#castiel's forearms

[mischieviem]

Had a dumb thought anyways

[quiltcas]

He's right here and he's also looking at the results of the election.

where is castiel. where is he

[destielgaysex]

dean acting like a victorian man seeing a bare ankle when cas takes off his trench coat is very real. but i would like to point out the scene in season 8 episode 7 when cas comes out of the motel bathroom fresh and clean from purgatory and dean is so full of lust and it is from castiel being in three layers. so yes i agree dean starts blue-screening when cas shows his forearms and i also believe that dean is always drooling over cas no matter what he wears

[mmelionsblog]

go back to sleep \\ dean winchester //

it was 3 am when you bolted wide awake. your eyes were scattering the whole bedroom of the bunker. you were gasping for air, sweating so much that you sat in a pool of your own sweat. dean of course, bolted up a few seconds later when he felt commotion going on in his shared room.

“sweetheart?” his voice rasped, as he sat up from his spot to turn on the lamp from the bedside. “it felt so real,” you whispered, placing your hands in front of your face to cover yourself up. “you were gone, sam and i left alone in the world. it felt so real..” you hiccuped out, shaking a bit from the shock.

dean scooted closer to you, his arm wrapping around your body and pushed you back into him. “it was all fake hon, nothing in that dream was real.” he kissed the side of your forehead as his hand ran up and down your forearm, trying to sooth you to go back to sleep again. “i thought i lost you for good.” you sobbed out, biting your wrist to keep as much quiet as can, jack and castiel being in the room in front of your shared room. if they were even there.

“i’m not going anywhere without you.” his lips kissed the back of your head, his hand moving your hair to one of the sides to kiss your bare neck as he leaved little trails. “well dream you decided to go on a hunt alone.” you stated, sniffling. “so stupid, going on a hunt alone- who does that?” you glared at whatever was in front of you, and dean chuckled, his voice vibrating into your body.

“well you did before you met us,” he sang out teasingly, you looked back at him with the same look. “that was different. i didn’t have no family, no friends. thank goodness you guys were working the same case i was or otherwise i wouldn’t be here today.” you muttered. he hummed, “thank goodness we found you.” he kissed your lips, “now come on. we got lots of stuff to do later on today. let’s get some rest yeah?”

dean laid back onto the bed, while you had still been sit in between his legs. you hummed, nodding along with him and placing yourself on top of him, your arms wrapping around his body as you place your head carefully right on his chest. “i love you dean,” you whispered.

“i love you too sweetheart, goodnight.” he spoke, kissing your forehead. and soon enough, you heard his soft little snores in the shared room and that’s when you decided to fall asleep as well.

a/n: it’s been a fat minute since i wrote a dean fic. anyways here y’all go, it’s short but i LOVE it.

[imaginesbymonika]

Red lights.

Plot: If guilt had a name it would be Dean Winchester.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x sister!Reader

Warnings: mention of violence, mention of Demon!Dean, needles, blood, fluff in the end but only a bit

Everything happened so fast. So very fast.

The red lightning, which emerges from the lamps above you turns the bunker into a place you're unable to recognize. This whole situation has been feeling like a never-ending nightmare for a while and now it was also looking like one. Dean has always reassured you, that while the world around you was filled with ghosts and demons he would always look out for you. And you never questioned him. However, right now, you were hiding from him as if he turned into one of those monsters he swore to protect you from. You look up you can notice it in Sam's eyes. You're not the only one terrified of your oldest brother.

"Smart, Sam. Looking the place down. Doors won't open. I get it." His deep voice is echoing through the empty and cold hallways. "But here's the thing. I don't wanna leave. Not till I find you two."

Your relationship with Dean has always been different from the one you have with Sam. While the younger brother actually feels like a brother to you, Dean has always meant more to you. After all, he practically raised you since you were a little child. However, at this moment, while his hammer was destroying the door, you tried your best to still see him in all of this. He may be a demon, but underneath all of that hatred your brother had to remain… right? But it becomes much more difficult with every second that passes. You take a deep breath.

"Y/N.", Dean suddenly says and Sam instantly pushes you behind his bigger body. "Oh, come on.", you can see how a fake pout emerges on his face:" I just want to talk to my sweet little baby girl." For a moment he lowers his weapon as he stares you down through the shattered wood:" Don't think, that I won't also kill you. I can still sense my love for you, however, it is not enough for me to save you. But if you help me kill Sammy, I might make it quick for you." There's a ringing in your ears. "Don't listen to him.", Sam whispers but his voice is muffled and feels unbelievably far away.

Dean has never ever threatened you. Even when you were much younger and he had earned a beating from John, because of something that you did on his watch… he never ever threatened you before. It was something that seemed impossible to you. But now it had happened and it filled you with an unknown emotion.

"Come on.", Sam speaks and clutches your hand, bringing you back into reality. You two rush through the red hallways and after a minute or two you stop. Sam takes a deep breath and when he turns around to face you, his eyes widen in fear. You don't even have time to properly react before he pushes you to the cold ground. And when you look up, you make eye contact with Dean. His hammer sticking to the wall. It was hurled with such an immense force that it makes your jaw drop.

"Oh man, looks like I missed.", he says softly:" Can I try again?" There is a sincerity in his voice that makes your skin crawl. You nearly throw up. Meanwhile, Sam's knife is close to his throat. So close, it's almost making him bleed.

"Do it!", the oldest brother angrily hisses, his spit dripping down his chin. But Sam's arm just drops after a few seconds. You shut your eyes, not knowing what is about to happen next before you unexpectedly hear Castiel's voice. "It's over!"

You sit on the floor next to the door, your back is leaning against one of the shelves while you observe how Sam pushes yet another needle into your oldest brother's forearm. A weird emptiness has been filling you up for a while now, and while you should be happy that Dean is back at the bunker… you can't help but feel drained. "Are you okay, Y/N?", Castiel asks, and when you eventually tear your eyes off Dean's unconscious body you only nod.

Sam sighs:" He almost killed her." Castiel's eyes widen in shock, as his head snaps towards him. "He did what?" You want to defend Dean, but before you can answer someone groans. Castiel notices how you quickly get up from your spot, and softly nudges you to stand behind him. His grip on his knife tightens to the point where his knuckles are white. Meanwhile, Sam was slowly opening up the bottle with the holy water.

Dean lifts his head and when you notice his black eyes you can't help but feel sick. You quickly turn around and throw up into the corner. Sam and Castiel exchange a quick but worried look. The blackness quickly fades and when his normal eyes scan the room he takes one final deep breath. "You look worried, fellas.", he jokes, but no one laughs. You turn around at the sound of his voice, before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Without waiting a second longer, you snatch the bottle out of Sam's hand and toss the liquid into Dean's face. A pleased sigh escapes your lips when you acknowledge that there is no smoke. "Welcome back, Dean!"

"How is he holding up?"

Sam, who is entering the room looks over at the angel. "Well, he is still a bit out of it, nevertheless, he is doing better." You look up from your book. "The whole thing really took a turn on him- he… he just feels really guilty." The last word leaves Castiels lips as a whisper as if he was hoping you wouldn't hear it. But you did.

A knock on the door catches Dean's attention and he shifts on his bed before sitting up straight:" Yeah?" He expected to see either his brother or Castiel, however when he makes eye contact with you his jaw clenches. "Hey.", you say and slowly walk into his room. You sit down on the edge of the bed. A soft but tired smile emerges on your lips and Dean mirrors it. "Hey."

"I just- I just wanted to check in with you.", you explain and your brother nods. A silence falls over the two of you and you clear your throat:" Remember- Remember when we were younger… you came back from a hunt and you were hurt and John was… god knows where. We didn't have anything in the fridge except for some eggs and cheese."

At that Dean laughs:" And you made me that god-awful omelet? Of course, how could I ever forget about that? My arm was broken and I had the worst stomach pains on top of that." Once again you both sit in silence before Dean runs a hand down his face:" I am so sorry, Y/N." The sound of his voice breaks your heart and you move closer to him:" It's okay, Dee." He just chuckles dry. You know that he won't ever believe you.

[verystrxxwberry]

Hi, Alex! How is your day going? I was here to do a request about MCL high school life (completely sfw, so it is safe!) about the routes dealing with a reader who is stressed because they overwork in school and still doubt that will never achieve the dream of going to university?

It's just I am pretty stressed with the thought of not being able to go to university, because even if I overwork a lot, I don't get the perfect grades that I would like :(. Anyway, thank you so much! Love your writing<33

MY CANDY LOVE HSL; When you are stressed about school.

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, MCL HSL routes, comfort. ↝ 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Greetings! I am doing quite good, thanks for asking. Regarding your issue, I understand you a lot, because my last year before entering university also was like that. I don't know how your country's education system will work, but whatever it is, university is not the only path in life. There are many people who have moved on without a career or something; and above all prioritize your own health! I understand that you want to get good grades, but if you overwork yourself you will only block your brain and not allow it to function well because it will be exhausted since it has no rest. Good luck, and take life easy, it's only one life you have and you have to enjoy it!

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

CASTIEL 

He didn’t start caring about his grades until he saw that he failed almost every subject during the first months of classes. Sigh… he can’t let that happen.

Initially, there was a contrast between you and him. He was the stereotypical rebellious kid who didn't care about classes, and you were that student who was always keeping up with the class. Castiel is aware of how much effort you put into studying. Many times he would tell you to come to his house to spend time with him, and he would let you study on his desk for a while without any problem. Of course, he is strict about breaks and insisting that you give your little head a rest.

He will even quietly kiss your head spontaneously as you are focused on studying, to cheer you up however he can.

Castiel feels confusion when he sees that a grade matters so much to you to the point of breaking down over it. He doesn't blame you, but considers that you don't deserve so much pressure regarding grades. As he looks you in the eyes  and pulls your hair out of your face, he would say "Come on, life doesn't end because of a grade. You're human, not a machine; although sometimes machines fail too. But so what? We can't be good at everything. Ask for help, don't give up." You can feel his hand cupping your chin to make you look at him. And you can see the worry and affection on his eyes.

