#castielxy/n

[jiminisjamin]

Hello (Castiel x Reader)

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Requested: Yes!

Prompt: “I didn’t know you could talk” (R on the list)

Warnings: Mild Language, fluff.

Rating: Fluff.

Word Count: 1,305

Title: Hello.

        Y/n sits awkwardly next to the angel, her head bowed slightly as she reads the diner’s menu. She had met him not too long ago, but they hadn’t really had a formal conversation. In fact, she hadn’t said one word to him- or even when he was in the room. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was about him, but she couldn’t find the courage to speak when he was near her. Dean and Sam had caught onto this quite fast, and Sam, taking pity on her, had begun to speak for her when she needed him to: answering questions, ordering drinks and food, introducing herself. So, when she found what she had wanted, she pointed to it on the menu, and Sam nodded, smiling sympathetically. Castiel notices this and continues to stare at her with his head tilted. Dean raises an eyebrow at his brother, as if to ask why he’s been doing this. Sam simply shrugs, closing his menu. Castiel shifts awkwardly, unsure of how to deal with the silence at the table. The diner is buzzing with sound around them, family and friends chatting happily as they eat their dinners. Castiel clears his throat, turning slightly towards Y/n.

    “You did very good today,” he says slowly, attempting to meet her gaze in the moment she looks up. Y/n smiles slightly, and Castiel’s heart lifts- but then she looks away again, not responding. His eyebrows pull together and his lips turn down in a frown. She picks up her water glass and sips at it quietly, looking back and forth at her brothers- but not Castiel. He frowns again, unsure of what he may have done to upset her. She rarely ever looks at him, barely acknowledges his existence. He figured she couldn’t speak- he’d never heard her say a word, never had a sound left her lips. There were other humans who couldn’t speak- but they still had a way to communicate. Y/n seemed to solely rely on Sam, and-though Castiel didn’t understand why- it always seemed to make Dean angry. He’d grow exasperated with her quickly, and eventually give up on attempting to speak with her. All of it frustrated Castiel- that she wouldn’t respond to him through Sam, that her muteness annoyed Dean- and that he’d never get to hear what her voice would sound like. He’d always imagined it would be the most pleasant sound- soft and gentle, warm and…comforting.

    Castiel sighs loudly, stretching in the booth slightly as he eyes her from the corner of his vision. She was always remarkably beautiful. He couldn’t understand why no other human he’d met made him feel quite like she did. Of course, Castiel could recognize it as physical attraction but… He sighs again, this time catching the attention of Dean.

    “You okay, Cas?” Dean asks, noting the way his sister perks up at his friend’s name.

    “I am fine, Dean.” He murmurs, half lost in thought as he stares forward.

    “…are you sure buddy?” Dean asks again, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of his coffee.

    “Yes, I was just wondering…” Castiel’s voice trails off as the waiter arrives with their meals, and he opts to stay quiet, staring forward at the table. The waiter leans on the booth, slightly nudging Castiel’s shoulder.

    “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” She asks, looking down at him through her lashes. Castiel shakes his head. “Really? Oh, sweetheart, are you sure?” Castiel nods and stands up.

    “Ah- yes, I’m sure.” He turns to the table, his gaze meeting Y/n’s. “I’ll be right back…excuse me.” He walks off, carefully avoiding the waiter as he does. Y/n bites her tongue to keep from the way she ogles him as he walks away, and she looks up at Sam, making sure the waitress is gone before batting her lashes.

    “Really? Oh, sweetheart, are you sure?” She mimics, causing her brothers to roll their eyes slightly. Y/n raises her eyebrows, still mimicking the waitress innocent expression. “We don’t get many customers as well dressed as you, cutie.” She repeats what the waitress had said when they first walked in, adding the last word, although it wasn’t said. Dean laughs slightly, trying to cover it by coughing into his napkin. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” She continues, “maybe something,” she fakes a laugh and puts her hand up, pretending to lean in and whisper; “off the menu?” Y/n now can’t help but roll her eyes slightly, not caring how childish this whole thing made her seem. She leans back in the booth, shaking her head. “Poor Cas,” she mumbles, and pushes the ice in her water around with her straw. “He can’t go anywhere without some girl hitting on him,” she sighs, and closes her eyes, resting her chin in her hand.

    “Oh? And where’s this coming from?” Dean asks, barely hiding a laugh as he does. She sighs again.

