks his head. “Watch this,” Dean says.

With the back of his hooked middle and index finger, Dean knocks on the back window of the Impala.

“Hm?” You lift your head from the book in your lap.

It’s a quick set of movements, but obvious, unthought action: your eyes first land on the source of the sound, Dean. He waves. You smile.

Then, all in the fraction of a second you look at Sam. Your smile falters. A short, flustered breath escapes your nose.

Your eyes go back to Dean, your lips curving into a poor attempt at a casual smile.

“See?” Dean says once you turn your attention back to your book.

“See what?” Sam replies, his voice growing annoyed and incredulous- having not picked up on anything out of the ordinary.

“You really make me wanna punch you sometimes.”

“Wha-, you know what, Dean, is this case even real? Cause if it’s not let’s just go back to the motel and-“

“Okay, Okay.” Dean pushes his arms in a ‘calm down’ motion. “It’s real, Columbo. Here,” He reaches behind his back, past the sides of his coat and pulls the local newspaper from the waistband of his jeans. “Happy now?”

Sam’s eyes skim the headline: Reports of “Cult like behavior” spotted near the old McCrowe house.

Below is a photograph of the dilapidated home they were parked in front of.

“Yes, but, h-“

“How do you know it’s real? Ya don’t. But i know you couldn’t take the risk; Even if you tried.”

Sam frowns, combing a hand through his hair. Dean smiles. “Go get ‘em, tiger” Dean says, patting his brother on the shoulder.

"You're an asshole."

Dean walks away with an extra bounce in his step. Sam frowns, again.

After taking a long moment, partially to regain his bearings, partially waiting till his brother disappeared around the bend, Sam pulls open the door.

“…Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

That wasn’t awkward at all.

Leaves crunch beneath your feet, and the book carried at your side rhythmically beats against your hip as you walk.

“So… figure out what’s up with Dean?”

“Oh, uhm,” He tosses the newspaper onto the dash as he slides into the front seat to cover his hesitation. “Nope. Not a clue.”

“Eh, I just hope he sorts himself out. If he keeps walking like that i think i’ll be bruised soon.” You chuckle at your own joke. “Guy’s got hips like Shakira, they do not lie.”

Crickets. Literal crickets fill the beat of silence after that joke.

You knew it was bad but damn.

“Ookay… tough crowd,” You mumble.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Sam said as if he were snapping out of a trance. “yeah heh, Shakira.”

You simply resign yourself to the book in your lap, every once in a while, taking a glance at the house ahead.

Meanwhile, Sam’s gaze never leaves the house for a moment. He had an expression you couldn’t quite place and an almost glazed over look in his eyes.

“Hey, i’m gonna go catch up with Dean, you’ll be fine right?” He says suddenly.

“No,” You slam your book shut and turn straight to Sam. “Sit your ass back down. we need to talk.”

“I’m sorry?”

The words come barreling from your mouth like a falling knife, sharp and unpredictable. “You have been super weird all day- I swear it’s hereditary- Dean acting strange, that i can deal with, but you? i-i don’t know what to do with that.”

A sinking sort of realization sets in. “I- god i’m so sorry.”

“I mean, did i do something? ‘Cause if i did i’m terribly sorry-“

“No, no, you didn’t do anything i swear.”

“Then what is it? i thought things were good and then- Look, if there’s something wrong just say the word and i’m there.”

“i know that but-“

“I’ll listen if you need it, i’m your friend and i wanna help.”

“That’s the problem.”

A beat of silence.

“That you’re my friend, just, my friend. That’s what’s wrong."

You feel your mouth going dry.

The words come tumbling out of Sam’s mouth much faster than he can think. “I-I knew from the moment i met you that you were this super cool and sweet and pretty but also badass at the same time kinda person and then it sorta spiraled into a crush, -which was innocent enough- so i thought it’d go away but then it didn’t and then-“

Every word, every thought, every action, everything within Sam is cut short and fades off when your lips collide with his. Your hands cup the sides of his face. His eyes widen before slowly dropping shut.

A moment later the kiss breaks and you’re sat there, staring dumbly into those gorgeous hazel eyes. From this new vantage point (the middle of the front seat) the gaps between the pines overhead is greater, allowing for starlight to filter in. The parts of his face not obscured by the shadows of his hair were illuminated in perfect detail. The soft edges of his face look almost sharp given the looming shadows, that detail though, is contrasted by the rosy blush spreading on his cheeks.

“…I wanted to shut you up,” You blink. “But I should’ve asked, i’m sor-“

The last of your attempt to apologize is muffled as Sam’s lips crash into yours.

His hand rests on the far side of your neck, his thumb moving across your cheek. The kiss grows in intensity, his tongue licking at the seam of your lips, your breath short and hot on his face. You drop your hands from his jaw and begin to slide them down his torso, eliciting a low growl-like sound from him. You both grow in fervor, the kiss bordering the fine line between sweet and desperate.

His tongue pushes past your lips and begins exploring you with warm desire. A soft sound escapes your throat at the feeling, his body growing warm, breaths shaky, and his tongue needly licking at the inside of your mouth.

Sam pulls away but only for a moment. He takes a quick survey of your face: lips red, breathing coming out in short pants, hair messy and all of you elucidated by the stars outside. You were no longer a reverie- some fantasy far out of reach. You were right there, lovely and more attention capturing than any star. So he says the thought that’s been on repeat in his mind since the moment he met you. What he’s thought on a thousand breathless afternoons when the sun shines just right on your face: “I love you”

“I love you too.” You reply without missing a single beat. you don’t have to think about it, not even for a second. You love him.

Taglist: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillies444lola @wowzabowza69 comment to be added/ removed

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 7.

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: SFW - This one's more wholesome, so no warnings this time! (Also, English is not my native language) Contains brief reference to Dec.1 (Sunshine)

Advent calendar includes: headcanons, snippets, one shots, imagines, blurbs etc.

Words: 720

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A/N: This was a bumpy ride - I'm in pain ughhh, I'll crawl back to bed now and imagine Dean prepping me some nice pancakes a la Winchester

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

7th Dec. - Candlelight

“Nope-” “Yeah.”

At your simultaneous ‘yeah’, Dean’s head whips around to stare at you wide-eyed and in disbelieve – did you really just unknowingly invite his brother and his best friend to his surprise candlelight dinner?

“Nope, you two jerks are not getting any of this food.” Dean repeats, this time with a little more edge to his words as he whips the kitchen towel over his shoulder. He turns to face Sam and Cas behind the kitchen counter, an apron tied around his hips and the spatula in his hand pointed at them as he snarks in clear annoyance, “Can’t you vultures find some other place for your food coma?”

“Don’t give me that tone,” Sam retorts with a smile, way too used to his grumpy tone, unlike the sight of him in an apron and actually cooking. He grins in amusement and cannot help a mocking remark. “Since when are you Betty Crocker?” “Betty…who?” Cas looks confused and helpless between the two brothers before he turns to face you, his head tilted to the side as he chimes in quietly, “Must I know that woman?” You shake your head with an amused smile, “No, you don’t need to get that reference, Cas.” you reassure him, your hip leaned against the wall as you watch the scene play out from your corner of the kitchen.

“Hey!” Dean protests, his eyes narrowing and the spatula pointed in Sam’s direction. “I’ll have you know, this–“ he gestures to the dinner setup piled up around him, “is a gourmet meal. I’m not Betty Crocker, I’m Gordon freakin’ Ramsay in the kitchen.”

“Ramsay? You’ve got the language but not the skill.” Sam chuckles and you, too, cannot help but snigger from the kitchen’s doorway at the bold comparison. But the sight of him behind the stove, wearing that apron, the little sweat beads on his forehead, his rolled back sleeves exposing his flexing muscles as his arms and hands work the kitchen like a chef… it’s a sight you could definitely get used to. Caught in your own little picture perfect image of that man being just the perfect husband material, your expression softens and your lips melt into a warm smile, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean. Even though he has no idea what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours as you’re zooming out and smiling to yourself at the other end of this entire predicament of his, he can tell that you’re in a very happy place right now. And he secretly hopes he’s the reason for it.

When he tears his eyes from your form, just to find Sam and Cas making themselves comfortable at the table he had prepared for you, his expression turns pissed.