He's concerned about how this issue affects your mental health. After every test you take, he would take you somewhere for a date so you don't get over stressed. A break for your own good never hurts.

In Castiel's opinion, college is overrated; but he knows you are capable. More than once he will have had deep conversations with you about "You're already too hard on yourself, don't drown yourself in an abyss of negativity before you start something you want." 

Even if you didn't go to college, that wouldn't make you any less human. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Castiel would support you no matter what your decision, though he'd rather you take things more lightly. He doesn't like to see you stop enjoying your actuality because of the stress of school.

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel's strict prioritization of his studies was mainly because of his father, but Nath had inner desires that went against the stereotype that he was.

During class he already noticed that you felt some frustration when you received your test grade. His hand rested on your forearm and he looked at you with concern. "Hey, what's wrong?" 

When you explain your disappointment in reference to your exam grade, he sighs and shakes his head. "Get that thought out of your head, dear.... No grade is perfect and everyone has their strengths and weaknesses." He strokes your back gently, in order to comfort your state of mind.

If you're struggling with something, he has no problem helping you to understand it. He makes dates to study with you in a cafe <3 (he would end up inviting you to dinner or a drink in the cafe itself). And never feel ashamed of failing! Everyone does and there are always opportunities to improve. If there aren't, then life goes on; don't get stuck in the past.

Whatever grade you have, it will be something Nathaniel will congratulate you on. What matters is that you tried!

Nathaniel knows that having a good healthy schedule for your homework and study management will be what helps you get to college. He supports you, as long as you don't break your boundaries. Don't set expectations, don't compare yourself, just do what you can without pushing your limits and you can get to where you want to be.

Another thing Nath would also do is to talk to the teachers so that they can help you in those subjects that are more difficult for you, and he could accompany you if you wanted. Anyway, he does it for your sake and seeing that you also put dedication makes him feel happy and proud. At the end of each day, before you each leave for home, he would give you a little kiss on the forehead and say "Good job today."

LYSANDER 

Lysander takes everything calmly, even studies. During classes he takes light notes, but generally listens to the teachers. Not ironically, his memory does not usually fail when it comes to his studies. Likewise, he is not a strict person with his schedule and he will see that you are quite strict with yours. Why do you study so much if your brain needs a break?

Lysander has no problem accompanying you to the library, but he insists that between assignments you take certain breaks. More than once he will tell you "Don't be so hard on yourself, it will have negative consequences in the future."

After each study session he sings to you to relax in his arms, to take your mind off anything study related and get some rest.

Lysander believes that you shouldn't look so much into your future, since the present is already unpredictable enough without planning for something stable in the future. You build your way towards that goal you have, but you will always encounter some difficulty along the way. He knows that your grades are that difficulty that keeps you from moving forward in terms of your hopes of going to college.

"Honey, do what you can; what matters is that you tried. Life goes on, sometimes you have to take shortcuts or other paths that don't allow you to reach your goal. But it will never be your fault, since you already know that you have done your best" He would tell you while caressing the back of your neck. "Be proud of yourself and stop criticizing yourself so much. You don't value yourself enough to see that you are capable enough to put so much effort into things; and that is what should be valued the most."

KENTIN 

Oh no, he's not going to let your little pretty face fill with sadness over something as annoying as grades. He understands that you want to go to college and he will certainly encourage you to follow your dreams; but in moderation! He would suggest that you come to his house to study with him, or to the library, and then he would reward you with cookies.

Kentin will force you to take at least two or three hours a day for yourself. You know what they say about playing sports for a while a day so you can exercise your concentration? Well Kentin believes it and will encourage you to join his routines so you can concentrate better and study in less hours than extending them to the point that it affects you negatively.

There's nothing more upsetting for Kentin than seeing you cry over a grade. "Hey, nooo, listen, you're more than enough, don't let a grade ruin your life! You're very disciplined, I'm sure that facet already opens many doors for you even if you don't make it to college" He would tell you as he cradles your cheeks in his hands.

He's going to kiss your tears, he's not going to let you be sad for long.

Kentin is very involved in you taking some time out of your day just for you. He invites you to his house to take a nap, or to go practice sports with him, or bake cookies in his kitchen. But he also supports you to study and spend time studying; but he offers you the idea of balance your organization so that you can clear your mind and have a more positive mindset.

ARMIN 

Maybe Armin is a bad influence when it comes to giving school advice?- He would literally tell you to focus on being happy and leave all those worries behind you. In fact, he supports that idea of; if it makes you feel bad, leave it.

But he knows he can't be such a bad influence and push you to make decisions that distract you from your path for so long. 

It confuses him why you care so much about your grades. He witnesses all the effort you put into studying, since during exams time he can barely see you :(. Usually because he always brings his console with him, and that's going to distract you from studying. He doesn't mind being patient; he will always send you messages of support when you go to study!

It took him a while to realize that it really is an issue that affects you, but when he saw that it was serious, ah-ah, don't even think about overworking. "You know what happens to a character when they run out of stamina? They feel weak, they can't cope well with situations and they need rest. So do you!"

The easiest way he has to distract you is to write you a message in discord and saying “hop on terraria, bb” (or any other game). But he can completely adapt to those things you enjoy doing! He doesn’t mind (even if it is out home he is gonna whine a lot)

No matter the grade you get on an exam, he is gonna clap at you and feel very happy for you. Sometimes he’d make you blush from embarrassment at how loud he can be… But still, he is very proud of you. And he is not gonna hide it!

“Oh, hey, what’s with that pout? Come on, smile! You did such a great job.” He speaks in such a sweet way that it barely looks like him, but he wants to make you smile, to squeeze you in between his arms. “Never give up, you are strong enough to deal with this and more! But do it at the needed pace to not drain yourself, remember?”

Never back down never give up

✰; remember to reblog and like to support my content, I hope you enjoyed it!

[waywardxwords]

I've Got You

Summary: After a year of being in Purgatory, Dean has returned and is trying to make sense of what happened while he was away.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (more of a friendship; they deeply care about each other but nothing wildly romantic happens in this story)

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: Light cursing, angst, Dean/Sam contention (this takes place after Dean gets back from Purgatory and Sam is on/off with Amelia), light fluff, light blood/silver testing (non-descriptive)

A/N: Happy October, friends! This is my first entry for the #flufftober2023 @flufftober prompt challenge. The prompt is: "I've got you." I hope you enjoy!

“Dean,” you breathed as you walked through the door of the cabin. Even after you heard his voice on the phone, you couldn’t be sure it was really him–not until you saw him. 

“Test me,” his words were firm and clear–much firmer than you remembered. You processed that the man had been in Purgatory for the last year, and his experience had most likely hardened his already tough demeanor. 

“Dean, I–” you tried to stop him.

“Test me, dammit,” he grumbled as he grabbed what looked like a jug of holy water and took a swig of it. Next was the silver; he didn’t hesitate to run it along his forearm before he wrapped the cut it left behind with a bandana. He wiped the blade on his denim jeans. 

“Dean,” you said, for the third time now. Your eyes burned with tears. You knew it was him from the get go, but now it was confirmed. He handed you the holy water and the blade. You moved slower than he did, but you took a sip of the water and winced at the bitterness; it was laced with salt. Then, you took the blade and matched his movements with a small slice on the underside of your forearm. 

Without allowing another moment to pass, he pulled you in tightly to his chest for a hug–so tight, you thought you might not be able to breathe as your body was crushed against his. 

“God, it’s good to see you,” he breathed in your hair before he finally released you. “Where’s Sammy?” His eyes moved over your face inquisitively.

“I, uh, I don’t know, Dean,” you were careful with your words. You were a little bit angry with Sam, but you didn’t want to have to explain why to Dean.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” The sharpness made you blink, but you knew he wasn’t trying to hurt you with his tone. The man had been in Purgatory for a year, for Christ’s sake. 

There was no way around it, though. You were going to have to try to explain and hope he could understand.

“I’ve gotta get out of here,” Sam mumbled. It had been three days since you all had killed the Leviathans, but somehow Dean and Castiel had been killed in the process. You had spent three days researching and looking for how to find them, but you had come up empty. Sam had tossed around the idea of Purgatory , for Cas, at least, because he was an angel; but neither of you knew how that worked–the death of an angel? Where would they go? Could an angel go to Hell? 

“Sam, we’re going to find them,” your eyes were heavy, you hadn’t slept. The pain of running in circles reading and re-reading and searching was making you feel crazy.

“Are we? Even if we do find them, how are we going to get them out?” Sam was angry, and you understood that. But anger wasn’t helping the situation, and you wished he could realize that.

“I don’t know yet,” you sighed as you placed your elbows on the wooden table in front of you and dropped your head into your hands. “We will find a way. We always do.”

“I have no one now. My family is dead, I just…I gotta get out of here,” he repeated. His words stung, but you knew you weren’t family. You weren’t even a hunter, initially. You had stumbled into this world when the Winchesters had saved you on a hunt a while back. Now that you knew what went bump in the night, there was no turning back. “I’m sorry, but I have to go…” Sam seemed reckless, but you also knew that you couldn’t stop him. Not really, anyway.

You stayed silent, but as the door closed behind him, tears pooled in your tired eyes.

After you had explained carefully what had transpired, you tried to ease the blow. “You always wanted Sam to get out of the hunting life, Dean.” Your words were soft.

Dean sat on the sofa leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs as he stared at the wall opposite him. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

“I gotta get some air,” he cleared his throat and stood quickly. He reached for his jacket. “I’ll be back later.” Before you could say a word, he was already out the door and pulling it behind him with a slam. You couldn’t help but feel defeated, yet again.

This was the third dive bar you had checked in an hour. You had lost hope and wondered if you really knew the oldest Winchester at all as you looked for him. But there he sat on a barstool at the end of the dimly lit bar. 

You heaved a sigh before you walked towards him. “I’m gettin’ real tired of looking for your ass,” you grumbled playfully as you carefully moved onto the stool next to him. 

His eyes didn’t move from the back of the bar as he took a pull from his beer. 

“Yeah, well, at least somebody’s lookin’,” he muttered just loud enough for you to hear.