    “I guess…all these girls, they can…they can just waltz up and flirt with him shamelessly, and I can’t even talk around him? I’ve never said one word when he’s in the room- I just, I get so flustered, and shy, and I- I can’t-”

    “I didn’t know you could talk,” Castiel’s calm voice shocks Y/n, and her eyes open wide, her face turning a deep crimson color. She can feel the booth sink slightly as Castiel sits beside her, and she can feel his intense gaze on her. “I don’t understand,” he says slowly, “why you would be intimidated to speak to me?” Y/n’s mouth opens and closes, and she sputters slightly, trying to find the words to explain herself. Instead, all that comes out is a quiet, shaky:

    “How much of that did you hear?”

    “Not much,” Castiel admits. “When I walked up your eyes were closed, and Dean motioned for me to be quiet, and he asked you-” Y/n’s face turns even redder as she glares at her brother.

    “You did this?” She asks him, her voice breaking slightly. Dean shrugs innocently. “I- why would you- you know I can’t- how…how could you…” She tries to find the right words, but each sentence seems over-dramatic, and she sighs, covering her face in her hands.

    “Y/n, what’s wrong?” Castiel asks, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Please- don’t be upset, I can pretend you do not speak, if that’s what you want.” Sam smiles at this, and Dean shakes his head, a large grin spreading across his face at his friend’s words.

    “Cas, you just don’t get it, do you?” Castiel looks to Dean in confusion. “She likes you, a lot. She’s been too embar- ow! What the hell?” Y/n glares at Dean once again, her eyes slightly misty. “Why’d you kick me?”

    “Why are you being an ass?” Y/n asks, squinting at her brother. Castiel glances between the two, utterly confused.

    “You care for me…then why wouldn’t you speak to me? I thought- I thought I’d hurt you, or that you hated me.” Y/n slowly drags her gaze to meet his, and she shakes her head.

    “The opposite, Castiel.” She says. “I…I couldn’t talk around you- I don’t know why, so don’t ask me…maybe I couldn’t find the right words? I don’t know…” Castiel reaches out and grabs her hand, a warm smile stretching across his face.

    “I find that hello is a good way to start,” he offers, not so slyly shifting closer to her as he keeps his gaze at their hands. Y/n blushes, and she opens her mouth, and then closes it. She begins to pull her hand away, and Castiel’s gaze darts up to meet hers, and he grasps her face. “Hello, y/n.” He whispers, his gaze practically piercing into her soul. She stares back at him, her e/c eyes slightly foggy as she smiles.

    “Hey, Cas.”

_________

Tags: Feel Free to ask to be added or removed at any time!

SPN: @thatshellfiredean , @elma-shay

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[webcricket]

Hi:) I was wondering if you could do one where Castiel has been holding the readers hand a lot because he wants to know she's there. Have a good day and thank you!

Hi. I can. And I will. Right now! In honor of Castiel’s birthday, please accept this 5-minute drabble as a token of Castiel’s profound adoration.

Thefirst time Castiel reached for your trembling fingers, you sat side by side,bunker bound, in the rear of the Impala. The angel had healed you, healed allof you, and yet, as always, there existed wounds he could not see or mend withhis divine grace.

Inthe driver’s seat, muted by guilt, Dean’s green gaze seemed fixed so far away thathis white-knuckled clutch upon the steering wheel and steady pressure of hisboot on the gas pedal were, more than anything else, a base manifestation of hominginstinct.

Samreclined restlessly against the passenger window, eyelids heavily shut in the elusivesearch of a fitful slumber forever out of his grasp.

Tearsreflective of the gruesome hunt gathered in the corners of your eyes, the brinysting of innocent lives lost stained your flushed cheeks.

Thedense shared silence of varying regrets hung viscous in the air between thefour of you so that the simple act of breathing became a tiresome chore.

Ingaining a familiarity with the nuances of human touch, Castiel understood handholding to be a means to comfort you – the gesture a physical reminder that youwere not alone. He had no way of anticipating the reverberating influence ofthe action on his own sense of grounding.

Numbfingers sensing the warm rough skin of his palm overlaying your hand, you twinedyour fingers through his, a shaky sigh rattling your chest as you wriggledacross the distance between your bodies to lay your weary head on his shoulder.

Castiel drew your hand to rest upon his lap – grateful to have helped, grateful for your existence.

More and more habitually in the days, and weeks, and months following, Castiel intuitively reached out to hold your hand. Frequently, it was toreassure you, as on that first fateful occasion. Just as often, it was out of ashyly blossoming affection. Sometimes, when he felt most lost and most withoutpurpose, it was to satisfy a nascent desire in himself to hold on to somethingtangible and alive in a world where too often the immaterial natures of hopeand faith were not enough to fend off the darkness or the thought that he,alone, was not enough to aid in the stand against it.