“That’s it. No one gets any of the food.” He announces, but the sternness of his voice dissipates the moment his eyes meet yours again and he hears the innocent giggle escaping your lips. Damn, you looked so content and cute with that sweet and honest smile plastered across your face… his little sunshine. For a moment, he watches you in silence as you make your way over to them, the way you dance around the kitchen counter, the way you raise yourself to tiptoes to place a quick peck onto his cheek and then, without thinking twice, go on to add two extra plates next to Sam and Cas. His brows furrow, a mix of disappointment and confusion washing over him at the realization that ‘yep, this just turned into a group dinner’. He had been looking forward to a quiet, romantic candlelight dinner with just the two of you, but now his plans are thwarted. But, despite his frustration, he can’t help but appreciate your innocent assumption. You truly loved this chaotic pile of jerks, his pile of jerks, calling them your family despite the fact that they were all annoying and bickering the entire time.

Dean rolls his eyes as he concedes. The almost comically annoyed expression of his masking the little disappointment he’s still clinging to. “Of course, sweetie,” he exhales exaggerated, “Go ahead and pull up a chair.”

You beam at him, with that damn smile again that melts away any remaining grudge of his. He smirks back at you, his voice a bit gruff in an attempt to still sound huffy but his eyes going soft, “Does the cook at least get a kiss?”

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Tags:

@gardenofeden07 @deansjacket @literallylexa @lmpala1967

[gilverrwrites]

“If you will have me, I am yours.” 

Pairing: Human!Castiel/Fem!Reader (Season 9)

Reader has AFAB body parts & feminine pronouns' are used.

Plot: The reader is a retired hunter, who develops feeling for Cas after he moves in with her. After living in domestic bliss for a while, its only a matter of time before feelings are confessed, and sex is had.

Please remember: to keep going, and keep growing.

Content: Rough/Kissing, blowjob, rough blowjob/face-fucking, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, dirty talk (Cas doesnt really have a filter) rough sex, swearing, accidental cuddling, intentional cuddling.

Rating: M/18+

Words: 3,377

Notice: The follow up: Takeout Tuesday is now available here.

Excerpt: You vaguely recall falling asleep around 40 minutes into a Capra film, but when and how you’d nestled yourself against your flatmate was a mystery. Despite your instinct to jerk away, you remain still when you feel his fingers brushing against your bare shoulder. Between the warmth of his skin on yours, and the soothing beat of his heart, you are soon lulled close to sleep once again. Until the sound of Cas’ low voice in your ear rouses you. “Are you awake?”  When you nod, he continues, “Is this okay?” You nod again, and quietly add, “This is wonderful.”

Having Castiel around was pleasant, if a little surreal. You’d always considered him a friend, but it wasn’t the same. Previously you’d only really been around each other on the hunt. Or if Cas was involved, more like stopping an apocalypse. Your relationship had been entirely based on proximity, and necessity. There was never really time to bond beyond that. Until now. 

You’d decided to attempt retirement a while ago. You’d found a job and started subletting a decent apartment from a friend of a friend, on the preface that they could still crash on the couch when travelling across country. The hunting trade was a small world after all. 

In fact, your new landlord was exactly who you’d expected to see when someone came knocking on your door in the middle of the night. Not a tired, bloodied, and bruised Angel. Confused, you’d let him in, patched his wounds, cleaned him up, and let him sleep it off in your bed. After almost 48 hours of continuous sleep, he’d explained everything to you, thanked you for your hospitality, and told you he’d be out of your hair soon. You’d assertively informed him that the only place he would be going is from your bed, to your couch. 

From there you easily fell into a routine together, effortlessly bonded over shared experiences, old and new. It was nice, seeing his toothbrush next to yours, bringing home his favourite takeout every Tuesday. When he worked the early shift, he’d always make you a coffee before he left, on the late shifts he’d bring home a bottle of your favourite. He did the dishes, and you did the laundry. You were a secure little domestic team.

The surrealness came when you realised just how much you enjoyed it. You welled up with pride whenever he complimented something you’d cooked him from scratch. Starting your morning in his presence calmed any nerves, and on stressful days, coming home to dinner and a film with Cas was your respite. 

You were confused by the bitterness you felt when he called you one night to say he would be home late, citing a date with his boss, Nora. You were truly sad, but relieved when he informed you he had misread the invitation. That he was actually there to babysit. That’s when it hit you. Somewhere along the way, in between all the household chores, and the late-night Hulu binging, you’d fallen for him. 

You’d always thought he was hot, ever since he’d introduced himself as ‘Castiel, an Angel of the Lord’ all those years ago. However, you no longer needed to accidentally catch him leaving the shower, or bending under a table to feel flushed. Ever since the figurative penny dropped, all it took was a smile, or the brush of your chests in a tight hall to make you blush. 

Thoughts of Castiel and your myriad of complex feelings now plagued you, particularly as you lay in bed at night, knowing he was only feet away from you, just on the other side of your paper-thin walls. Paper-thin walls that did nothing to protect you from the sudden and deafeningly loud sound of the TV at 2AM. 

Not bothering to throw on bottoms, you stumble to your bedroom door in just a camisole and panties. The sight of Cas sitting on the couch, clad in nothing but boxers, desperately fiddling with the remote in an attempt to turn down the volume greeted you upon entry to the living room. 

Upon noticing you, Cas drops the remote and hastily reaches for his discarded comforter to cover himself with. In turn you rotated your entire body, averting your gaze in favour of the wall, primarily to respect his privacy, secondarily to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry!” You blurt.

“It’s okay.” He responds quietly. “I’m sorry for the noise. I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“It’s okay.” You repeat back to him. “I was awake, I couldn’t sleep either. You just made me jump.” 

“You can look now.” He informs you. Hoping the dim light from the TV doesn’t reveal too much of the colour in your face, you spin back. He was now covered from the waist down, but you couldn’t help noticing his bare chest, particularly the definition between his pecs, and the sharpness of his collarbones.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it.” You say, trying to re-direct your eyes to any other part of the room. 

“Unless…” He gestures to the television. “Would you care to join me?” 

“Sure.” You answer hesitantly. You weren’t sleeping anyway, what was the worst that could happen?

Castiel smiles amiably at you before returning his attention to the remote. You linger in your spot as he begins flicking through the different apps. When he makes no effort to locate and put on trousers you slowly settle down next to him, careful to leave enough distance to prevent any accidental skin-on-skin contact. 

“So, what are we watching?” 

 ————-

You vaguely recall falling asleep around 40 minutes into a Capra film, but when and how you’d nestled yourself against your flatmate was a mystery. Despite your instinct to jerk away, you remain still when you feel his fingers brushing against your bare shoulder. Between the warmth of his skin on yours, and the soothing beat of his heart, you are soon lulled close to sleep once again. Until the sound of Cas’ low voice in your ear rouses you. “Are you awake?” 

When you nod, he continues, “Is this okay?”

You nod again, and quietly add, “This is wonderful.”

You can’t see his expression from your current position, but he exhales, and you think he sounds relieved. 

It could be the scarcity of sleep, a ‘mind after midnight’ mirage, but this is when it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, he could be interested in you too. Why else would be lying beneath you, half-naked and seemingly completely at ease? Doubtful that you’d ever have this courage again you tilt your head up to look at him and ask; “Do you ever think about us?”

“I do.” He responds, he looks perplexed, which admittedly was his default expression.

“Do you ever think about us, as more than this?” When he doesn’t immediately answer, you resume. “You know, like romantically? Or even intimately?” 

“I frequently think of you amorously.” He speaks tentatively, each word spoken very deliberately. “When Metatron took my grace from me, I never imagined that this was how my life would go. Of course, I never thought that my grace would be taken, or that I would live among humans as one of them in the first place.”

He seems to take a moment to compile his thoughts, sucking his bottom lip in concentration. You remain silent. Hoping he can’t feel the rapid thrum of your heart.

“I thought at first that I was broken. The fall, losing my wings was bad enough, but now, without my angelic abilities, I can’t do anything. Well, nothing of merit, at least where the needs of humankind are concerned.”

“That’s not true.” You interject, you move to sit up, to be at eye level with him, but due to your already precarious position, the only way to do so is by shifting a leg over his lap, thus straddling him.

“I know that now.” He says as he grips your wrists and brings them to his shoulders, offering you extra support. “Without meaning to overstep, or make you uncomfortable, but living with- existing beside you has been a far more fulfilling experience than most of the things I have accomplished in the many billions of years I have existed.

I have very little practice in the ways of human sexuality, and even less so with courtship. However, I would be honoured, and extremely happy if you would allow me to explore such things, with you.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“If you will have me, I am yours.” 

There's a tense moment of silence between you both in which neither of you dare to break eye contact before you surge to him. You instigate the kiss, but Cas is fast to take control, his arms pull your body to him, driving your lips to press hard against his. When he rocks his hips up, kneading his semi-hard cock against your clothed core, you gasp. Cas immediately slips his tongue between your lips. You can’t hold back the groan that escapes you. His mouth tastes like coffee and artificial grape. You savour the feel and aroma of his lips before pulling back momentarily. 