You weren’t sure what to say to that immediately, so instead you leaned against the bar and flagged down the bartender. “Could I get a Stella, please?” The bartender nodded and went to retrieve your bottled beer.

A few moments of silence passed. “I just thought he’d look for me,” Dean's voice cut through the quiet noise in the bar as he stared at the label on his bottle. His fingernails picked at the edges in a way to distract himself. 

“I know,” you tried to form the words in your head before they tumbled out of your mouth incorrectly. “Sam loves you, Dean. He’s just…he’s tired. Does that make it right? Not necessarily. You’re his brother, but this life…it’s not the life he wanted.”

“And you think I wanted it?!” His voice raised as he looked at you incredulously. 

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that you and Sam are different people,” you tried to explain carefully, reminding yourself again that it’s not you, it’s Purgatory. 

He seemed to relax as he remembered this was you that he was talking to. “I’m sorry,” he groaned inwardly as he turned back in his stool to face the bar. “I would do absolutely anything for Sammy. I was lost when he was gone. I just thought he might do the same.” After a quick pull from his beer, he changed the subject. “So, what’d you do this past year?” Dean asked acrimoniously, as he glanced at you briefly and toyed with the paper label on his beer bottle.

You waited for a moment, just as the bartender placed your own beer in front of you. You moved it around in your hands for a few seconds. Like Dean, your fingers found the sticker on the bottle and began to pick at it so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “I looked for you,” you answered slowly before you pulled the beer to your mouth and took a sip. You felt his gaze now, his head turned to watch you as if he was surprised to hear what you said. “I hunted a little, here and there. Mostly just when I stumbled upon a job, though.”

“...you looked for me?”

You were surprised that he was surprised. It was your turn to turn your head back to him to meet his gaze. “Of course I did,” you said hesitantly. “I tried everything, Dean. I interrogated demons, I tried to make a deal, I tried to summon Crowley–”

He cut you off very quickly. “Woah, woah, woah,” his eyes were narrowed in on you now and you watched his entire body tense. “You tried to make a deal? And summoning Crowley?” He was pissed. You didn’t care.

“None of it worked, Dean. The crossroad demons said they didn’t know where you were, but I didn’t believe them…though I’m wondering if they really didn’t, since you were in Purgatory,” you were mostly just reading your own internal dialogue at this point. “I’m not sure how that works, exactly.” You nibbled gently on your bottom lip as you processed your thoughts.

“Are you insane?” He was still pissed. His voice rose a bit in volume and you glanced around to see the handful of other bar patrons glance in your direction. 

“Oh, calm down,” you said in a hushed tone while you rolled your eyes. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing.” Dean knew it was true, but he still wasn’t happy. “Again, none of it worked anyway.”

“You know better than that,” he shook his head, the disappointment bled through his words. But somewhere mixed in with the frustration, you heard gratitude.

“And you know better, too. I wasn’t just going to sit on my ass or ride off into the sunset like everything was fine,” you still couldn’t find his gaze. It was easier to stare at the glass bottle between your hands.

He didn’t respond right away. The sound of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” was playing on the jukebox now, and it was the only noise you could hear just over the chatter of the other people in the bar. “Thanks,” you weren’t sure you heard him right away, but you felt his fingers graze the top of one of your hands that was clasped around the bottle. “I’m really glad I’ve got you. So if some shit ever goes down again, no goin' off and making deals to save me. If I came back and somethin' had happened to you..." his voice trailed off. You would spend a lot of time wondering what he had wanted to say, but chose not to. Instead, you moved your head to look straight into those green eyes, and that’s when you noticed it. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and while his eyes were still sad, you saw a glimmer of hope.

A/N: Thank you for reading! As always, I am always open to any feedback you may have :)

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @hallecarey1 @zepskies @lyarr24

[destielfanfic]

from the inbox, #14

It's been some time since I answered some asks from our inbox. Here's some quick answer with links to our Tags Page.

I was wondering if y'all have any time loop recs. Just wondering if there's anything out there in that vein

The first fic that comes to mind is Second Verse, Same as the First by oatmeal_queen. This is a classic Groundhog day fic. We also have #meddling!gabriel tag and some in some fics Gabriel traps Dean and Cas in some other reality. It's not exactly a time loop, but they do realize that something is not right.

The Best Years of Our Lives, My Ass by ireallyhatecornnuts 

Destiel, Actually by bloodism

Trope Springs Eternal by violethaze 

Do you know any fics where cas is a baseball player?

We sure do! Check out our athlete!cas tag and A Fine Line by cloudyjenn!

Hi, is there any recomendations for super hero Dean? (Guess who watches the other kripke show

Check our #superheroes tag! And a quick tag search on AO3 brought up this fic:

one little Soldier Boy, left all alone by Castielslostwings [NC-17, 57,000 word count]

Known to the world as the all-American superhero called "Soldier Boy", Dean was raised by Vought International to be exactly that and nothing more. His life is all fame, fortune, and fucking. Objectively awesome, right up until the moment when he's accosted in an elevator by someone claiming to be his brother, a man who insists that Dean's entire life has been built on a lie, and what happens next changes everything. As if unraveling his true identity while on the run from his former employers—and the closest thing he's ever had to family—isn't enough, Dean's brainwashed best friend (who he is definitely not in love with, thanks) is hot on his trails with marching orders to take him out for good. What's a devilishly handsome superhero with a dick the size of his forearm to do?

Hi, I'm fairly new to the Destielfanfic scene and I wanted help on how to find specific kidfics where Dadstiel and dad!Dean's children are Claire and Jack. Can you help me please 🥹

Welcome to destiel and dadstiel! Fics with Dean and Cas raising their kids, together or separately, are tagged with #kid!fic tag on our blog. Feel free to browse all 10 pages of destiel kidfics, and when you are done with them, check out a brand new fic collection on AO3, Dadstiel Minibang 2024.

Hi! I’ve been hunting for a fic where Cas has chaotic Misha energy. I’ve checked hipster!Cas and fuckup!Cas tags but haven’t found one yet. Any suggestions?

Those are good tags to look through, but maybe they don't really capture Misha's chaotic energy. But then gain, what does? Check out #2014!cas tag which has non- depressive AU fics where Castiel's characterization was inspired by the endverse Cas. There's also a #snarky!cas tag.

It's hard to capture Misha's chaotic energy through Castiel's character, and it will always be a YMMV kinda thing. Here's a short rec list of some fics that capture at least some of his character better known traits.

And This, Your Living Kiss by opal_bullets (Cas loves poetry)

Castiel Novak: Tomb Raider by emwebb17 (Cas is a daring explorer)

Fearson’s floating cigarette. by orange_crushed (Cas is kind)

Freebies and Oak Trees by violue (unconventional celebrity Cas)

Go Down With This Ship by PorcupineGirl (Cas is self confident)

Lovingly Crafted and Tenderly Packaged by janie_tangerine (Cas is kind and caring)

One White Lie by komodobits (Cas is bad at lying)

Try-Something Tuesday by almaasi (Cas surprises Dean)

The Wish Machine by justkeeponwriting (Cas is selfless)

Destiel fanworks on AO3 - 118,470 (October 12, 2024)

You can find previous From The Inbox posts here.

If you enjoyed the fic, please drop by the archive (AO3) and let the author know with your comments and/or kudos!

[stargazedwinchester]

Angel Girl | Dean

Summary: Dean learns you're not human, but an angel.

Requested here! Thank you! Let me know if you want a part 2! Felt like I could write this forever but obvs had to end it at some point lmaoo

Word count: 1,299

Taglist: @rowenalovee @amythedoctor @girlsforpjm @chaospossum @take-it-on-the-run, @themidnightwitch44 @linkthetrashgoblin

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

Dean's love life has always been rocky, from casual dating to raunchy hookups with the girls he finds at the local bar and waking up the next day simultaneously enjoying and regretting his life choices. He's never settled for anyone and the relationships he's had over the years have almost always ended on the wrong foot.

Until he met you.

Castiel had introduced you both whilst Cas had made an excuse of hearing your prayer over an issue that made him realise you're not quite the person that needed help, of course, because you were different.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

Dean wakes up in a cold sweat, his heart beating 100 times a second. His eyes scan the room to ensure he's awake and not in a dream state. He takes a deep breath, before propping himself up in bed, looking over at his bedside table and checking the time. 5:24 AM. "God damn it," He sighs, placing his head in his hands, hunching over. He rubs his stubble to try and wake himself up. His fern-coloured orbs meet with the ceiling. 

"God, just give me a break." He whispers, resting his forearm across his eyes. "Please let me sleep." He huffs, attempting to relax before sleeping again. The sound of large wings echoes the room, and Dean refuses to move his arm. "Cas, get out." He shoos, waving his spare hand.

"Hello." A sweet voice appears, making Dean jump out of his skin. He reaches for his gun and points it at the figure standing at his door. Fear takes over his face, his eyes enlarged and his mouth slightly agape. 

"Y/N?" He asks, his face reading multiple different emotions. "How did you get here?" He stumbles, his thought process is jumbled right now. His gorgeous eyes meet yours, then you look down at the floor. 

"I heard your prayer."

"M-my prayer?" He lays his gun flat on the bed, his gaze unable to move away from you. You nod.

"It's universal... You pray to God and angels can answer." You smile at him, yet he remains confused. "Y/N, you're an angel?" He questions, gradually getting up from the mattress. You assume that he already knew, maybe Cas had told him prior but Dean chose to not say anything about it. The surprise from Dean surprises you. "You didn't know?" You say softly, and Dean shakes his head. "I thought Cas would have told you, but that's okay. I guess there's much to talk about." You chuckle lightly. "Yeah, we do."

You tell Dean that you'll be back the following day to answer all of his questions, and allow him to return to bed so he can go back to sleep.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

You arrive at the bunker, the early morning Kansas sun beaming down onto the back of your head as you let yourself in. You walk down the stairs and meet Dean in the kitchen who's cooking up breakfast for himself. "Hey Dean," You greet, showing him a friendly smile. You stand next to the counter as he turns around and faces you. "Hey Y/N. You didn't zap in today?" He asks, scraping scrambled eggs and bacon onto two plates. "No, I wanted to seem more... normal. Human, I guess. Did it work?" You ask, a gleam in your eyes. "Yeah, I'd say so." He starts, reaching over to the drawer where the cutlery is kept. He passes you a plate, a knife and a fork. "Y'know, I was thinking last night..." He says, leading you over to the dining table. "I want to show you how to act more human. So..." He slides the plate in front of you, the steam travelling up toward your face, the smell engulfing you.