Together, hand in hand, anything seemedpossible.

Castieltag list:  (Ifyou’d like to be added or removed please let me know!)    @jeepangel  @sammiesamness  @willowing-love  @roxy-davenport  @blueicevalkyrie   @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11  @thesugargalaxy  @zeeimpalaangel  @bluetina-blog  @dont-trust-humanity  @afanofmanystuffs  @casbabydontgoineedyou  @love-charmer-sketch  @skyethekeks  @honeybeetrash  @bucky-thorin-winchester  @tacos-and-trenchcoats  @superwholockz   @tistai  @wordstothewisereaders  @gill-ons  @mrswhozeewhatsis  @marisayouass  @mycuddlycorner   @stone-met  @gravehumour13  @castiel-savvy18  @samualmortgrim  @pointlessbow  @trexrambling  @magnificent-mantle  @kdfrqqg  @xdifsx  @narisjournal-blog  @book-loving–anime-chick–anime-chick  @misscherryberry  @moon-and-stars-cas  @tokentransboy  @mandilion76  @rockfairy  @badasssweetsrebel  @xxgoldiethegoldenxx  @peaceloveancolor  @unicorntrooper  @anisolatedship  @itsilvermorny  @alyssa6marie  @superjunkdrawer  @aditimukul  @calicat79  @feelmyroarrrr  @theedwardscollection  @wehannia  @kudosia  @goofynerd-67babylove  @eternallyademon  @peculiarlyrene  @lllydg  @noonelikestheo  @idk-fandom  @amionthetumbler  @furiousdonutbarbarian  

[webcricket]

Fluffy, Cas and reader bake together

Samand Dean were out for the day – gone on a hunter supply run two states over insearch of an elusive spell ingredient which a paranoid store proprietor wouldnot confirm or deny he had in his possession over the phone. Sam logicallyassumed, since the owner did not deny it outright, that there was a better thanpiddling chance he had what they needed. Dean saw the trip as an opportunity tovisit the bakery next door to the shop which he alleged sold scratch-made browniesbetter even than your gran’s celebrated super-secret recipe. Not to be outdone,you intended to prepare a batch of your special brownies to prove him wrong. Youheld the family-size box of Pillsbury brand pre-packaged brownie mix before youand smiled at the grinning doughboy figure on the front. All these years, the ridiculoussquealing lump of chef-shaped dough had kept your secret – you actually had noidea how to make brownies from scratch.

“HelloY/N.”

Youjumped at the familiar gravelly voice of the angel, fumbling, then hiding theunopened box behind you and turning to confront him.

Castielstood at the kitchen threshold, trench coat and arms swaying, curiously narrowinghis gaze at your secretive behavior.

“Oh,hey Cas,” you stuttered tensely. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. Sam and Dean are…”

“Drivingto Des Moines,” he finished your remark, “I know. I thought perhaps you could use some company in their absence.” Stepping down to enter the room, he strodetoward you and peered inquisitively at the baking accoutrements on the counterbefore casting his bright blue eyes on you. “What are you doing?”

“I,uh, I’m,” you stumbled for a way to stretch the truth and not lie to the angelwho you knew would instantly know you were deceiving him. “Can you keep asecret?” you finally settled on making an accomplice of him.

He crookedhis head thoughtfully, “That depends.”

“Onwhat?”

“Onwhether keeping this confidence would lead to anyone getting hurt.”

“Notkeeping it will result in a mortal wound to my pride courtesy of Dean Winchesterfrom which I may never recover,” you offered direly, adding, “I promise youthat keeping it harms no one.”

“Ibelieve you.”

“Youdo?”

“I’veexperienced first-hand how particularly ruthless Dean can be in matters of woundedpride.”

“Great!”you sighed deeply in relief.

Cas focusedexpectantly on you.

You handedover the box of brownie mix disgracefully, cheeks flushing red in embarrassment.

Heturned it over a few times in his broad hands, and arched a perplexed brow, finallyasking outright, “What’s so special about this box?”

“That,”you frowned regretfully, gesturing at the box, “is the shameful secret behind mysuper-secret homemade brownie recipe that Dean loves.”

Theangel cracked a rare amused smile.

“Shutup!” you swatted him chidingly on the shoulder, masking your own smile with a sneer,and plucked the box from his grasp. “Adding the walnuts and frosting was myidea, sort of.”