“Only if I can be yours too.” You finally respond before he’s on you again. You freely open up for him, allowing him to explore your mouth once more. His tongue eagerly swirls against yours, exploring every crevice. His hands drop to clutch your waist, holding you in place as he ruts against you from below. 

It was you who broke the kiss again, locking your eyes with him as you climb off his lap. 

“Let me take care of you.” You chime as you drop to your knees on the floor below him. Cas quickly follows, sitting up straight, and planting his legs on either side of you. The comforter banished to the other end of the sofa.  

“You… You look so beautiful like that. On your knees.” He smiles down at you and reaches out to cup your face, strong fingers gently brush along your jaw before his thumb extends up to your lips. You press a kiss to its pad before parting your lips and taking him in. His skin tastes clean, with a hint of salt, and something florally. 

“Let me suck your cock.” You state, voice muffled by the pressure on your tongue.

His cheeks are tinted pink. You’re unsure if it's from arousal or nerves but he stands to pull off his boxers and settles back down. You can’t help but lick your lips when his cock is revealed, it's long and already hard. 

You don’t waste any time, immediately situating your tongue on the underside of his shaft and running it from tip to hilt. You stop momentarily to plant a kiss on his balls, before running back up his length. When you look back up Cas is watching you intensely, brow furrowed, lids heavy, lips between his teeth. You smile before wrapping your mouth around his cock. Pausing only slightly when you feel Cas cup the back of your head. 

You inch yourself down his length slowly, getting a feel for him, his thickness, and how much you can take at once. When you feel his tip hit the back of your throat, you pull back, before bobbing back down. The sound of Castiel’s’ hitched breathing drives you until you’re relaxed enough to take him completely. His thickness stretches your throat, making your eyes water, his pubic hair tickles your nose, and the look of bliss on his face makes your pussy drip. 

After a few seconds, you come back up for air, but the relief in your lungs only lasts a second before you feel Cas’ fists tighten against your scalp. 

“You look even better with my cock in your mouth.” He grunts as he pushes you back down. “You feel so good.”

Unable to respond, you hum your affirmation, drool escaping the corners of your mouth. Cas moans his approval, eyes and head lolling back for a moment before he plants his other hand firmly on the back of your head, holding you in place as he shifts to the edge of the couch and begins bucking his hips into your mouth. 

You plant your hands around his calves to steady yourself, and keep them out of the way as he continues to use your mouth. His thrusts grow heavier, his moans raspier, as you fight your need for air. Your cunt growing hotter, wetter every second, while your throat closes, and your head grows dizzy from the lack of air.

When he finally lets you go, your lungs are burning. You lean back, unable to control the wild rise and fall of your chest as you pant for air. Your lips feel sore, swollen, but your pussy aches. 

“I’m sorry.” Cas reaches over to cradle your face, tentatively brushing the tears from your eyes. “Was that too much?” 

“No! No not at all.” You whisper between breaths. You reach out for his hand, and he takes it. His head tilts to one side as he looks down at you sceptically. You smile back as you guide him between your legs. You brush his fingers against your panties, encouraging him to feel the wetness soaking through the fabric.

“I did that? I made you this wet?” He asks. When you nod his mouth cracks into a smile.

Within seconds he drops to his knees before you, pulling you in for another hot, open-mouthed kiss. Your tongues meet in another fierce, uncontrolled kiss. You cry out into his mouth when you feel his fingers press firmly against your clit, rubbing you through the thin fabric of your underwear.

Without warning Cas clutches onto your panties and pulls until the elastic snaps. He releases the offending article and quickly returns to your wetness. He strokes your clit repeatedly, swallowing your moans, holding you to his chest to prevent you from involuntarily withering away.

You break your lips away from his just long enough to plead; “Fuck me Cas, please fuck me with your fingers.”

He doesn’t hesitate to do as asked, immediately delving two fingers into your pussy. Once situated inside, he massages them against your walls, feeling you out and making you sputter. You grip his shoulders for support, digging your nails into his skin as he starts to thrust in and out of you.

“Like this?” He questions, you’re not sure if he’s being coy, if he’s teasing. Or if he truly is curious. Either way, you’re too gone to really answer. You open your mouth but all that comes out are a series of strangled whimpers. The feel of his thumb returning to your clit, gently brushing just the right spot, pushes you to breaking point. 

“I’m- I – ahhh.” You cry, trying to warn him. When you jerk your head back there is resistance. Cas releases his hold on your back, to grips your head forward. You peek up at him through half-lidded eyes, Cas stares, his blue eyes bare down on you, unblinking. If you weren’t already cumming, that would have been enough. 

You lean into Castiel’s body as you come back down, limp, and incoherent. A low hum escapes you as Cas languidly removes his fingers from inside you and brings them to his lips. You watch lazily as he gives them a tentative sniff before placing them in his mouth. His face seems to melt, and he closes his eyes, visibly savouring the taste. 

When he’s done, he grins at you and ponders aloud; “I’m not sure which is better.”

Still unable to string two words together you watch him, waiting for him to continue.

“The way you look when you reach orgasm, or the way you taste.” 

Instantly your cheeks begin to burn, and heat pools between your legs again. Without a second thought you reach down, grabbing your cami by the hem and lifting it over your head, your entire body now exposed to Castiel. 

He’s on you again in an instant. His mouth latches to one of your nipples, rapidly but lightly his tongue darts over the sensitive nip. Both hands come up to cup each breast. His fingers pinch and roll at your other exposed nipple. When you feel his teeth grazing the sensitive skin you flinch, fisting your hands into his hair. 

“Cas, please!” You gasp.

“Please what?” He responds, speech distorted by his refusal to remove his mouth from your body. 

“Please take me to bed.” You whine, needlessly pulling at his hair to garner his attention. “Please Castiel, take me to bed-”

You’re interrupted by the jolt of your body being lifted. Cas continues his oral assault, kissing, sucking, nipping at your neck as he carries you back to your bed. He sits himself on the edge of your bed and positions you to straddle him once again. You pull his attention back from your neck, sinking your lips onto his as you guide him down, until he’s lying face up.

You lean back and he sucks in a breath as you wrap your hand around the base of his cock. You line him up at your entrance and he begins gradually rocking into you. You steadily sink down, the feel of his cock stretching you out making you shudder. Cas’s head rolls back, he bites his lip and grips your hips, barely fighting not to slam you down onto him.

When his cock is fully inside, you pull back up until only the tip remains inside before you drop back onto him.

With a loud moan, Cas engulfs your body with his own and flips you over. He holds you beneath him with the weight of his own body as he gives a few shallow, testing thrusts. Satisfied he begins building pace and force, until the sound of skin slapping against skin can be heard between ragged breaths and moans. You raise your lower body, trying to match his rhythm but his hands lock onto your hips and push them down, pinning you to the bed.

His lips are tight between his teeth, his brow furrowed, and his skin glows with a sheen of sweat. You can’t help but paw at his shoulders, bringing him down so you can plant kisses on his face and neck.

“Cas, fuck. Castiel that feels so good.” You praise.

In response, he catches your lips in a desperate kiss, all tongues and teeth and jumbled sounds that may once have been words. Your toes begin to curl, as your climax grows near. You lock your fingers in Castiel's hair, pulling his face away as you arch your back. Your eyes close tight as you chant his name.

“I love it when you moan my name.” He murmurs in your ear. He releases your hips, and grips your face, forcing it back up. Your eyes peek open as growls his next words. “Look at me, and don’t stop saying my name.”

At that, the tension in your cunt snaps. Your body jerks and your walls clench around him as you hit your climax. Castiel rides you through it, his strides slowing, but he continues fucking into you at a steady pace until he’s seemingly overcome by his own orgasm. His movements becoming laboured and erratic, he pants your name through gritted teeth as he spills his cum inside you.

You remain wrapped up in your position as you come down from your highs, the warmth of his breath tickles your neck, and your chests collide as you fight to catch your breath. Your mind races, trying to find the right thing to say next, not wanting to spoil your post-orgasm bliss. Eventually, you nudge his shoulder, and he moved away, allowing you to sit up. His cum seeps out of you as you do. Before you can make a move to clean it up Cas attains the tissues from your dresser and begins delicately wiping you down.

“Thank you.” You smile at him as he finishes and begins to clean himself up.

“I… ah.” He smiles back at you, still flushed from your activities. “I feel I should be the one thanking you.”