"I thought we could start with you trying food. Here," He passes you the cutlery in the correct hands. "Dig in." He finishes, piling his breakfast onto his fork and bringing it to his mouth. You attempt to do the same, but much slower. You bring it up to your mouth, allowing the food to sit there in your mouth for a few seconds. You swallow, Dean watching your every move. "See? Not so bad is it?" He chuckles lightly, and you smile at him. "No, it's quite enjoyable. The flavours are quite foreign." You say, lifting another forkful. 

You have both finished your breakfast, Dean's crack at trying to help you has definitely helped, but he's not done yet. He suggests that you both take a night to yourselves to catch you up on the most iconic movies. 

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

"I had an idea of watching a chick flick for tonight," He almost shivers at the idea. "Just this once. Then we can watch Star Wars." He says, and you laugh at him. "Dean Winchester watching a movie made specifically for teenagers... I never thought I'd see the day." You chuckle, and he smirks at your quick comment. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with a chick flick every so often." He admits, switching the TV over to something very close to Netflix, but is borderline illegal. Upon choosing Wild Child, you both sit back, remaining quiet throughout the whole movie.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

The movie finishes, and you glance over to Dean, who's sound asleep sitting up, his arms are crossed and one leg is resting over the other. Despite being an angel, you can't help but feel something warm and fuzzy ignite in your chest, a feeling of adoration and... something else you can't quite put your finger on. He shuffles, and you nudge his arm gently. "Dean," You whisper, trying to not startle him. He groans, his eyes flickering. "Dean, the movie has finished." You shake him again, and he rapidly sits up properly. "I'm awake." Dean rubs his eyes, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He stretches, his arms above his head. His t-shirt rides up a little, and you can't help but glare. He rests one arm above his head, and the other beside you on the sofa. 

Dean reaches for the TV remote and searches for one of the many Star Wars movies. "So, how'd you like that one?" He asks with his gaze upon you. You nod. "It was good. I can see why it's so popular." You smile, a gentle look on your face. He grins at you, nodding his head. "Can't say I've seen it many times myself," He clears his throat, searching for 'The Empire Strikes Back'. "Dean, I know when you're lying." You add, scanning his face. "What? No I'm not," He chuckles nervously, avoiding any eye contact with you. "Yes you are, I can feel it. Your weird behaviour is offputting."

"Offputting? That's rude." He jokes and the movie auto-plays. The intro to the movie startles you, and Dean laughs at you. "That's really loud." You huff, and Dean relaxes an arm around your shoulders. "It's okay. That's the only loud part of the movie." He adds, shuffling closer to you. "Now, this is one of the best Star Wars movies they've ever made," He starts, and you allow him to ramble about the context of the movie and which actor plays what character. You sit and stare at him whilst he has his rant, his passion for something has really intrigued you like no other.

Everyone will always have a say about supernatural beings and how they differ from humans, how the stereotype that angels are typically full of wisdom and forgiveness. But for you, wisdom is the need to know the true forms of the Winchester brothers, especially Dean. Something about him and the need to aid other people except himself has always bewildered you. 

Hoping that this will help you bring him closer to you, you'd just about do anything for that to happen.

[isaacthedruid]

still insane i wrote this in 2024...

“You are not going on this hunt, Dean Winchester.” Cas stood, face to face with Dean.

“Full names? Okay, fine! Why am I not, Castiel?” He bit back.

Cas pinned him to the wall, the side of his forearm pressed into Dean’s neck. His other hand dug his fingers into Dean’s hip, holding him there. Cas breathed quickly. Dean could feel the hot air from Cas’ nose brush across his skin.

He didn’t push back. He kept eye contact and waited for Cas’ next move.

He really needed to buy Cas a thing of chapstick.

“You are too important to do this hunt."

oh destiel wall push I've missed u (if you wanna know the context you can read the fic here!)

[castieldelamancha]

Castiel approaches Dean quietly, his gaze lingering in his profile, focusing on the way his brow is furrowed up in concentration, the tip of his tongue slightly peaking out through his lips, Castiel smiles as he sits down beside him, resting both his arms on the table.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey sweetheart." He sounds distracted but not any less fond.

Dean moves the arm he has closest to Castiel's and bumps their forearms together, still looking down at the papers in front of him, he brushes his knuckles against Castiel's and, when Castiel turns his arm, offering his open palm to Dean, he takes his hand, interlacing their fingers together.

"Had a good walk?"

"Yes, I didn't wake you up, did I?" Dean shakes his head lightly.

"Would have like to go with you, as usual, but," he trails off.

"You needed to sleep, Dean, It's fine." Neither of them mention the reason why out loud, they both know Dean's nightmares kept them both awake, "whenever you are ready to talk about it, I will gladly listen."

Dean finally looks at him, smiling, nothing of the defensiveness a statement like that would have gotten Cas not that long ago present in his expression. He actually, to Castiel's confusion, laughs lightly as he takes Cas in, he reaches out and gingerly takes something out of Castiel's hair, showing it to him. It's a leave, its green color fighting a battle it was destined to lose against the arrival of an autumn's yellow. He leaves it on the table and goes back to staring at Cas, his eyes finding Castiel's.

"Later?" He says at last, Castiel nods.

"Of course." He looks down at their joined hands, and noticing the papers he asks, "What were you working on?"

Dean stares down at the table too, taking a deep breath, he sobers up, his smile gone, "I am done, Cas." Castiel tilts his head, waiting for him to elaborate, "I wrote a resume," his voice quiet, small,"there is an auto shop not that far away from here, I wanna ask for a job there." Dean points at the papers, "got to get a bit creative with my background, though." He shrugs lightly.

"That's amazing, Dean."

"Really?" He asks with a hint of hope in his voice, it's gone too soon, replaced by a guarded thing Castiel's doesn't particularly like."You ain't gonna tell me this is a silly idea? That we have lives to save? Monsters to hunt?" Those things, Castiel thinks to himself, don't sound like things Castiel would say, Dean's own inner voice seems the most likely source of such thoughts.

"You have done enough, Dean." He puts simply.

Dean huffs, "I don't think-"

"You have done enough." He repeats firmly, he cradles the side of Dean's face with his free hand, gently getting him to look at him, "and I believe, deep down, you know that too, you wouldn't have put a resume together if you didn't believe you could have this."

"But is retirement what you want too?"

"I'm exhausted, beloved." He says, and he means it, "I don't want to have to worry anymore if the kiss we share before we go on hunts is the last one we will get." He doesn't have a grace to fix it all anymore. They are playing with fire, expecting it to be kind enough not to burn them. Whatever Dean sees in his eyes seems to relieve the tension on his shoulders.

"I will drive to the shop on Monday."

"I will go with you."

[sebsxphia]

Preacher!Rhett first encounter…he tells you how to touch yourself through the confessional booth.. and definitely peeks through the crack to watch you.

ptolemaea. | god knows i tried.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: you find yourself in a confessional booth with preacher rhett abbott as he guides you on the righteous path.

￫ word count: 2.8K.

￫ c/w: heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering (f!receiving), handjobs (m!receiving), mutual masturbation, masturbation (f!), edging, voyerism, corruption and innocence kink, daddy kink, cnc and inappropriate use of confessional booths.

￫ a/n: the first chapter to this series! although as some of you know, this has not been posted in chronological order. however if you’re reading in order, hello! thank you @canarysposts, @castiel-barnes and anon for letting me use your wonderful asks to fuel these sinful thots! and thank you again to @canarysposts for the incredible idea of ‘god knows i tried’ by ldr, which this fic is based off! this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

| next chapter |

His hands were the first thing you noticed. You could run your eyes up and down the numerous veins that protruded on his hands and then ran naturally up to his large forearm. His fingers were slender, but his knuckles and fingertips looked worn, as if they had worked tirelessly day and night. You wondered for a split second if they would feel rough on your far softer skin.

Mentally you kicked yourself for letting your mind wonder to such a sinful place and you re-directed your attention to elsewhere on his tall frame. He had ditched the notion of traditional clothes and wore a plain, soft cotton t-shirt. The sleeves hugged around his biceps perfectly and if he moved in a particular way, you could see his torso under his arms stretch under the fabric.

The jeans, similar to his hands, were worn out. He still managed to uphold a presentable appearance, but right in between his thighs you could see the denim fading. It was as if something or someone, had rubbed away at it mercilessly.

His hair was always tucked perfectly behind his ears, but it was when he squatted down to greet one of the smaller children that attended your Church, that a strand fell out and licked against his forehead. That’s when you thought he looked most beautiful. A gift from God himself. He would be quick to tuck it back, again with those calloused hands of his. The hair that ran along his arms and hands matched the same on his head, although it was slightly lighter and sun kissed.

Before you could register it, said hands reached out to yours and took it as he made his way down the line.

“Father Abbott.” You acknowledged him quickly, as he now stood in front of you and shook your hand. He was gentler with you than the others and his touch lingered as he shook your hand.

“Oh, y’ know to call me Rhett. Y’ come here so often to help, I’d be hurt if we weren’t on a far more personal basis now.”

At Rhett’s words, you thought how could you be so foolish. He was right. Personal basis. Yes. We know each other on a personal basis.

Rhett leaned in closer to you to confess a secret that only the both of you were privy to, “Don’t tell the Youth Pastors who come ‘ere to help, but you’re my favorite.”

The closer proximity to Rhett made your breath hitch suddenly in your throat. You swallowed quick at his words to try and gather some salvia in your now parched throat.

You could smell his aftershave, thick with sandalwood, and notice all the little details on his face. At his confession, his face contorted into a smile you would only ever deem as sly. Small cuts and grazes that were fading in the crease of his eyes and above his lips as he smiled could be seen. There was stubble threatening to peak through along his jaw and you found yourself wondering again, what it would feel like on your soft flesh.