“Ididn’t say anything, and I swear to you that I never will,” his smile gentled the usual somberness of his glittering bluegaze. “May I help?”

“Yeah,sure,” you were internally overjoyed at the prospect of theangel’s companionship. In fact, you couldn’t remember ever having spent anyquality time alone with him when not working or otherwise distracted by a case. It was almost like yoursurrogate big brothers were intentionally keeping you apart out of a misplacedsense of protectiveness. You suddenly looked up from opening the box. “Do Samand Dean know you’re here?”

Theangel’s eyes flew wide – his turn to be caught off guard. “They, uh,” he begannervously prying open the carton of eggs, hesitating for a long moment beforemeeting your searching gaze, “perhaps for the time being we could keep thisvisit between us.”

You thrust a measuring cup and the bottle of vegetableoil against his chest. “Our secret,” you smiled warmly.

Castieltag list:  (Ifyou’d like to be added or removed please let me know!)    @jeepangel  @sammiesamness  @willowing-love  @roxy-davenport  @blueicevalkyrie   @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11  @thesugargalaxy  @zeeimpalaangel  @bluetina-blog  @dont-trust-humanity  @afanofmanystuffs  @casbabydontgoineedyou  @love-charmer-sketch  @skyethekeks  @honeybeetrash  @bucky-thorin-winchester  @tacos-and-trenchcoats  @superwholockz   @tistai  @wordstothewisereaders  @gill-ons  @mrswhozeewhatsis  @marisayouass  @mycuddlycorner   @stone-met  @gravehumour13  @castiel-savvy18  @samualmortgrim  @pointlessbow  @trexrambling  @magnificent-mantle  @kdfrqqg  @xdifsx  @narisjournal-blog  @book-loving–anime-chick  @misscherryberry  @moon-and-stars-cas  @tokentransboy  @mandilion76  @rockfairy  @badasssweetsrebel  @xxgoldiethegoldenxx  @peaceloveancolor  @unicorntrooper  @anisolatedship  @itsilvermorny  @alyssa6marie  @superjunkdrawer  @aditimukul  @calicat79  @feelmyroarrrr  @theedwardscollection  @wehannia  @kudosia  @goofynerd-67babylove  @eternallyademon  @peculiarlyrene  @lllydg  @noonelikestheo  @idk-fandom  @amionthetumbler  @furiousdonutbarbarian  @chocolategate  @oresalupus  @ladydork

[webcricket]

Catch a Falling Star

Characters: CastielXReader

Word Count: 1954 (Part 6)

A/N: Part 6 of a Soulmate AU mini-series. Consider this a warning for sticky fluff with a smutty cherry on top. This isn’t explicit smut by any means – really more of a super suggestive romantic interlude. Non-adult readers, please note you can skip this part without losing track of the plot. Angst anticipators…enjoy your sweet seraphim sugar high [while it lasts]. P.S. True story – I fell more in love with Castiel while writing this chapter.

Summary: What if angels didn’t end up just anywhere when they are banished by sigils…what if sometimes they end up exactly where they need to be? Turns out you are Castiel’s grounding stone, and it’s more complicated than either of you realizes. In the hushed calm before the gathering storm, the spark between you and Castiel burns bright.

Completed series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/165166387163/catch-a-falling-star-masterlist

Castiel inspected the rounded granite stones arranged in a near perfect circle rimming a shallow depression in the earth lined with soot-streaked flat grey pieces of rock. You asked him earlier in the evening if he knew how to build a fire. He answered affirmatively and without a moment’s hesitation. After all, he’d been there when humankind first discovered and tamed fire – it was as simple a concept as any to grasp.

You were disappointed to learn that Neanderthals were not instantly awestruck and captivated by the usefulness of the miraculous leaping hot orange flames and ethereal smoke as you’d always imagined. Rather, Cas informed you they fled, generally en masse, screaming of mind-boggling world-ending horror. It wasn’t until much later they learned to co-exist with a smoldering blaze in what amounted to a functional state of contained terror. To this day, human descendants without a healthy fear of fire and its ability to hungrily consume everything in its path without discrimination exist few and far between – a lingering testament to the powerful influence of first impressions.

The angel pensively walked the perimeter of the pit, realizing he might have overstated his qualifications as, although he understood how to create a fire in theory, he’d never actually had necessity or occasion to build one. He’d observed Sam and Dean construct several impressive conflagrations over the years. However, something on the scale of a hunter’s funeral pyre seemed excessive considering you intended to roast mass-produced puffed pillows of sugar, not incinerate a corpse.