You laugh at the absurdity of his statement, especially after the performance he’d just given. Cas soon reciprocates your laughter. You stretch your arms out, inviting him back in for an embrace and he eagerly obliges, wrapping his arms around you and falling back against your mattress.

“Will you sleep in here, with me tonight?” Your eyes catch the clock on your bedside, and you note that it is almost sunrise. “Or, for the rest of the morning?”

He kisses your forehead and pulls you in close. “I would enjoy that very much.”

[arjwrites]

— Guess who's back with another request.....‼️‼️‼️

A fluff Castiel x Winchester!Reader where she helps Cas with his wings after a hunt please 😘😻 (I imagine them being dark, HUGE and MEGA soft and she goes like "Woah" (completely distracted for a moment))

Saving Grace- Castiel x GN!Reader

Summary: Cas is hurt after a hunt, and when he's hurting, you're hurting. Sometimes even an angel needs a helping hand. PART TWO HERE! Warnings: None! A/N: WELCOME BACK ANON! Sorry this took me a couple of days- for some reason I was really struggling to get Cas's character right here. I really wanted to do him justice for my loyal requester!!! A bit of context for this one- Cas is able to reveal a physical form of his wings if he chooses. All of the logistics of angel wings are pretty much made up. Good thing I view canon as more of a… rough suggestion! It’s right there in my bio, people. Have a little bit of suspension of belief for a few of the details!!!! Also- this doesn't quite make it to outright romantic territory- it felt to me like a buildup to something bigger in the future! Maybe I'll write a part 2 at some point, who knows... It had been a few hours since you had finished up the day’s hunt. Upon your return to the motel, Sam had instantly run out the door to the local library in search of a better wifi connection to research for the next case, while Dean had followed him into town to grab some supplies. This left you and Castiel, perched in your usual positions on opposite sides of the bed in your separate room. It was common for you and the angel to spend some quiet time together after a hunt- you both often found an unspoken comfort in each other’s simple presence. While you were leaned back, propped up with pillows and dialed into whatever was on TV, Cas held his usual stiff posture, but something seemed off about him. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, and every so often, he would shift in his seat and his whole body would tighten and cringe. You knew he had taken a few pretty serious blows during this hunt, but the fact that he let himself continue to hurt, rather than quickly healing himself, was concerning to you. Usually, this time spent together was silent, enjoying a moment of peace while you each lost yourself in your own thoughts. But after a few episodes and many stolen, worried glances, you felt you had to speak up.

“Cas, what’s wrong? It’s obvious you’re still hurting. Why haven’t you healed yourself?” 

“I’m fine. I just need to figure a few things out.” He continued to avoid your gaze, rising from the bed and pacing across the room to distance himself from you. 

“If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.” Your level of concern forced you to cut right to the chase. 

Cas pondered this for a second. Could you really help him? Was it even okay for him to ask? Humans certainly hadn’t taken very well to an angel’s true form in the past… But that was a couple thousand years ago, and those humans hadn’t known what you know. If anyone could handle this, it was you. If he could trust anyone, it was you. And it was only his wings- just a sliver of his full form. But still, Cas was hesitant. This was unfamiliar territory for him. 

You watched from across the room as the wheels turned in his mind. His expression was pained, and it seemed like he was wrestling with a hard decision. As much as you wanted to close the gap between you, to comfort him, you knew the best thing to do was to give him his space. You were glad you did, because after a moment, his gaze rose from the floor, settled on you, and he opened his mouth to speak. 

“There’s something wrong with my wings. It’s blocking my grace and I can’t heal myself.” His expression was solemn and his tone direct. Clearly, he wasn’t happy to have to bring this up with you.  

“Your wings?” The mention of the most angelic part of your dear angel sent your heart aflutter (no pun intended). For the most part, Cas’s wings were out of sight, out of mind. Usually he was just the dorky man in a trench coat who just so happened to have some pretty crazy powers. But when you thought about his wings, the parts of him that were so divine and otherworldly, your cheeks burned scarlet. It was a reminder of just how different Cas was from you. 

“Yes. I might need you to… Inspect them. Figure out what is wrong and remove whatever is blocking my grace. I can’t heal myself, Sam, Dean, or you until it’s gone.”

You sucked in a sharp, full breath, your lungs holding tightly to the air for just a moment before slowly pushing it back out of you. 

“Okay. I can do that.” Why were you nervous? It was just Cas. You were just helping out a… friend. 

“It’s very… personal. This vessel you see isn’t really me, but my wings? That is as close as you can get to seeing my true form. I’m… not sure how you would react. It’s not something meant for human eyes. Not here on Earth, anyways. It might upset you or-” 

“If it means helping you, I’m sure I can handle it.” 

“Are you sure-” 

“Cas. Are you in pain?” 

He hesitated for a moment before conceding the truth. “Yes.” 

“Then let me help.”

Castiel sighed, his body tightening in a way that seemed like he was bracing himself. A terse “Alright” escaped his lips, and then the whole room shifted. 

There was no earthly way to describe the sight that unfurled before you. Castiel’s wings were dark, so dark they held no color or shine or reflection- just a void, deep, black nothingness. And yet, they almost glowed. There was some sort of aura that radiated off of them, just as dark as the wings themselves yet tinged ever so slightly blue. It must have been his grace. The aura wrapped around the perimeter of each wing and hugged each individual feather, defining them just enough so you could barely distinguish one from another. Somehow, his wings were dark and light and everything in between- you had never seen anything like it. Cas was right- it was hard to wrap your head around it. You reached down to grasp the surface you were sitting on, half to ground yourself in the moment to believe what you were seeing, and half to make sure you didn’t jump right up to inspect his wings closer. You knew this was hard for poor Castiel- your greatest fear was making him uncomfortable.

“Wow, Cas,” was all you could say. You were completely entranced, absolutely at a loss. It took everything in you not to burst into tears- he was definitely right. This was not a sight for just any human to see. He started to shift underneath your gaze, each movement triggering his wings to follow in a parallel movement. He looked uncomfortable. Gathering your composure, you rose to your feet. It was just Cas, the same Cas you’ve known all along. As nervous as his wings made you feel, you knew he was just as nervous, so you pushed yourself to help him feel at ease. 

“Okay. How do you want me to do this?”

“You can touch them. See if you notice anything that doesn’t look like it should be there.” 

Touch them. Just the thought sent another jolt of electricity through your body. Touching Cas’s wings? He was asking you to touch his wings. There was no stopping the thoughts racing into your mind- How would they feel? How would it make Cas feel? How would it make you feel?

Pushing the worries aside, you crossed over to Cas. Mid-step, your gaze grabbed on to the angel’s and wouldn’t let go. As you inched closer, you were less and less inclined to look away. Because once you did, you knew you would be face to face in the task at hand.

It’s not that you didn’t want to look at Cas’s wings. They were the most beautiful, ethereal things you had ever seen. They just made you so nervous. For the first time since knowing Cas, it truly registered to you- he was an angel, a heavenly creature, so powerful and beautiful that even this small glimpse of his true form had you weak in the knees. But beyond being just an angel, he was a teammate, a friend, and to you, something far more. All you wanted to do was take his pain away.

Finally, your eyes were forced to stray from the angel’s as your feet led you behind him, ducking under his left wing and settling yourself square between them. There was a physical sensation radiating off of them- a warm, low buzz that made your whole body tingle. 

“One more thing.” Cas’s voice stepped in to break what felt like an age-long silence. 

“Yes?” You whispered.

“It will be a bit… sensitive. Please be gentle.” 

“Of course, Cas.” 

And so you were. With the softest touch you could muster up, you reached out and made contact with his right wing, settling your fingers amongst the feathers. You felt Cas’s body shudder underneath your touch, but his low voice mumbled that all was well, to carry on. So you did.

For nearly thirty minutes, your fingers worked through the wings. Touching them was like weaving your hands through silk, sifting through layer upon layer. The feathers were so light and delicate that they almost felt like nothing at all, and the way they kissed your skin was without a doubt the most beautiful sensation you had ever experienced.

Your hands zoned into their task, sifting through the wings to remove all of the debris leftover from the day’s hunt. Cas spoke to you as you worked, teaching you about their anatomy, their capabilities, and everything else. You listened intently, fascinated by this intimate insight, but you weren’t sure if he was speaking with the pure intention of teaching you or simply to distract himself from the feeling of what was going on behind him. Every so often, his voice wavered or his back pulled away, and in response, you would stall your hands, giving him a moment to adjust. 

The process was long and tedious, but you took the liberty of enjoying every second of it. Watching the ripple of the feathers beneath your fingers, the way your hands seemed to disappear as they bobbed in and out, eventually you dropped the last piece of shrapnel into the empty box you had been using to collect it all. 