You kicked yourself again and replied sweetly, “thank you, Rhett. I’m honored to hear that.”

You mirrored his smile to show you were grateful, although it wasn’t as sly as Rhett wore. He stayed close in your presence for a handful more seconds and held your gaze, but to you it felt like hours. Rhett had this intoxicating way of drawing you in for prolonged periods of time, especially at his sermons.

Rhett parted his lips to speak and his tongue dipped out to wet his bottom lip. There was something on the tip of his tongue. Something he wanted to get out and ask you, but he pulled back completely as Rhett remembered he was in his Church and speaking to a flurry of civilians after his Sunday sermon.

“Thank you for coming today.”

“Thank you, Rhett. It was a lovely sermon.”

Was it on purpose that you added a flirtatious tone to his name? You weren’t sure. But did you notice how Rhett cocked his head and his teeth grazed over his bottom lip at his name being spoken by you?

You were never so sure of anything in your life.

For the next two hours, you spent it offering your help with the teas and coffees that were being handed out after. You insisted that you would finish everything up and as always, you were first in and last out. But more so you needed this time to scratch the itch that had creeped its way down your spine since Rhett shook your hand.

Everyone had gone home and the Church was empty. In a flurry, you ran to the bathrooms, slammed the cubicle door shut, hitched the skirt of your dress up and over your thighs and dipped your fingers into your underwear. You let out a moan that was mixed with relief as you finally grazed over your aching clit. In turn you let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you had been holding in for so long. And with that, came his name.

“F— Fuck, Rhett…”

Your fingers came to a sharp stop as you heard a creak from outside your cubicle, but you reminded yourself this Church was old. You heard it creak and groan many a times, and your clit was throbbing underneath your fingertips so you threw caution to the wind and continued with your movements, letting out more sweet whines and his name over and over, like a prayer.

“Rhett, Rhett, Rhett…”

It was Monday morning when you awoke, the day after you had let your deepest and most sinful thought possess your body and soul. You peeled back your lace crocheted curtains and looked out at the morning sunrise.

A pallet of reds, blues and yellows streaked over the sky. When they mixed together in the middle, it reminded you of the many drinks of tequila you had sometime ago in college. When you would put on Hotel California and dance around, alone in your dorm. It was insane to you that you didn’t realise how free you felt.

Getting out of Wabang was a blessing in disguise that you never truly appreciated until you had to come back home. It was an old wives tale that the kids of Wabang would leave and come back in five years time. You always told yourself that would never be you, but yet here you were. Waking up in your childhood bedroom with fading posters, a cross nailed to your wall that still had the wallpaper in perfect colour behind it, bedsheets that were scratchy and most importantly, returning back to your faith as instructed to by your Mother and Father.

It was a constant battle between yourself that left you tossing and turning most nights. Was what you were doing the right thing? Did you want to return back to your faith? You had shunned it for so long and you begrudgingly returned to please your parents, but now, you had a reason that felt far more personal to you.

“Preacher Abbott.”

“Please, Rhett.” Rhett corrected you through the wall of the confessional booth.

Since the morning, your mind hadn’t stopped racing with thoughts of your return home and your actions of yesterday in the bathroom cubicle, and so you came back to the place where you could feel some sense of control. When you were sat in the confessional booth, you couldn’t see anyone and figuratively speaking, nobody knew your name.

Rhett spoke up again with his voice hushed and contained within these Holy walls, “Tell me, what brings y’ here?”

You breathed in and let the air fill your lungs before you confessed. Your fingers twitched together and jabbed at the corners of your fingernails. It was to distract yourself from the sins that you were about to admit, to the man that had been at the forefront of your mind for weeks on end.

“I— I feel lost, Rhett. Comin’ back here after being away for s’ long—”

“College, wasn’t it?”

It made your heart thrum in your chest that Rhett remembered such a detail.

“Yes. I borrowed everythin’ I could from my parents to live that life. I cried ‘nd begged them on my hands and knees—”

You heard Rhett shift in his seat at your words.

“—not to make me come back. God knows, I was livin’ out there ‘nd God knows I died comin’ back here. I’ve got nothin’ much to live for here. God knows I’ve tried to make it work.”

You let out a small, yet defeated sigh after you had confessed. But Rhett didn’t buy it. He clicked his tongue in turn and pushed you for more.

“There must be somethin’, otherwise y’ would’ve left by now. Somethin’ is makin’ you stay.”

You heard Rhett pause and clear his throat on the other side.

“Perhaps, somethin’, sinful?”

You could feel the memory of yesterday punch through your gut and you stopped breathing altogether. You held your breath tightly in your throat and scrunched your hands together within the material of your sundress. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, so hard you felt like it could fall from your ribs.

The thought of Rhett hearing, let alone seeing you, in the bathroom cubicle made something in your stomach flip. It aroused you more than you cared to admit.

“You’re a sinful little one, aren’t you, my sweet Lamb.”

Rhett broke the heavy tension first with his voice an octave lower than before and his Southern drawl coming through.

“Y’ don’t have to say anythin’. Y’ don’t have to fear me. Let there be light and draw t’ me ‘nd into my arms. I can keep y’ safe, I can make you a blessed Daughter of Abbott.”

Your breathing came out in stuttered waves and your eyes fluttered shut at Rhett’s guiding words. For the first time since you’d come home, you had a clear pathway ahead of you. It was running straight into the garden of Eden, with Rhett there to keep you safe.

“Yes, Father.”

Those words slipped from your trembling lips naturally and you had never felt so sure in your life. You felt your life light up and you were bound eternally to the Holy man on the other side of the wall.

“This will prove y’ devotion to me, my sweet Lamb. Touch yourself for me.”

There was no hesitation in both Rhett’s instructions and in your reaction. You knew then and there whatever Preacher Abbott proposed was for the good of God and you would obey. Neither of you would ever waver.

You shuffled back against the hard wood wall, as far as you could to allow your leg to come up and prop against the seat. Instinctively, you angled yourself towards the wall that was separating you both and you spread your thighs. Even through the wooden pattern on the divider, you could see Rhett shift in his seat and his heavy shadow of his face cover all light. The only light you saw was the glint of his eyes through the cracks, watching you like a lamb at the slaughter.

Although your hand was shaking as it ran down the curve of your thigh, as soon as it dipped under your underwear and you pressed your fingertip to your clit, the shaking ceased and you let out a soft moan. You ran calculated circles around your clit before dipping it in between your folds to gather your arousal and spread it around the rest of your cunt. When you dipped down and felt how wet you were already, you let out another small moan.

“Good girl. Pull it back f’ me, I want to see.” He practically purred.

Your other hand reached down and pulled your damp underwear to the side to expose your weeping cunt completely to Rhett. You heard him let out a deep and guttural groan, followed by the clinking of metal and a ruffle of material on his side of the confessional booth.

“Are y’ wet enough?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. I want y’ to push two fingers in, as far as they’ll go.”

You nodded and slipped your middle and ring finger past your lips and deep into your cunt. You whined out in response to your own touch and it was louder this time. The feeling of your two fingers moving along your walls, angling upwards to push against your sweet spot was heavenly. Knowing you were performing this for the good of God and for your Preacher, only made you buck your hips upwards to chase your own fingers.

“Atta’ girl. Don’t forget y’ sweet clit, my Lamb.”

You choked out a, “yes” at Rhett’s instruction and managed to move a pad of your finger around it. Your fingers moved in and out of yourself in rhythmic movements and curled perfectly. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge with every swipe of your swollen clit and guiding instruction from Rhett on the other side of the wall. Every so often you picked up low grunts from him and the sound of skin slapping against one another.

Your chest was heaving and flushed red as a result. A string of continual moans left your lips. The ache was growing as you moved the pad of your finger in figures of eight over your clit, and in unison grazed over the sweet spot inside of you. You were going to spill over anytime soon.

“Father, Father, Father!” The plea was drawn from your hoarse throat. You were begging Rhett for something, but you didn’t quite know what yet.

You kept yourself teetering on the edge and awaiting his instruction for whatever he wanted to happen next. You were completely drawn to him and he had you like a puppet on strings.

Rhett was heavy in his own breathing and you heard him grunt the final words that you were waiting for.

“That’s it, good girl. Come f’ me, fuck— Come f’ me, m’love.”

At his final guidance, you swiped your finger twice more over your clit and it was all you needed to feel your orgasm wash over you in a warm glow. A sweet sounding moan tore from your throat and a name you had never uttered before.

“Shit, Daddy!”

Your hips bucked up into your own palm and your bore down onto the heel of your hand and rubbed your clit feverishly on your flesh as you rode out the feeling. Your eyebrows were knitted tightly together and your jaw was completely slack. As you hurtled through the euphoric feeling, you had closed your eyes to swim in it completely, but when you opened them again the heavy shadow of Rhett wasn’t next to you anymore.

Your head flicked to the right when the door to your side of the confessional booth was thrown open and Rhett stood in the doorway. The sight of his own cock heavy in his hands, red and aching, made you mewl in response and you turned your bare and slick cunt towards him.

In one stride, Rhett had crossed the threshold into the confessional booth with you. His hand was stretched upwards and planted firmly above you and caged you in completely. His other hand was jerking at his cock over your cunt and his eyes were fixated on the precious sight before him. Rhett’s jaw was set firm, with his own eyebrows mirroring yours and knitted tightly together in concentration. Strands of his hair had fallen to lick at his forehead that had a light sheen of sweat coating his flesh.

Rhett let out a deep groan as he fisted his aching cock twice more, “F— Fuck.”

At his strained words, his release fell onto your cunt and dripped down and into your underwear. He ran his hand up and over his length a couple more times to let the last of his hot cum fall from his tip.

Your breathing matched up with one another’s as you both came down from your own highs. Rhett released his braced hand from against the wall and brought it down to cradle at your flushed cheek. His face had relaxed completely as he bathed in his own afterglow. All he wore was a soft smile.

“Keep my spend in y’ underwear. It’s the seal from God to finalize you as a Daughter of Abbott.”

“Yes, Father.”