Cushioned plaid wool blanket tucked beneath one arm, bag of marshmallows, bars of chocolate, and packet of graham crackers balanced precariously against your chest, you emerged at the end of the winding path down from the cottage to greet the flummoxed angel and the empty fire pit with a cheerful smile. You found his innate ability to overthink the most routine tasks, often to the point of cataplectic inaction, one of his most endearing qualities.

Just this morning, he spent almost an hour shucking the half dozen ears of corn you selected at the farmer’s market. Amusement over the adorable fixed state of intense concentration his features assumed when assigned the job hindered you from saying anything to deter the deliberateness with which he embarked on the undertaking. Fastidiously peeling the sinewy leaves back individually and painstakingly plucking the inner stringy fibers from between each neat row of kernels, he proudly presented you with the finished product – the most pristinely cleaned ears of corn you’d ever had the honor to plunk into boiling water and then drown in salt and butter before eating.

After his afternoon definitely-not-a-nap and Dean’s phone call, he helped you plant a new bed of flowers inspired by your unusual first encounter – white moonflowers, which only opened at night, fronted by sun-fire coreopsis, a deep red-orange centered yellow flower akin to a brightly burning falling star, and ringed all around with the vivid blue periwinkle that reminded you so much of his eyes. The process of removing the fragile plants from the safety of the greenhouse and wrenching them from their cozy pots by tearing the finely haired roots cementing them to the place they called home since bursting forth from seed greatly dismayed the angel. You assured him the shock of the great outdoors and broken roots were temporary setbacks – that in their new home, freed of the constraints of the tiny pots, the tender flowers would grow stronger and more beautiful than before. This sentiment seemed to quell his reservations and brought a reflective smile to his lips.

Standing opposite the angel now, assessing his total lack of fire making progress and repentant air, you assumed this was another one of those times his overly methodical thought process got the better of him.

He began to confess his miscalculation, “I didn’t…”

“Know where to find the wood?” you interjected, thwarting his attempt at self-blaming awkwardness. Tossing your cargo aside, you rounded the pit to run your hands soothingly down the length of his limply swaying arms, fingers dropping to take up his hands with an encouraging squeeze. “I forgot to mention it’s behind the shed.”

A reassured smile brightened his troubled aspect as you rolled to your tip-toes to kiss his prickly cheek. It hadn’t occurred to him that, of course, you had a wood pile at the ready for such occasions. The notion of preparation was a luxury not often afforded to the angel in his past experience, and certainly not with his usual company of the characteristically fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants Winchesters whose appreciation of preparedness didn’t typically extend beyond the Impala’s weapon-stocked trunk, scrappy boy scout instincts and charm, and a running streak of dumb luck.

“I need to grab the roasting sticks from the shed too. I’ll show you.” Rocking to your heels, you tugged his hand, plunging intrepidly into the darkening dusk.

Gratefully following your lead, he twined his fingers through yours. The thought flitted through his mind, for what must be approaching the hundredth time that day in his estimation – he’d given up on counting – that the ordinary life was a lot harder and more intricately nuanced than people generally led you to believe. And also, that the generous and forbearing quality of your patient nature indubitably exceeded his own.

Crisis of fire successfully averted with a lively crackling blaze, you and Cas nestled side by side on the blanket, skin warmly aglow in the radiant flicker of flame. The moonless night encroached about the edge of the fire’s illuminating reach so blackly it seemed you and the angel were all that existed in the whole of the creation.

You hovered a marshmallow on the end of a long wooden skewer several inches over the lambent pale orange embers, rotating it every few seconds to brown and crisp the outside uniformly.

Castiel watched your every movement in rapt anticipation of mimicking it when it was his turn to try.

The marshmallow faintly began to smoke. “There!” you pronounced, removing the expertly toasted marshmallow from the pit.

Cas obediently held up half a graham cracker layered with a square of chocolate on cue as you’d previously instructed.

You gingerly pushed the blistering hot caramelized crisped shell of sugar onto the proffered base. Grabbing the whole sugary conglomeration between your thumb and forefinger, you smashed the other half of the cracker on top and hummed approvingly as white eddies of liquid marshmallow oozed from the sides. “That…,” you mumbled through an orgasmic mouthful, “is how…,” swallowing thickly with a delighted moan, “you make…,” taking another gooey bite punctuated by an exultant sigh, eyelids fluttering shut in saccharine satisfaction, “the perfect…,” licking your sticky fingers one-by-one, “s’more.”