“There. All done. Is that… any better?” 

Cas didn’t vocalize a response, but your question was answered when his entire form shone with the familiar blue glow of his grace. And when the glow subsided, his wings were tucked away yet again, leaving behind his unadorned trenchcoated vessel. He turned to you with a face of gentle features. 

“Thank you,” was all he could express in his low timbre. It seemed as though every trace of worry had melted away, and everything about Cas’s presence had softened. But if you hadn’t been completely sure of his newfound comfort and ease, the angel confirmed it when he took a long stride closer, halving the distance that had served as the buffer between you.

“Thank you for trusting me to do that,” you breathed through a slight daze, both lingering from the experience and sparked anew from his rapidly increasing proximity. 

“There is no one else I trust as much as you.” Now he was merely inches away, hovering closer to you than he ever had been before. Here you froze, both sinking into the feeling, until the magnetism that emanated off of him grew to be too much. Just as you took the leap of faith to close the gap, you were interrupted by the crash of the front door flying open. You jerked backwards on instinct, reinstating the safe buffer space. 

In strode Sam and Dean, oblivious as ever. Stopped just inside the doorframe, and in complete unison, the brothers tilted their heads in confusion.

Gesturing between the two of you, Dean spoke. “Hey. We interrupting something?”

[gingerteafairy]

✮⋆˙ pov: your camera roll going out with the winchester boys (feat. Cas, he's a cutie) ⋆˚࿔

[hollybell51]

Last night on Earth

^don't mind me going absolutely feral over this gif

Navigation

Cas x AFAB!fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005), s05e03 "free to be you and me"

Word count: 6.4K

Summary: following the hooker failure, you feel that sitting alone in a shitty abandoned house is not the best way to spend one's last night on Earth. Cas seems to agree with you.

Content: smut! Yay! First kisses, first time, making out, handjobs, hickeys, penetrative sex, safe sex (yay!), cowgirl, mutual masturbation, fingering, gags? if you squint? maybe? like a hand over the mouth. Discussions of sex work and sex workers (I'm not commenting on anything, it's just there as dialogue due to the nature of the episode, and all dialogue/internal monologue regarding the topic is purely for the furtherment of the plot). Talking during sex, Cas is loud. Sex on a couch, spooning, almost-love-confessions ("like-confessions"). Very light comment on body image, some very vague descriptions of scars (reader is a hunter). Cas is just Cas and I love him for it. He's also a virgin. Dean's probably a warning but I adore him.

Notes: Heyyyy how's it going? One day into my holidays and I churn out this bad boy. Couldn't get the idea out of my head, and hey, I'm a sucker for virgin angels. This show is rapidly taking over my whole life lmao.

It's also been a while so I just thought I'd remind people of the taglist form, and the existence of my AO3 (if you wanna read my stuff there for whatever reason). Anyways enjoy, stay safe out there xx

“That was quick,” you called as the door creaked open, Dean’s low chuckle echoing through the hallway. You closed the book you’d been reading – a shitty paperback you’d picked out of a bargain bin – and watched as the other hunter dropped his jacket onto a rusted dining chair. You’d expected them to be gone for a few hours, hence your foray into the realms of “downtime”, but it had barely been one since they’d left, Dean throwing an obscenely enthusiastic wink your way as he shoved an apprehensive looking Cas out to enjoy his last night on Earth. 

“We had to wrap it up pretty fast.” Dean glanced over his shoulder at Cas, laughter still clinging to his face. You hadn’t seen him look that happy in ages, not for this long. Well, that was something at least. 

You’d had your doubts about the whole idea from the moment Dean had mentioned it. Sure, sex was sex. It was something that could be pretty darn nice and that you were glad for in your life, but you weren’t sure if Dean fully grasped that it was never the same with a hooker. It would never feel as good, it would never be meaningful, it would be a service purchased from a provider. A business transaction. That wasn’t any way to experience it for the first time, in your opinion. 

“Good time not a long time, then?” you asked mildly. 

“Would you say that, Cas?” 

The angel stiffened, hands shoved into the pockets of his trench coat. 

You wrinkled your nose, suddenly wondering if you should feel bad. “Bad time?” 

Dean snorted. “I’m turning in. You tell (Y/N) about it, she’ll give you a pat on the back and tell you it’s alright. And don’t look so… grief stricken.” 

“G’night,” you waved to his retreating back, then turned back to Cas. “Really bad time?” 

He really did look grief stricken, standing stock still in the dimness. Even his hair looked droopier than usual, and you almost got out of your seat just to push it off his face. You settled for putting your book down and leaning forward. 

“She ran away,” he said after a moment. “I think I scared her.” 

“Geez,” you frowned. “How’d you scare a hooker?” 

He shrugged. “I told her it wasn’t her fault that her father Gene ran off.” Then, as if it explained everything; “He hated his job at the post office.” 

You laughed, but stopped quickly. “Oh, Cas. You know the whole–” 

“The whole industry is run on absent fathers, I know.” He sighed. “Dean found it hilarious.” 

This time, you did get up, crossing the room to pat his shoulder. You knew Dean wouldn’t have meant anything by it, wouldn’t have been laughing at Cas. Still, a pang of what was almost pity shot through you. It wasn’t about the sex, not really, as much as Dean played that aspect up. It was more all the coulds that never would. Cas wasn’t human, as much as he could pass it off (mostly), but there were so many things that he wasn’t going to get to try now. You just didn’t understand how he could so casually volunteer to die at the drop of a hat. It was either incredibly selfless, or incredibly selfish. Or maybe just stupid. 

But no, Cas wasn’t stupid. He was razor sharp, a soldier of God, even if you poked fun at him when he didn’t understand your and Dean’s pop-culture reference infused slang. It had only been the last time you’d seen him that you’d vowed to make him sit through all the Star Wars movies, something you hadn’t realised until afterwards had sounded a lot like a “movie and chill” proposal. Luckily, he wouldn’t have picked up on that. Just like he wouldn’t have picked up – like Dean had – the moments where you caught yourself watching him, or the smiles that were just too damned determined to break out on your face when he showed up – either in the real world or in your mind. And thank the heavens nobody but you noticed the tiny flurries of butterflies in your stomach you’d noticed increasingly often when he was around, the surges of warmth that would sneak up and rush over you unexpectedly when you thought of him, the tingles that flooded your skin when he stood that little bit too close to you.  

Which, when you thought about it, was maybe contributing to the ounce of vindication you were feeling regarding the hooker failure. It wasn’t all the “I told you so” type of satisfaction, anyway, and you weren’t too proud to admit when you liked someone. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured him now, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. 

“You’re giving me a pat on the back and telling me it’s alright,” he sighed, almost mournfully. “Dean said–” 

You reached up, pressing a finger to his lips and shaking your head. “You wanna know something?” 

He nodded, brows furrowed. He hadn’t drawn back, you noticed. 

“It doesn’t matter how much sex Dean has,” you whispered, hand still floating close by his face. “I wouldn’t take a damn letter of his advice in that department.” 

“Why not?” His breath tickled your skin, and suddenly you realised just how close you were standing. 

You shrugged, dispelling the shiver that had run up your spine. “I just know if a dude came onto me how he comes onto chicks, I’d kick him in the balls.” 

“I’ll make a point to not come onto you like he does, in that case.” 

It took a moment – past the words “like he does”, not that he wouldn’t come onto you full stop, but like Dean does – for the fact that it was a joke to sink in, then you smiled. Maybe there was, or had been, hope for him yet. You took a breath, turning the words over in your mind. It was now or never, you supposed. 

“I want you to know,” you said carefully, “if you die–” 

“When. Tomorrow, when I die.” 

“Uh, yeah.” You swallowed. How could he be so matter of fact about it? How could he just say it like that? It didn’t matter, you supposed. Whether he said it or didn’t, it wasn’t going to change the fact that it was happening. 

“When I die…” he prompted when you were silent. 

“I want you to know that I liked you,” you said simply, then shrugged. “I think I was on the way to really liking you.” 

He frowned, and for a moment you thought you’d made a massive mistake. “You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I don’t mind. I know I’m… a dick.” 

“Jesus, Cas,” you snorted. “Guess we say that a bit too much, don’t we?” 

“Maybe.” 

“And we don’t say ‘thank you’ enough.” 

He shook his head, still holding your hand. “You don’t have to do this,” he repeated.

“It’s not about that. Not all of it, anyway.” You smiled, glancing at your hand where it met his. It looked big, wrapped around your fingers, and it fitted painfully well. “But, you know, if it’s your last night on Earth…” You looked up, wiggling your eyebrows. You could play it off as a joke if you needed to, you weren’t too far in yet. 