Rhett cocked his head and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as if he was scolding a child.

“Sorry. Yes, Daddy.”

You corrected yourself instantly and shook your head in response to making such a foolish mistake.

“Better, my sweet Lamb.” Rhett ran his thumb over the baby hairs that lay on your cheek in soothing motions.

Finally, you could feel those calloused fingers on your soft flesh in ways you had only dreamed of. Your heart lurched at his touch and at his final words.

“You’re bound to me forever now.”

His words were sticky honey and you’d fallen right into his guiding embrace. A lost little lamb who had finally found their shepherd.

And this was only the beginning. You were about to travel far out West with your Preacher.

taglist: @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @beachbabey @iloveprettyboysblog @angelic-dreams13 @hangmanapologist

[destielbeatlesminibang]

Title: Lucy in the Tank with Morons

Author: queerwerewolf

Artist: TwinOne

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Dean Winchester, a premiere shark biologist at the Georgia Aquarium, who works with their three tiger sharks, never ever expected to find himself enamored with a newly acquired giant Pacific octopus, and more importantly, her exceedingly handsome blue-eyed handler. In a little hide-away beneath the waves, Dean will fall in love in an octopus’s garden.

Tags: Mentions of Tiger Sharks, AU - Modern Setting, Aquarium AU, Shark Biologist Dean Winchester, Teuthologist Castiel a.k.a. Octopus Biologist, Fluff, Love at First Sight, Coworkers to Lovers, Original Octopus Character, Matchmaker Octopus, In an Octopus’s Garden

Posting on July 3

Keep reading for a short excerpt.

Dean skipped every other step as he made his way to the top of the grated floor. He couldn’t help but smile when he found Cas, clad in jeans and a t-shirt, attempting to get Lucy in the smaller, escape proof tank used to house creatures when their real tank was being cleaned.

“Come on, Lucy, I know you missed me, but I’ve got work to do,” Cas said as he tried to pry her tentacles off of his arms. Every time he succeeded, she used another arm to grab Cas.

“Havin’ trouble?” Dean asked with a soft laugh as he approached.

Cas looked relieved and held his tentacle covered arms up. “Can you tell?” Lucy came up with him, clinging onto Cas for dear life from the looks of it.

Dean stepped next to Cas. “Need help?”

“Good luck,” he said with a laugh, as he relaxed his arms.

Dean decided to start with his wrist, gently tugging at the suckers that had rotated to even overlap, making her grip impossibly strong. “Damn, Lucy.” When he managed to pry a few of the suckers from Cas’s wrist, there was a wake of circular bruises where her arm had been wrapped.

“She got you good,” Dean said as he proceeded to pull her off the rest of Cas’s right arm.

“I call them octopus hickeys,” Cas said with a laugh, right hand now free and helping Dean with his left.

Dean chuckled in kind. “So, she’s got a crush on you?”

“Something like that,” Cas said.

Then Lucy reached out, wrapping one of her tentacles around Dean’s left wrist. The suckers felt a little squishy and slippery, but they latched onto Dean with ease. “Ma’am,” he said as he proceeded to focus on his own arm.

Cas smiled brightly when Dean grew unsuccessful and a couple other tentacles gripped him higher up his forearm. “She must like the way you taste.”

Lucy had clearly gotten over Cas’s taste and actually dropped her remaining limbs to now latch onto both of Dean’s arms.

“At least I’m too big for her to eat…”

There was a pleasant warmth of color that painted Cas’s cheeks at that comment, and Cas simply chuckled. “This is more her way of getting to know you.”

Well, talk about a great segue. Dean flashed him another smile and said, “Speaking of… Do you have any plans tonight?”

[soft--dragon]

Witches Curse

Words: 4,494

Warnings: None

This can be seen either romantically or platonically, I don't mind ^^

This was inspired by this incredible art and this idea by @carrie-tate . Check out her blog!! He makes amazing stuff :D <3

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

Witches sucked, Castiel decides, glaring over his shoulder and rolling the tense muscles out the best he can. The ache persists much to his annoyance. He sighs bitterly. Witches sucked so much. 

Dean, Sam, and Cas had been hunting something that had been running rampant. Cures and curses had been popping up around Missouri for the last few weeks - all indicating a witch on a spell spree. It seemed pretty cut and dry, and Dean had proudly bolstered they'd be back in time for beers and a good slice of pie. 

But because their luck could never be that good, the hunt went sideways fast. 

They'd snuck into the house easily, and found the altar room where the witch was preparing a new enchantment. Slowly, the trio split up and crept around to circle him. Sam had the shot lined up perfectly, a finger easing on the trigger when Dean had accidentally knocked down a shaky stack of mismatched crockery from his hiding place - inadvertently causing Sam to misfire from the crash and strike the drywall. 

Turns out, people don't take kindly to being shot at. 

The witch lashed out instantly, a frightened yell wrenching from him as he blasted the first spell to mind at his intruders. The flashes of light and echoing shots of guns were overwhelming. 

Cas, armed with only his angelic grace, slipped around the firefight to hopefully catch the witch in a blind spot and end this. Unfortunately, one of Sam's bullets ricocheted off the concrete wall and only just missed Cas's cheek. The close call made him gasp in alarm, giving away the element of surprise. 

In a split second, the witch whirled around and rambled off a fast spell, causing pain to streak through Cas's shoulder blades. He yelled out, stumbling away from the witch and grabbing at his spine when the feeling spread and something shifted under his skin. It hurt. 

A sharp bang burst through the room, something wet hitting the floor and quickly followed by the heavy thudding of dead weight. Dean's gun was still smoking from the fresh bullet, raised to where the witch had just been standing, but he practically threw it to the ground in his rush to get to his friend's side. 

"Cas! Cas, you alright? Talk to me!" He demanded, hands splayed out towards Castiel as the angel writhed on the spot, still desperately clawing at his spine. 

"H-Hurts-" Cas choked out, suddenly wrenching at the sleeves of his coat to shed it from his burning skin. 

In an instant, Dean was helping him yank off the heavy material, startling at the sight of Cas's skin moving under his white dress shirt. "Cas, what the fu-" 

"Guys, what's happening?" Sam demanded worriedly from where he was crouched by the witch, checking for a pulse. 

"That son a bitch did something to Cas!" Dean growled, panic in his face as the angel suddenly gasped and twisted in place. "Cas-" 

A sharp tearing sound burst through the room and all Dean saw was a mass of darkness before he was thrown back into Sam. The Winchester brothers fell in a heap on the cold floor, the older man slightly winded from the sudden impact. 

"Augh, get off of me, Dean."

"Give me… a sec, man. Jesus." 

Dean coughed for air only to yelp when his younger brother hefted himself up on his forearms - making the older hunter roll off of Sam's lower back and land facedown on the concrete with a grunt. 

Sam looked from Dean, to Cas and froze. His lips parted in bewildered shock, eyebrows practically in his hairline as he registered what he was seeing. "...Dean."

Dean, hearing the awe in his little brother’s voice, lifted himself from the floor to look at the end of the altar room. He froze too. 

"Cas?" He asked cautiously.  

Castiel, angel of the lord, was standing at the edge of the room with a pair of hulking, black wings stretched out on either side of his body. 

So yeah, witches sucked. 

Cas was staring at the feathered appendages with round, blue eyes. Then, after a moment of silence, he muttered a gruff, "Fuck." 

The trio of misfits had left Missouri quickly after the curse had been placed on Castiel. Unfortunately, due to how misplaced they felt on a human vessel, Cas didn't trust himself to fly back to the Bunker. Cas' wings protested the cramped space the entire time he was stuck in the backseat of the Impala, which only added to his agitated state. Sam and Dean tried to get him to open up and let them help, but he sent them a sharp look at every attempt and continued brooding.

As soon as the Impala parked, Cas shoved himself out of the car and stomped up to the woods, ignoring the humans' calls behind him. While he trusted Sam and Dean - hell they were his closest friends - having his wings exposed was a level of vulnerability he never knew existed. He couldn't handle their eyes on his angelic appendages for another minute.

Hours later, Cas is fully settled into bitterness. No matter what he does, he can't get comfortable with how weighty and awkward the wings feel in a human vessel. With his grace, the impressive appendages are cloaked safely, tucked away from any misgivings in the human world. The overexposure is downright uncomfortable now - the dirt scratching on his primaries and the wind upsetting the pristine layout of feathers. Cas hates this. 

Soft footsteps make the angel turn sharply, his years as a soldier instinctively preparing to yank out his blade and stab whatever was going to make his life worse. 

Dean quickly holds up his hands in alarm, taking a stumbling step backward and almost tripping over a tree root. "Woah there, buddy," he placates with a nervous smile, eyeing the sharp blade. "Let's not go all 'Michael Myres' here, okay?"

Cas glares, but he already feels his shoulders slumping in exhaustion. With a sigh, Cas re-sheathes the blade and sits back on the forest floor, wings hiking up around himself to hide from Dean. 

"What do you want, Dean?" He asks in a choleric tone, not wanting to be disturbed from his self-resenting, but safe position. 

Dean didn't shift from his spot, hands slowly lowering to sit in his jacket pockets as he worriedly stared at Cas. "Sam and I have been looking into the lore," he says, hoping to draw the angel's interest. "We're tracking down a way to reverse this."

Cas doesn't answer. 

Dean, never one to enjoy the silence, clears his throat and tries again. "You've been up here for hours, Cas, I just wanted to come check on you. You haven't exactly been very talkative since you got hexed." 

"I wonder why." Cas snips, hunching deeper into himself. "It's not like a witch cursed me to expose the essence of my angelic side." 

Dean makes a small noise of regret. "Right- uh… sorry." 

At the subdued tone, Cas closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath. When he opens them again, he tries to sound more neutral. "It's not your fault, Dean. Thank you for looking for a cure." 

The sound of crunching twigs lifts Castiel's head, turning to see Dean slowly approaching. His eyes are glued to the trees ahead, avoiding looking at the wings that are shifting uneasily. The lack of staring is honestly a relief to Castiel, and he appreciates the gesture. 