Cas wordlessly stared at you, eyes widening intense blue scintillating jewels in the dancing firelight. Google hadn’t mentioned anything about the sinful noises made while eating or look of pure ecstasy to expect after consuming a s’more. Perhaps he hadn’t delved deep enough into his research on the matter. Such are the pitfalls of clicking the first link offered up on an internet search.

Passing him the bag of marshmallows, you rosily blushed under his astonished regard. “Your turn,” you intoned coquettishly.

Undeterred by the sensuality of your demonstration, he threaded a marshmallow on the end of the skewer, confidently thrusting it into the fire. The fluffy confection instantly engulfed into a blazing blue charred ball before you could adjust the proximity of his skewer to the white hot cinders. A brooding frown crept across his features to furrow his brow as he grabbed the still smoldering lump. The black shell cracked and exploded into a cascade of molten white goo between his fingertips. He glowered at his hand, countenance reflecting an amalgam of defeat and exasperation for lack of anywhere obvious to dispose of the tacky burnt sugary mess.

You giggled, grasping his wrist, unhesitatingly guiding his fingers to your mouth to lick a dripping hunk of the melted marshmallow off his thumb.

He met your pleased gaze, the shimmering sapphire apertures of his irises eclipsed by the lustful darkness of dilating pupils.

Emboldened by the effect of your initially innocent act, you wrapped your lips around his forefinger, tongue swirling as you slowly sucked the stickiness from the digit, a suggestively salacious groan vibrating in your throat all the while.

He sat frozen, save for a single reflexive twitch of his upper lip.

Dragging your lower lip through your teeth, you tilted your head, guiding his fingers to the hollow of your neck to smear the remaining marshmallow across your exposed skin. Releasing his hand, mouth relaxing into a sensual pout, you arched an enticing brow and waited expectantly.

His focus vacillated between your sultry stare, pink bowed lips, and the inviting glaze of sugar upon your neck as if deciding which was the more tempting indulgence. Adams apple bobbing in a decisively thick gulp, he leaned forward, rough flat tongue malleably grazing the curve of your neck.

The dizzying rush of corporal heat incited by the brisk uptick in the beating of your heart in response to the ministrations of his talented tongue made your head and hide pleasantly buzz – there was none of the uncertain angelic hesitancy you’d anticipated weighing against his zeal. Closing your eyes, a soft moan escaping your pursed lips, you snaked your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself, fingertips scraping lightly at his sensitive nape to tangle in his hair.

Savoring the sweet taste of sugar dissolving on the salty sweat sheening your pulse point, he growled reverently into your heated flesh. The unfathomably deep rumble spurred a delightful quiver to course through your body and curl your toes. Gliding a supportive arm behind your back, he shifted his weight over you to lay you gently beneath him on the sprawling blanket. Breaking from your neck, he paused to smooth the hair from your flushed face and search your features for any sign of reluctance. Finding none in the affectionate curve of your mouth and ardent glinting of your eyes, he captured your lips in tender kiss.

Making love under the glittering canopy of stars, bare flesh glistening as you merged in an unhurried and passionate interlocking of lips, limbs, and bodies in the dimming glow of the firelight, you discovered it was not only your hearts which were made to complement one another – your bodies fit together as well in a perfect puzzle of pleasure. The tuck of your waist, the convex small of your back, and the ample arc of your hips were ideal anchors for his fervently grasping hands. So too did the supple swell of your breast and delicate curve of your neck seamlessly match the camber of his broad palms. Your heels dug lithely into the notched muscular dimples of his hips with the same natural ease with which your trembling fingers fluidly found ready purchase in the strapping sculpt of his shoulders.

For you and Castiel, there was no abrupt ecstatic tumble over the edge of unrestrained release. No desperately needful coming undone in a climax of carnal hedonism. For you and Castiel, breathlessly bound in a lover’s embrace, complete beings for the first time since your individual inceptions, there was a cosmic convergence of universe shuddering bliss which sent a shockwave surging through you both and into the still of night.

At precisely 12:03AM EST on August 11, 2017, United States Geological Survey monitors recorded a mild surface earthquake with a designation of 3.2 on the Richter scale centered 15.7 miles south of Seneca Falls, NY. Several aftershocks are also noted in the official record. The event was wrongly attributed to be routine settling of shale deposits located just below the Earth’s crust.

Part 7:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/164327456355/catch-a-falling-star