That familiar almost-smile you’d come to look for danced over his lips. “You pity me, dying a virgin? Dying,” he added. “A virgin.” 

You laughed. “I don’t… pity you. Not exactly. Not because you’re gonna die a virgin, and definitely not because you’re a virgin.” 

“Because I scared away a prostitute?” 

“Her loss,” you laughed. “And anyway, if it’s your first and last time, it’d be nice to… y’know… feel good.” 

He frowned. “Surely a prostitute would know how to do that?”

“Maybe the technicalities,” you shrugged, “but there’s more to it than that. There’s feelings, y’know?” 

“Feelings?” 

Again, you shrugged, suddenly self conscious. What were you doing? “Two way street kind of thing,” you explained lamely. “Not just someone you want, but someone who wants you. Not just your money.” You were acutely aware of the unspoken words floating beneath the casual sentence. I want you. It could be me.

A pause, where his eyes seemed to bore into your soul. He had a knack for that, you’d noticed. Sometimes you felt like he could see right to the very core of your being. In the dimness, they looked even more startlingly blue than usual. He was so close, you could almost count his eyelashes, almost feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath the coat, jacket, shirt, tie… 

“When it’s…” He paused, his tongue darting over his lips. God, his lips. “Someone you want.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Someone who wants you.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Not just your money.” 

You hadn’t taken your eyes off his mouth through the whole exchange, and your voice, when you asked, sounded softer than you’d meant it to, breathy and faint to your own ears. “Do you want me, Cas? Last night on Earth, and all.” 

The corner of his mouth curled up, brows twitching into a thoughtful frown. No, you thought, not quite a frown. Something else, more curious than confused. Almost quizzical. “I think…” He paused, drawing breath. “I think I do.” 

“Ok,” you smiled, ignoring the butterfly rampage taking place in your stomach. This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen in real life. Not your life, anyway, even if it was Cas’s last night on Earth. It didn’t exist outside the pages of those shitty paperbacks. 

“Do you want me?” Cas asked. 

“Mhm.” It was all you could manage, really. Then you were stretching up the last few inches between your face and his, pressing your lips gently against his own. 

He was perfectly still for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, almost three. Then his hand tightened around yours and he pulled you closer, trench coat rustling where your chest met it. He kissed you the way you remembered the first boy who’d ever kissed you – a boy in your year level at school, at a party, playing spin the bottle no less – had kissed you. The want was all there, the enthusiasm and anticipation and the only half-conscious desire for more. His lips remained shut, but you could feel in it that he knew it wasn’t quite right. 

You pulled away briefly, just enough to raise a hand to his mouth and run your thumb over his bottom lip. “Like this,” you murmured, pushing just enough to part his lips. Then your hands were in his hair and you were pulling him down to you, and this time it was perfect. 

He made a little sound of pleasure as your tongue slipped beside his, stroking, caressing, gently as you could. Without any guidance, his hand had found the cloth-shielded contours of your breast, tracing the outline with a sort of awe. His fingers ran along the neckline of your top, dipping under the material, curving around your bare shoulder, exploratory and cautious. 

You let him explore you, his hands mapping out every curve he could touch, tongue darting into every uncharted depth he could find, tasting and learning and discovering parts of you you hadn’t guessed could be felt like this through just a kiss. Your mind spiralled as his hand eased under your shirt, cool fingers tickling the skin of your hip. He squeezed gently, pulling you against him harder, and you gave in completely. You weren’t sure if it was what he had been going for, but when you pushed your pelvis against his he gasped; a quiet, shuddering little sound that went straight to your panties. 

“Ok?” you breathed between kisses, then, at his nod, you did it again. 

His voice was strangled when he said your name, the pads of his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist. Oh Cas, you thought. A rush of affection washed over you at how eager he was, where just an hour before he’d been being literally pushed out the door by Dean, looking as terrified as you’d ever seen him at the prospect of sex. Now he was kissing you hungrily, kneading at your skin, inching your shirt up off your torso, his feet at risk of tangling with yours as he walked you backwards. Not to mention the increasingly noticeable bulge pressed against you. 

“Clothes off,” you breathed, already undoing his tie. “On the couch.” 

He paused, then he was shrugging off the trench coat, the blazer following suit – no pun intended – and landing with a soft rustling thump on the floor. You stepped back, just a little, as he deftly unfastened the buttons of his shirt, drinking in every inch of skin like a kid in a lolly shop. Fuck, maybe you had the hots for him even worse than you’d thought. 

“Are you going to undress too?” The question was mild, matter of fact, but something in the way Cas had paused midway through relieving himself of his pants and was watching you, hands still on the belt buckle, made you stomach flip. 

You cleared your throat, but your voice still came out too low, too husky. “Sure.” 

His gaze didn’t leave you for an instant – apart from when he kicked his discarded trousers aside – as you pulled your shirt the rest of the way over your head, slid your jeans as gracefully as you could down your legs. You shivered slightly in the cool night air, acutely aware of your hunter’s body. 

Cas’s eyes widened, scanning over you and taking in every inch of your skin. It wasn’t perfect, you were aware of that. It wasn’t like a hooker’s body, it carried you around as you fought monsters, and was littered with the proof of said monster fights. You wondered if Cas had seen other – normal – human bodies like this, if he’d find the painfully obvious reminders of your mortality somehow repellent. You suddenly felt very, very small and very, very human. 

“Sorry about… y’know…” You shrugged, patting your thigh awkwardly. “The meatsack’s a little dinged up. Most people don’t look like this.” 

“Don’t look like what?” he frowned, finally looking back at your face. 

You shrugged again, poking a long white scar over your side. The first werewolf you’d ever come face to face with, and nearly the last. “Scarred. At least not as much as I am,” you added. 

A shiver shot up your spine as Cas settled his hands on your bare waist, fingers running over the most noticeable marks. “Don’t apologise,” he said softly. “You’re human, and you spend your days killing monsters. It would be more disturbing if you were unblemished.” 

You laughed at that, a small breathy sound. “You think I’m disturbing?” 

He smiled faintly. “You’re not so bad.”

You felt your own mouth curve, matching his. “Neither are you.” 

He leaned down, his lips meeting yours once more. This kiss was softer, more intimate, maybe a little too intimate. You were vaguely aware of the couch behind you. Before your knees knocked against its side, you broke away – a difficult task, given that Cas chased your lips like a lab rat after cheese – and spun, laying your hands firmly on his chest. 

“Couch,” you muttered, giving a gentle push. 

He pulled you with him as he sat down, his hands running down over your hips, your thighs, back up again to your waist. He watched you carefully as his touch slid up the centre of your torso, over your bra, lingering momentarily on the anti-possession sigil tattooed over your heart before he moved on, across the line of your ribs. Unbidden, the memory of the last time he’d touched you there sprang to mind; the sharp, burning pain and throbbing after-ache of the Enochian sigils being literally carved into your bones. 

“I can see them,” he whispered, as if he’d read your mind. “The sigils.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “How do they look?” 

“Foreign,” he said after a moment. “They don’t belong.”

You shrugged, unsure how to respond to that. Sure, the sigils weren’t part of you, and you didn’t exactly know how you felt about angel writing being carved into your ribcage, but there was also something reassuring about knowing it was there, knowing you carried that kind of magic with you. In you. 

Cas’s eyes lifted from your body, fixing on your own. “Can you feel them?” he inquired. 

You shook your head. “Not really. Not physically. But I know they’re there.” 

“Perhaps I should have asked,” he muttered, almost to himself. “It’s your body, after all.” 

“No,” you smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I kinda like the idea of you scribbling on me. Bone graffiti.” 

“Bone graffiti?” 

You felt the smile grow, nodding. “Besides,” you added, “I’ll always have a little bit of you, even after you're gone. Like a… souvenir.” 

“Oh,” was all he said. You supposed people were right about impending death making people sappier. But still, what you said was true. Your own ribs had become a kind of lucky charm, a talisman, a locket of sorts. 

You dragged yourself out of that line of thinking before you went any further, turning your attention back to the angel currently underneath you on the couch. Underneath you and very shirtless. You’d placed your own hands on his chest in an attempt to not fall over on top of him, and now you let yourself touch him – really touch him. His chest heaved under your fingers as you swept over him, a tiny, strangled noise falling from his lips. 

“Alright?” you asked, pausing for a moment. 

He nodded, shifting slightly under you. “It’s good,” he said softly. 

“Keep going?” 