When Dean is standing by Cas - far enough to give space but close enough to hear each other easily - he flicks his gaze to the bright blue eyes that are watching him carefully. "Any room on this hill for one more?" 

Cas regards the hunter for a moment, then sighs and nods, waving a hand as Sam taught him to show he didn't mind. Dean sinks to the ground, grunting in mild discomfort as his knees protest the action. He really was getting too old for this hunting business, he wasn’t sure how many years left his knees had with this work. 

Once seated comfortably, Dean clasps his hands over his bent knees and releases a breath, inhaling slowly to enjoy the crisp air. He doesn't get much of a chance to enjoy the Bunker’s surrounding woods. 

“Can I ask something?” He inquires.

Cas nods in his peripheral vision, still tucked into himself glumly. 

“What do they feel like? In this body, I mean.”

Cas lets out a deep sigh and rolls his shoulders, the ache persisting and prickling at his neck. “It sucks.”

Dean couldn’t stop the small laugh that left him at the bone-dry, deadpan answer. He quickly schooled his expression, turning to apologize, but there was a small smile on Cas’s face. The angel glanced at him.

“Humans weren’t meant to encompass the full weight and strength of angel wings,” he says. “It's why we keep them tucked away when we use a human vessel. It protects the human from extra strain and protects us too.”

Dean cocks his head to the side. “Protects you?” He repeats. 

Cas gives a small, miserable wave to his angelic appendages. “Earth is beautiful,” he sighs. “But it is filled with things that can damage our wings. It’s safer for everyone if we keep them hidden.”

Dean glances at the glossy, ebony feathers standing tall over him. With a small hum, he smiles at Cas. “Well, despite the situation, I’m glad I finally get to see them. They’re really cool.” 

Castiel glances at Dean in confusion. “You think so?”

“Yeah. I mean, most angels are depicted to have white wings, but having black ones? So fucking badass, man. If I was an angel, I’d be envious of em.” 

Cas stares with wide eyes and a tilted head. After a moment, he shakes his head with a fond smile. “You never cease to confound me, Dean.” 

Dean scoffs in bemusement. “Thanks?”

“You're welcome.”

The pair settle into a comfortable silence. Cas’s wings had come to rest on the ground, the puffed-up feathers smoothing down for the first time in hours. Cas too, had slumped into a more relaxed posture, his half-lidded eyes taking in the countryside. Dean, who was leaning back on his hands, snuck glances at the impressive wings every so often, captivated by their beauty and obvious strength. Dean did not doubt that Cas could easily smack him like a baseball with one of those bad boys. Yet, he felt no fear near the strong appendages. Instead, he got a weird, intense urge to ask one thing. 

“Can I…?”

Cas turns to watch as Dean struggles to put his request into words, his mouth ticking up slightly in amusement as the human looks almost constipated. “Dean.” He says. 

The man meets his eyes instantly, his nerves written clearly in the pupils though his face doesn’t show it. It was how Cas learned to understand the Winchesters over the years, emotion was all in the eyes, not the face - it was a rather endearing trait for the boys. 

Wordlessly, Cas stretches out the wing closest to Dean, noticing the slight flinch in Dean’s posture as the appendage shows off its impressive size and build. One flap and Cas could send him tumbling down the hill, but he does no such thing. He holds it perfectly still and lets Dean register everything. Dean’s hands fidget on top of his knees, drawing Cas’s gaze to the shifting fingers. He smiles, despite his racing heart of exposing such a vulnerable thing to anyone who was not an angel. 

“You may touch them,” he reassures quietly.

Dean swings around almost comically to stare at him. “Really?” He flits his gaze to the wings again and then back to Castiel. “I thought you’d smite me if I tried to ask.” 

Cas gives a one-shouldered shrug and lets his smile soften towards the man. “I trust you,” he offers, his voice just as gentle as his expression. “Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve let anyone do so.”

Dean noticeably swallows, lips parted in bewilderment. But whatever he is going to say, it doesn't leave his lips. Instead, he closes his mouth and shifts to turn to the wall of feathers. A hand leaves his knees and slowly raises to the wing, fingers just grazing the outer plumage. He huffs in surprise, the silky surface sliding over his skin pleasantly. 

“Woah,” he mumbles, dragging his palm over the soft primaries. “Awesome.”

Cas has to fight back a shudder from the contact, though the slight tension in his brow catches Dean's attention. Immediately drawing back his hand in concern, he asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Castiel answers quickly, his wing already missing the warmth of Dean’s palm. “Like I said, it has been… a long time since anyone has touched my wings.”

“Oh. Do you want me to keep going?”

“That would be nice.”

Dean’s fingers return to the feathers, carefully raking through the thick primaries with a gentle and curious touch. With how Cas’s wing has stretched to practically wrap around and encompass Dean, he has easy access to the entire appendage. Cas hums appreciatively and rolls his shoulders, the ache in his back easing up finally. 

“Feel alright?” Dean double-checks. 

“It feels… quite relaxing, yes.” Cas folds his knees to his chest and drops his head onto his crossed arms. He watches lazily as Dean slowly explores the wing. He registers a slight pull on his coverts and chuckles a bit. “Just don’t tug any of the feathers out, Dean. It’s not molting season yet.”

“You guys molt?” Dean repeats in surprise, looking from the wing to Cas, eyebrows high as he searches the angel’s face for any sign of jest.

Cas nods. “Of course. It’s a yearly experience, we have to do it to have healthy wings.”

Dean scoffs, but it’s in disbelief, not malice. “Wow.” He mutters, returning his gaze to the feather-endowed appendages. “You guys really are like birds, huh?”

Cas rolls his eyes and lightly smacks Dean in the face with the wing, pushing down a grin when the man splutters and pushes away from the offending limb. He looks at Cas in annoyance.

“Sorry, sometimes I can’t control the movement,” Cas smiles innocently. “Instinctive flexing, it’s completely involuntary.” 

Dean scowls at him, but a smirk curls at his lip. “Dick,” he jabs light-heartedly. 

“Ass-butt,” Cas replies in kind, settling on his arms and grinning. 

Dean returns his focus to the wings before him and shifts his hand to rake through the feathers, smirking when he hears Cas hum again - it isn’t unlike petting a cat. The thought made Dean snicker, but Cas was too far gone in enjoyment to care. 

The steady combing through feathers settles Castiel’s tense spine and brow, letting himself enjoy the sensations wholeheartedly. The last time he’d had the joy of having his wings groomed was back when he was a servant of Heaven. The angels often help each other maintain their wings to perfection, making it a bonding activity of sorts. It was a pastime Cas didn’t think he’d ever have the honor of experiencing again. He smiles into his arms. Figures that he’d be able to relive it with the Winchesters. They always managed to find ways to make his life interesting in some way or another, whether it be a good surprise or not. This, however, was a surprise he liked. The prior, bitter resentment from the curse soothed into simple bliss. 

Dean’s fingers shift from combing through his primaries to his secondaries. The change makes Cas shift in place, the wing flexing a bit as the sensations sparked through the wing and down his spine. Dean paused at the reaction and glanced at the angel in surprise. 

He took in Castiel’s posture, once relaxed and easy, now weirdly tense. His eyes are still closed, but there’s a marginal scrunch that draws attention to them. His simple grin was replaced with a slightly wobbly smile. 

“Cas?” Dean asks worriedly, his eyes raking over the angel’s form in concern. “Are you good?”

“Y-Yes.” Cas’s answer was nowhere near as firm as his previous confirmation. If anything, Dean swore his voice sounded a touch higher pitched than normal. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Dean pressed. “I can stop if this is uncomfortable at all-”

Cas opens his eyes and Dean is surprised at the slight plead in his pupils. “Please don’t,” he almost begs. “I’ve missed this.” 

Lips parted in surprise, Dean digests those words. Cas looked… well shit, he looked like he was desperate for this. A weird pang cuts across Dean’s heart as a thought hits him. Is Cas touch starved? 

Getting himself together, Dean nods and sends the angel a reassuring smile. “Alright.” He concedes. “Just lemme know if anything is wrong, okay?”

Cas gives an answering nod, tucking himself back into his arms and stretching his wing out again. ‘Instinctive flexing’, Cas had mentioned before. Dean thought that Cas was joking, but maybe he actually was telling the truth. That would explain the sudden twitchiness, and after all, the angel had said he hadn’t had this kind of touch in a while. 

Questions satiated, Dean lifts his hand and combs one hand through secondary converts. Cas yelps, his wing ruffling and shoulders leaping to his ears as his whole body jolts. 

Dean wrenches his hand away in alarm and snaps towards the angel. “Cas-?” He demands, but then he registers Castiel, and all thoughts die in his head. 

Cas has his knuckles pressed to his lips as he snickers, light sounds that seem so unusual for the angel. The force of his grin is causing his eyes to squint. The sight leaves Dean speechless, feeling as if he’d been thrown into an ocean and left to tread the waters with no help. Then, once the shock subsides, the puzzle pieces click into place and it's as if a lightbulb gets turned on above his head.

“No.” He mutters, his anxiety replaced with a sudden building elation. His grin builds on his face, “No way.” 

Cas, who finally managed to settle the small titters leaving his lips, glances over at Dean with an endearingly confused face. “Uh, I don’t… I’m sorry, I'm not sure what that-”

Dean’s hand sweeps out to bury into the secondary coverts again, and Cas yelps for a second time, tumbling backward in his haste to evade the sudden tingling invading his senses. “Gah- De-Dehehean!” He chokes out through a series of tumbling chuckles, a hand lifting to his mouth again to muffle the noise. 

Dean laughs, loud and excited. “You have got to be kidding me!” He grins, his hands chasing the wings down to the ground and scratching into the fluffy feathers. “You’re ticklish?!” 

Cas wriggles from his spot on the grass, hiccups peppering between his startled laughter. “Dehehehean! Whahahat ahahare yohohou- AHAHAHA!” 

Cas’s own words are lost to his mirth, his body trying to curl into a ball while his wings stay splayed out - eager for attention while the host of said wings squirmed uncontrollably. Dean snickers from where he’s settled beside Cas’s wing, his other hand coming up to hold the top of the appendage while the other sneaks in to tickle the feathers. 