Again, a nod. Cautiously, gently, you spread your fingers over his chest. His heart beat fast, thudding frantically as you moved your other hand lower, down the centre of his torso, following the contours of his lithe muscles. You reached the waistband of his underpants, pausing. 

“Can I?” you asked, your hand hovering over his barely concealed erection. 

“Yes,” he whispered, tongue darting over his lips. His eyes flicked from your face to your hand, back to your face again. 

You smiled as you slipped your fingers under the waistband of his underwear. His dick was hot to the touch, hard and already damp at the tip. “You ever touched yourself?” you asked as you withdrew your hand, spitting into your palm. 

Cas’s breath hitched. “Once.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nodded, licking his lips again. “Dean said I wasn’t supposed to talk about it.” 

“Yeah, well…” You smiled again, wrapping your fingers around his cock and stroking languidly. “You can tell me.” 

He gave a sort of half gasp, half moan, his grip tightening on your thigh. “I found Dean’s magazine,” he confessed. “The one with the women, not the cars.” 

“Mhm?” You kept your voice mild, focussing on the steady motion of your arm and wrist, your fingers sliding effortlessly over him. You could almost see Cas flipping through the pages of one of those god-awful porn mags Dean insisted on carting around, picture his confused little head-tilt and his frown as he looked through the pictures, his hand creeping to where yours was now, his much larger fingers circling–

“It was uncomfortable,” he continued, jerking you back to the present. “Too hot. I really just wanted it to go away.” 

“And did it?” 

“Not until I– oh!” He broke off as your thumb slid over the leaking head of his cock, fingers digging into your thigh. 

You fought off the surge of heat the sound sent shooting through you, watching his slightly parted lips, his wide eyes. “Did you cum?” you asked evenly. 

“Yes,” he panted, hips twitching up slightly. “Oh, (Y/N), yes–” 

“Yes, you did cum?” 

“Yes, yes I did.” 

“Was it good?” 

Another soft moan, then he smiled. “Not as good as this.” 

Maybe it was the praise, maybe the moan, maybe the smile. Either way, the words went straight to your panties. You ignored it, stopping yourself from grinding against him with willpower that would have impressed Jesus. Although, you weren’t sure how he would have felt about you fucking a literal angel. 

You leant forward, kissing his lips gently, then his jaw, then his neck, then his chest. You kept going, tracing a path inexorably downwards, shuffling backwards to straddle his thigh as he shifted with you, now splayed along the couch lengthways. 

“Help me out,” you muttered, your hand moving beside your face as you attempted to pull his underwear off. Obediently, he lifted his hips and kicked them aside, the muscles of his stomach twitching as you placed a kiss on the junction of his hip. And holy shit, you could have just watched his torso moving like that forever. You kissed his hip again, sucking gently at the spot, licking over the mark you conjured. Then you added another beside it, and another, and another. A little belt of hickeys across his pelvis. 

“Do you, hm, touch yourself too?” he asked, breathless and raw. 

“Fuck, Cas.” You paused where you’d been about to kiss the base of his cock, raising your eyes to his. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell again, the skin almost glowing in the dim light. 

He frowned. “Am I not supposed to ask that?” 

“You can ask me anything you want,” you assured him, kissing the little trail of hair below his belly button. “And yeah, I do.” 

“Does it feel good?” 

You smiled. “Yeah.” 

“Do you…” He paused, searching for the words. “Do you want to do it now?” 

“This is about you,” you said softly, giving his cock a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about me.” 

“I want you to feel good too.” 

You sat up, studying him. There was nothing by sincerity in his eyes, the genuine desire – and desire there was – for you to enjoy yourself. And why shouldn’t you indulge that? You were having a great time as it was, and there was no denying the throbbing ache that had grown exponentially between your legs. 

“You want me to touch myself?” you asked, double checking. 

He nodded. “Yes, please.”

“Ok.” You shed your own underpants, shivering as the cool air came in contact with your wetness. Slowly, you reached down and ran your finger over your clit, your breath hitching in your chest. You repeated the action, your hand moving further down to circle your entrance, slick gathering on your fingers. You’d done this countless times before, and you weren’t ashamed of it. Masturbation was natural, it was a perfectly normal perfectly human thing to do. This, however was different. You’d never had an audience before, never had anyone watch you with such rapt wonder and awe. 

Cas’s eyes flicked down to your bra, then back to your face. A question, almost a request. 

“Off?” you asked, already reaching behind your back. He nodded, watching carefully as you shed the garment and cast it aside to join the pile of clothes on the floor. Slowly, reverently, he stretched up and kissed your breast, his hand leaving its place on your hip to trace over the other one. 

A shiver ran down your spine and you bit down on your lip, attempting futilely to stifle your moan. Absently, your hand resumed its place between your thighs as Cas’s hand left your chest and found its way to his cock. You’d never in a million years have thought you’d be where you were now; touching yourself on top of an angel touching himself while he did his best to turn your chest into one giant hickey. You were hardly complaining. 

Something rustled in the next room over, and you both froze. Fuck, you thought. Dean was still (hopefully) asleep, only the wall and the hastily closed door to that room barring him from hearing you. Cas seemed to have had exactly the same thought, his head tilted slightly as he listened, his breath raising goosebumps on the spit-damp skin of your chest. There was another rustle, then a quiet snort, then nothing. He hadn’t woken, then. 

“We gotta be quiet,” you whispered. You shifted, biting back another moan. “Ok?” 

“Ok,” Cas nodded. He pressed his lips firmly together, eyes flicking down to where your hand disappeared between your legs. You hissed as you resumed your movement, acutely aware of every possible sound you or Cas made, ears pricked for any other disturbance from nextdoor. 

Cas’s free hand was still resting on your thigh, firmly holding you in place on top of himself. His wrist brushed your own with every stroke of his cock, the skin over his stomach and chest twitching ever so slightly. His own thigh tensed as he thrust into his hand, something that you could only describe as a whimper falling from his lips. Heat surged over you, your mind awash with desire. If only that hooker knew what she was missing. 

“Sorry,” he muttered almost immediately, eyes darting towards the door. 

“‘Salright,” you replied, swallowing hard. Being quiet was a much more difficult task than you’d anticipated, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the possibility of being caught just a little bit. You grunted softly as your finger brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, the familiar rhythm and movements working just as well as ever, and even better when you had Cas to look at. Not to mention the warmth of his mouth where it occasionally found your breasts again. 

But you wanted more, you needed more. The same part of you that was electrified by your own touch craved his, especially when his beautiful hands were right there and his eyes were still fixed on you like you were the centre of the universe, his own movements becoming faster and more frantic, chest heaving. 

You paused, much as it pained you. “Do you wanna go further?” 

He frowned. “What do you mean?” 

Gently, you laid your hand over his and peeled it away from his cock. Wriggling forwards a little, you finally – finally – rocked your hips over his, revelling in the hot hardness of him against your slick. His mouth fell open, fingers tightening on your own. 

“Here, Cas. I want you inside me, wanna fuck you properly.” 

“Oh, (Y/N),” he sighed, his own hips matching your movement. 

“Will you let me? Let me fuck you?” 

“Yes,” he nodded. “Yes, of course.” 

You smiled. “Ok, one second.” You reached over the side of the couch, digging through the pockets of your jeans until you found your wallet – and the little foil package inside it. 

“What are you doing?” Cas asked as you tore it open and set the latex atop his dick. 

“It’s a condom,” you explained. “So I don’t get pregnant. No offence,” you grinned, “but I don’t really wanna have your babies any time soon.” 

“Oh.” He swallowed, processing. “That’s… understandable.”

“All good?” At his nod, you slid the condom the rest of the way down, spitting into your hand once more and resuming your earlier ministrations. “It feels a little different, I know,” you whispered as you moved to grind against him once more. 

“It’s still good,” he assured you, placing his hands gently on your hips. 

You smiled. “Ready?” 

“Yes.” The word was a breath, nothing more, but it was all you needed. Carefully, you lined him up and sank down, watching his face carefully. His eyes widened, his fingers digging into your flesh slightly as a deep groan reverberated through the space between you. 

“Gotta be quiet,” you reminded him, your voice not half as steady as you’d have liked. “Don’t wanna wake Dean up, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he echoed, “quiet.” 

You leaned forwards and placed a soft kiss on his lips, rocking your hips over his. He was everything you’d imagined and so much more. It was like he’d been made for you, the way his cock stroked every inch of your insides, sliding smoothly with how wet you were. You wanted to go back in time and kick your past self for having waited this long. 

“God, Cas,” you sighed. “Oh God.” 

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he stretched up and captured your lips with his, moving down over your jaw to your neck, sucking gently just as you’d done to the skin of his hip. Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close against you as you lifted and lowered your hips, a faint whine somehow slipping from your lips despite your best efforts. 

“Is this, hm, ok?” he asked, his usually gravelly voice made even more so. 

“Fuck,” you gasped as his hand came to rest on your ass, kneading at the soft flesh, moving up over the front of your hips where your leg met the rest of your body. “So good, Cas.” 

“You’re so good,” he murmured, guiding your movements gently. He thrust into you, his hips meeting yours halfway, stomach muscles flexing.

“Let me,” you said, pushing him backwards into the couch cushions. “You relax, yeah? I’ve got it. I’ve got you.” 

He nodded, head tipping back as you bounced on his dick, the rough fabric of the cushion beneath you scratching at your knees. Fumbling slightly, your hands found purchase on his chest and you locked your elbows in an odd sort of imitation of CPR. If CPR was done from the front rather than the side, you supposed, but you weren’t exactly doing any resuscitation. 

His chest heaved under your touch, another low groan seeming to echo in the otherwise stillness of the night. The tiny part of your brain that wasn’t totally consumed with the wonderful pleasure-ache of his cock hitting deep inside you and the burn of your thighs was torn between telling him to be quiet and just listening to him, but then he was licking his lips again and his mouth was falling open and you were lost. 

“(Y/N),” he panted, his eyes fixed on your face. “Oh, (Y/N), oh my–” 

“Alright?” you asked, biting back a moan as you found a particularly good angle. 

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s, hm, so good.” He glanced momentarily down at where your body met his, another groan rumbling in his chest. 

“Sh–” you whispered, half tempted to press your hand over his mouth. Or maybe your own, given the struggle you were facing to remain quiet yourself. 

“Sorry, sorry I–” 

You cut him off quickly. “It’s alright Cas, you’re fine. Just, fuck–” 

“(Y/N),” he panted, the muscles of his arms and stomach flexing as his fingers gripped the couch cushion, luminescent in the dimness. Again, his eyes flicked downwards, this time to the soft mound of flesh currently on display. 

You smiled, reaching down to take his hand, drawing it up to rest over your pelvis. His skin was warmer than you’d ever felt it, faintly clammy and God his hand was big under your own. You couldn’t count the number of times you’d caught yourself picturing his hands in this kind of context, and you didn’t want to try. His fingers splayed over your skin, moving with you, covering the whole space below your naval. 

“That’s where you are,” you panted. “That’s where I can feel you, Cas, right there.” 

A small, strained noise you could only describe as a whine. “Is it, ah, good? Do you like it? Do you like feeling… me?” 

“Fuck,” you sighed. “Yeah, sure do, Cas. Do you like feeling me?” 

He smiled, biting down hard on his lower lip. “Of course. I like it immensely.” 

You felt yourself clench at his words, and this time you were unable to restrain the downright pornographic moan that tore from your throat. Any other time, you might have been embarrassed, but Cas seemed to like it. Pressing your lips firmly together, you glanced hastily towards the other room, but as far as you could tell there was no disturbance. 

“(Y/N), oh, (Y/N), I don’t think—” He swallowed hard, eyes wide and back on your face. 

“Yeah? What’s wrong?” 

“I can’t— I don’t think I can be quiet, (Y/N) I—”

Affection bloomed alongside the desire in your gut, and you had half a mind to tell him it was alright, he didn’t even have to worry about being quiet at all. It wasn’t like you didn’t love the noises he was making. But Dean was only one room over, and you didn’t want to wake him. 

“You can, Cas,” you breathed, “you can. You’re doing so well already, we just gotta— fuck.”

He’d bucked his hips up into you, the movement jolting the steady knot of pleasure forming low in your stomach. He was close, you could see it as much as hear it, but the thought of the thin walls and your friend sleeping in the next room over had taken root more firmly in your mind now. 

“It’s so much,” Cas gasped. “Oh, oh, (Y/N) it’s so much—”

You managed a smile, slowing down your movements a little. “I know,” you said softly. “You’re ok, yeah?” 

He nodded frantically. “Hm, yes, yes. Please, don’t stop. Keep going, please—” 

Another soft moan slipped from your mouth, Cas’s answering groan enough to make your legs shake. It was too loud, and any other time you’d have soaked up his praises and curses and everything, but not now. After a moment’s hesitation, you clamped your hand firmly over his mouth, sh-ing him gently. If possible, his eyes widened even further and he groaned against your skin. 

“Alright?” you breathed. 

Another frantic nod, an almost-whimper as your grip firmed up. Well I’ll be damned, you thought vaguely. Who’d have guessed he was into that? 

You felt him shiver all over as you continued to rock your hips over his, his hand where it rested on your hip tightening. You wondered if you’d have finger-shaped bruises later. It didn’t matter, you told yourself as he moaned again, his stomach muscles tensing, something that could have been your name squashed under your hand. 

“Sh, shh!” you gasped. Between holy shit I’m so close and holy shit he’s so close, the thought that Dean was right there and would hear you was still rooted in your mind. “Cas, sh, Dean’s right– ah, fuck, Dean’s–” 

You broke off as Cas’s chest heaved, his hips bucking up into you once more. His mouth had fallen open under your hand and he was gasping something, angel curse-words, maybe? It didn’t matter, not when his eyes were screwed shut and his head was tipped back, your name sprinkled into the litany of foreign words like a prayer. 

The sight was enough to make the bomb that had been building in your stomach explode, sparks of pleasure shooting through your aching legs right to your toes and back up again. You might have said Cas’s name, you weren’t sure, but the sentiment was there. You clamped a hand over your own mouth, nothing but the need to be quiet reverberating through your pleasure-blanked mind. 

After what felt like an age, your brain managed to find its way back into your skull and the aftershocks of your orgasm faded from your body. Gently, you removed your hand from Cas’s mouth and looked down at him, smiling. 

“Alright?” you asked. 

His hair was a mess, his brow lightly beaded with sweat, cheeks flushed. There was even a slight red mark where your hand had been, which you stroked gently. 

“I’m more than alright,” he smiled, turning to place a tiny kiss on your fingers. “Are you?” 

“Good,” you nodded as you slid off him, mourning the sudden emptiness momentarily as you peeled off the condom, tying it in a neat knot to be disposed of later. Then he was lifting his arm, wriggling with you as if he could read your mind, and you were being cocooned against his body. 

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, “if I was too loud.” 

“You weren’t,” you assured him quickly. “Not at all. Sorry about… gagging you. I should’ve asked. That’s not what usually happens.” 

He hesitated, turning to meet your eyes. “I… didn’t mind.” 

“No?” 

He shook his head, a small, nervous smile dancing across his lips. “No. In fact, I quite liked it.” 

You felt your own smile widen as you placed a soft kiss on his cheek, taking his hand where it rested on his chest. “Good,” you said. “What about  the rest? What do you think?” 

He sighed, a beautifully satisfied noise that flooded you with warmth. “I think I should not have waited this long.” 

You laughed, pressing closer. “Mhm?” 

“Mhm. Thank you, (Y/N), truly.” 

“Oh,” you said softly, turning away to hide the blood rushing to your face. “That’s ok, Cas. Thank you.” 

He gave another little hum, shifting to drape his arm over your waist and pull you into him, fingers skimming your ribs. Getting spooned by a divine warrior of God, you thought with a thrill. Real life really was stranger than fiction. 

“You’re tired,” he murmured, his voice seeming to rumble through you in the best way possible. “You should sleep.” 

“Hold on,” you protested as you felt his arm withdrawing. You grabbed his hand, pulling it firmly back down to rest on your stomach, wiggling closer. “There was a blanket on the back, grab that. I’m staying here.” 

You could almost feel him frowning when he replied. “You’d not rather a bed?” 

You only hesitated a moment before bending to kiss his arm. “I’d rather you.” 

He didn’t seem to know quite what to say to that, but after a beat something heavy and slightly scratchy was being draped over you, and Cas’s arm was tightening around your waist, and his lips were pressing against your shoulder. 

“G’night,” you whispered. 

“Good night, (Y/N).” 

It was Dean who found his two friends curled together on the couch the next morning. He snorted, taking in the gentle rise and fall of your shoulders in tandem with Cas’s, his hand enveloping your smaller one where it rested just above the blanket, the assortment of what was very clearly Cas’s suit and your own clothes scattered over the floor. Well, he supposed, the night hadn’t been a complete failure. He had half a mind to throw something at you, the scene was so jarringly… sweet. 

“Rise n’ shine lovebirds,” he called instead, “we’ve got shit to do.”