“Who would’ve thought, huh?” He grins, “Castiel has ticklish wings. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh this much, man.”

Cas’s arms don’t know what to do with themselves - the rapid electric tingles shooting through his body render him useless and flailing. He grabs onto his forearms and kicks uselessly at the grass, throwing his head back as laughter escapes his mouth. 

“Dehehehean!” He presses out, his eyes squeezed shut instinctively. 

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Whahahat ihihis thihihis?”  

Dean snorts, mostly in surprise. “You’ve never been tickled before?” 

Cas shakes his head rapidly, too caught up in his mirth to give a verbal reply. Dean, seeing that Cas is struggling for air, eases up on the sensitive coverts and settles back into tickling along the secondaries and primaries. 

“Basically, you’ve got sensitive wings,” Dean explains. “Being ticklish is pretty common for humans, it’s our nervous system that makes it possible. Sammy can give you the whole scientific spiel of it if you want. My version, though? Touching the body in a certain way makes someone laugh, it’s a way to mess with people and a way to bond. God knows I tickled Sam so much growing up. He still gets these nervous giggles when people wiggle their fingers at him.” 

Dean shakes his head fondly as he speaks and scratches along the bone of the wing. Cas suddenly bucks with a loud squeal, crashing back into the grass and giggling hysterically. Castiel was giggling. Dean’s grin widened at the sound though his eyes softened. It was rare when he got even a chuckle out of Cas, this was a whole dang gift basket in itself. 

“THIHIhihihis feheheels sohoho strahahange!” Cas manages to get out, his cheeks growing pink from his ongoing laughter, and the subconscious embarrassment of letting out such an unnatural sound for an angel. 

Dean wiggles two fingers into the bend of the wing with a look at his friend. “Good strange or bad strange?”

Cas squeaks in laughter, his hiccupping giggles coming back full force. “Ihihit feheheels nihihice? Buhuhut Ihihi cahahdn’t stohohop mohoving-” Dean’s fingers skim a particularly sensitive spot, causing Cas to roll onto his side, proving his own words.

Dean snickers. “Yeah, that’s normal. The usual reaction is to try and get away….” The rest of Castiel’s words clicked in Dean’s head. “Wait, are you saying you like this?” 

Cas rolls back over and looks up at Dean through his eyelashes. ‘Ihihis thahat wrohong?” He asks through tumbling giggles. 

Dean bites his tongue to stop his mouth from possibly making a fool of himself, but he can’t stop the endeared smile that spreads on his face. “Nah,” he reassures when he’s sure he’s got his emotions under lock again. He tweaks the sensitive spot on the bone just to hear Cas squeal again. “It’s not wrong, Cas.”

Questions answered, Cas lets his head fall back and simply laughs, his chest feeling lighter than it had in, well, ever. The tickling shifted from light skittering, to gentle scratching - Dean’s hand making its way across the sensitive areas. When he dropped to test the scapular of Cas’s wing, Castiel shrieked. 

The sudden jump of octaves made Dean jolt in surprise, but he burst out laughing not a moment later as he watched Cas squirm and laugh twice as hard as before. “Christ on a stick, Cas!” He chuckles warmly. “Gonna scare off all the birds round here.”

Cas twists on the grass and holds his arms tightly, though one of them does let go to swipe in Dean’s direction, nowhere near close, however. “DEHEHEHEAN!” 

Dean opens his mouth to answer when something soft brushes the exposed skin of his ankle from where his pant legs have risen. Turning to look down, Dean’s mouth slips open in shock. A little red flower, which was most definitely not there before, waves its petals in the light breeze. Dean glances around, and to his surprise, there’s a series of small flowers budding and growing around the pair of them, a mix of reds and pinks. Dean’s fingers have slowed to gentle tracing on Castiel’s scapulars, distracted by the small garden of flowers blooming. It’s a rather captivating sight, watching the flowers press through the grass to stand proudly in the sunlight, perfect and pristine to every petal.

Cas meanwhile, is being kept in a giggly form of purgatory of precise, tickling fingers. And as much as he’s enjoying the attention, he needs a break from that spot before he accidentally smites someone - namely Dean. 

“D-Dehehean!” he gasps out again, “P-Plehehease!” 

Snapped out of his stupor, Dean pauses in his wiggling motions, looking back to the angel who slumps into the flower-dotted grass with a giggly sigh of relief. The red flowers match his flushed face, leaning towards Cas from their angle of growth. Dean can’t help but stare. 

After giving his friend a chance to recover, Dean clears his throat. “Cas?” He asks quietly. 

A soft, warm hum leaves Castiel as he calms down, eyelashes fluttering open to look at Dean. “Mhm?” 

Dean glances at the grass. “Did you… did you make these?” 

The angel’s eyebrow lifts in confusion, turning his head to the side to where Dean is looking. “Oh.” He practically chirps in surprise. He sits up on his forearms, glancing around the field where flowers have sprouted. “Ah, yes, I think I did.” His wings rise carefully from the grass to reveal a series of little yellow flowers hidden underneath the feathers. 

Dean’s eyebrows lift to his hair as he takes in the whole field of color. “What are they? I didn’t know you could miracle flowers out of thin air.”

Cas carefully plucks one of the yellow ones off the grass and holds it up to his face to inspect. “I have not made them since I was a fledgling,” he mused, turning the stalk in his fingers idly. “They are buttercups.”

Dean watches as Cas is captivated by the small plant in his fingers. He leans forward slightly to look at it closer, cocking his head to the side curiously. “Why’d you decide to pull out the green thumb again?” 

Cas glances up and gives Dean a small, shy smile. “It was subconscious, I believe,” he murmured. “I haven’t felt this relaxed or happy in a long time. I suppose the flowers are a byproduct of my emotions, flowers do have meanings after all.”

Dean’s heart ached for the angel. He turned to look around again and admired the patches of petals. “Well, I think you made a fine batch of buttercups,” he commented. “Maybe you can grow a few different kinds of flowers around the Bunker. The lawn looks pretty sad, so some flowers would do it good.”

Cas’s face lit up like a damn Christmas tree. “Really?” he asked, “you would like that?”

Dean gives a one-shouldered shrug and lets his smile soften toward the angel. “I trust your florist talents,” he says. “Besides, I think Sam would like it too.”

Cas grins, wide and warm. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah, of course, man. If it makes you happy then-”

“Not just for that,” Cas cuts him off, his smile slipping back into shyness. “About… before. While this whole 'tickling' thing is new to me, I haven’t laughed like that in a while, and the wing grooming was appreciated too. So, thank you for that. It meant a lot.”

Dean is left speechless for what feels like the sixth time that day. He takes in Castiel’s genuine smile and relaxed form, his blue eyes brighter than his angelic glow could hope to achieve. Dean finds himself grinning, soft and sincere. 

“Anytime Cas.”

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Ten Years Gone

Author: Labgeek2002

Artist: Kazi

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester; past Castiel/Michael

Length: 78000

Warnings: Graphic torture

Tags: Detective!Cas; Criminal!Dean; internalized homophobia; group home; mafia

Posting Date: November 3, 2023

Summary: While closing the biggest case of Detective Castiel Novak’s life--bringing down Chicago’s notorious Luguino crime family—everything gets put on hold when he catches Dean Winchester, his childhood crush, breaking the law. Soon after he snaps the cuffs on Dean, Can’ world is turned upside down as he’s left down the dark path of organized crime and police corruption. With no one he can trust, will Can learn to rely on the man who once brought comfort and protection, or will he find betrayal around every corner.

Excerpt: “Watch, watch here.  Follow the ace.” Two quick, sharp snaps of fingers directed the crowd’s attention to a singular direction. “See it? Nothing up my sleeves.  Watch the card.” Cas walked to the outer margins of the small crowd that congregated around the street magician, keeping his profile low and as inconspicuous as possible. His eyes flicked to the ace which was raised high in the air and hesitantly lowered his gaze; his heart stopped upon seeing the distinctive tattoo of a leafless tree crawling up the other man’s forearm.  He closed in a bit, his breath catching tightly in his chest as he approached and took in the dark blond wave of hair that was visible embedded within the crowd. Cas knew exactly what would follow as his mind raced back to its 16-year-old self.  A collective gasp rose from the audience followed by applause and an impressed whistle.  As the person who stood before him bent down to pick up her shopping bag, Castiel was given an unobscured view of the street performer.  The man hadn’t yet seen Cas as he grinned shyly at the appreciation, bowing his head slightly in a modest gesture of acknowledgement.  Every ounce of Cas’ being wanted to duck away before he was noticed, blending in seamlessly with the evaporating crowd.  The badge that burned in his pocket stopped him. He pushed through, putting on the bravado he learned long ago. “And for the grand finale, let’s give the gentleman back his wallet.” His words stopped the dispersion immediately and caused the street performer’s eyes to lock forward, his face a mix of recognition followed quickly by shame. “Cas…” The tone was lifeless despite the full bass of his voice which resounded through Castiel and washed him in echoes of memory.  “Dean, give it to him,” he gestured to the middle-aged man to Dean’s right with a subtle tilt of his chin. Dean reached into his own back pocket and retrieved a worn brown leather wallet, handing it back to its owner without glancing in his direction. “Call the police!” The man yelled as his face flushed red with anger.  Half the crowd, likely natives from Chicago, flicked a hand and went about their business. The remaining few, surely outraged tourists, reached for their phones to beckon an officer while chastising Dean for his scam. “You can put your phones away.” Cas drew his badge from his jacket’s side pocket and flipped it open displaying it quickly to the gentleman and surrounding crowd. “Sir, do you wish to press charges?” “What the hell kind of a question is that? You watched this man rob me!” The older man screamed. Cas could see Dean standing to the man’s left, his arms wound across his chest and his head shaking dismissively back and forth.  “Sir, I did not witness the alleged crime, I am…familiar with the act.  Do you wish to press charges?” Castiel schooled his face into the most neutral portrait of professional control he thought possible.

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[hollowhearts-and-espresso]

dean winchester takes one look at castiels bare forearms or neck without a tie and turns into a victorian teenage boy seeing a ladys ankles for the first time