#featuring: castiel (qapsiel)

[esoterium]

@qapsiel || random inbox starter! || always accepting!

"dean, there's a cowboy movie on tv."

there's not much going on. the hotel's in one of those tiny towns that's right out of some sorta horror novel. one stoplight to break up the monotony of nothing on the road but white dotted lines and tumbleweeds for days. sam's lucked out, though. with no one in sight for weeks, the weird owner with half his teeth in his front pocket gave them two rooms for the price of one. sure..it was a little shady of a deal and dean wondered if splitting them up was some sorta tactic out of hills have eyes but they had no idea who they were messing with if that was the case. or the arsenal that'd be greeting them if they tried to drag them off to their nuclear bunker full of messed up.

they've faced worse. let 'em have their space.

course cas showing up and being there? dean doesn't mind the company. he's hunched over the small two seater table by the window. hoagie from the truckstop (the only other open and functional business in town far as dean could tell) shoved in his mouth when cas points out the movie on the old enough for disco to still be king television. his ears perk up. few bites later and a swallow from his drink, dean's hopping up from the chair with a metallic clank and an arched brow shot back over his shoulder at the noise.

then with a toss of his body weight down on the bed, socked feet cross over one another and he huffs at his companion. "cowboy movie? this is more than a cowboy movie," a lowbrow look is given to the angel, "this is the good, the bad and the ugly. one of the best movies ever made. see that guy? that's clint eastwood. if we had him around? damn. our jobs would be so much easier," he muses shooting cas one of those little grins. "c'mon. take a load off and learn.."

[bloodsalted]

@qapsiel || inbox tappy tap! || zipping through some asks. pew pew!

"I do, like, a ton of coke here." (Endverse Cas obviously lmao)

the look on dean's face says it all. he's not too happy. not even a little bit. worried. down to his bones? yeah, that's more like it. and absolutely lost as hell on how to set cas back on some kind of trajectory that VAGUELY resembles normal. his hand comes to clasp a shoulder as he crouches down in front of him. now they're both close to the floor cas is sitting on. his back to a couch that kinda rivals the worst of the worst hotel rooms they were forced to live in when he was a kid. smells like it too. cheap fabric and REGRET.

and a whole lotta skunk weed.

he sniffs, gathering his thoughts. nose twitching as he does. gives cas a second to meet his eyes because the position he's in? the closeness? says he's not budging until he does. "the hell am i supposed to do to knock you out of this? you gotta help me a little bit here." he opens up. more than he has in a long time. by offering this small confession of weakness. of hurt. maybe even loneliness. "i'm lost, cas. can't do it if you don't let me.."

[bloodsalteds]

@qapsiel || mystery prompts: sinday action edition || accepting!

2 + 11, i'm going for broke and doing both! (including them in the actual post but not listing what they are so it doesn't spoil the post!)

they've done this together more than a few times now. shared some fantasies in whispered tones when all the lights've been blown out from their antics. sam's getting rooms to himself lately (a few doors down so he doesn't have to hear) and they have so much time to make up for. so many experiences to have. so many ways to enjoy each other that dean doesn't feel like there's enough time in every night they can take to fit it all in. cas is the same. always looking for more. always wanting more. it's sinful how much they crave one another. lust at it's finest. and dean couldn't care any less.

not when his wrists are now bound together above his head. cas's tie is laced around and through in loops that intertwine a metallic rung of the headboard. he's good at tying knots. impressive even. dean's hands aren't going anywhere. a shuddering breath parts tongue swept lips left glistening with spit. his head lifts, a gasp drawn through them when the angel's fingers close around a nipple pinching it lightly and he groans when he sees the blue in castiel's eyes darken as they flick up to meet his.

the stare holds dean in place. pulse thundering in his ear drums as his breath quickens, stomach trembling and his erection is thick and curved towards his belly. unable to move and barely able to get out anything more than a shaken murmur of cas's name, the hunter's toes curl before his knee opposite of where cas lays beside him bends and drags them across the much softer sheets compared to the hotel they were at last night. he needs him. needs him so fucking bad it HURTS.

"you're gonna be the end of me," he whines shakenly body arching towards the touch as his head falls back down--head turned in cas's direction as dazed eyes take in the sight of him, how the shadows play off a bare shoulder. god damn, was he gonna be.

[safetypinneds]

@qapsiel || MORE SMUTTY PROMPTS BUT WITH SOME PLOT FOR EXTRA SPICE 🔥|| accepting!

23)  one muse has little to no experience with sex and approaches the other more experienced muse to teach them. (sounds logical for Cas)

stunned. sam rests back against the headboard of his bed where, moments earlier, he was doing the same thing only reading through the book that was still sitting--now very much forgotten--in his palm. now? that sedaris novel is a forgotten but present weight in his grip. one that jerks his attention towards it when he drops it onto his lap without taking his gaze off cas. he just..kinda remembers that the book was there cause he dropped it like dead weight. forgotten. til it isn't.. mouth open, his head tilts.

yes. cas approached him so matter of fact, as one would expect. very befitting of what one might expect from the angel. blunt and to the point. as anyone would expect castiel to be. just. the proposition that sam now faces was nothing expected. ever. and even though this pause only lasts for a few SECONDS to let the question and the reasoning sink into the younger winchester's brain--he manages to blink. once. twice. cas wants to learn more about sex. has already rationalized dean away and now stands inside his room--door closed--saying he knows sam would be a better teacher. more patient. sorta like how he asked him to show him how to work a cellphone properly. a splash of color dusts itself over the bridge of a pointed nose. spreads over his cheeks but the wide, toothy smile and little puff of air that escapes. says the idea isn't unwelcome. nor is he laughing at cas. he's just.. sam. flustered, in a good way, but understanding.

a color on his skin born out of a pulse that picks up with the images that he has in his head. long legs clad in black sweatpants with their openings loose at the bottom swing over the edge. he picks the book off his stomach and sets it aside on the nearby nightstand. fingers rest on his stomach. pressed against the soft, well washed and worn fabric of a dark gray t-shirt in an attempt to sooth the butterflies that beat their wings against the walls inside. expression soft as he comes to stand in front of cas, long fingered hands lift and cup both of cas's cheeks. fingertips graze over his cheekbones then spread until he's able to guide his head back just enough that when he leans in their noses touch.

"you're sure you want this from..me," he asks in the dark space between them. warm breath moving over cas's mouth. sam brushes their noses together, presses a kiss to the corner of the angel's mouth and feels fireworks go off in his chest. okay. okay. that's.. okay. wow. a crease of discovery forms between his brows. "tell me what you want to learn.." sam's seen and done a lot of surreal things in his lifetime. surreal's sorta what they do. but this? this is a whole new brand of it..and be damned if it barely feels real. yet. ULTRA REAL all at once.

[lasthymn]

@qapsiel || action prompts for leaning || accepting!

[ hair ] sender leans in to fix receiver's hair

it's the middle of the night. there's a silver blue glow coming from the television. the monotone voice of a narrator fills the room. he finds it soothing. it's a good voice. he sounds nice.

fingers curl and uncurl against the insides of his ankles. sitting crisscross applesauce on the sofa, blue eyes peeled to the television set. he seems to be absorbing everything he's watching. whether or not that's good or bad? welp. that's up to the question of what is on television. and that'd be what was playing when he switched it on. the first 48. a murder documentary show detailing what happens in the first 48 hours after a killing takes place. a worried expression is stamped on his brow. confusion settles in deep with a frown.

"this isn't what people should do to each other. they were only doing their job when the perp decided to take their money. he didn't have to kill them. but these people are have 48 hours to use science to find him and bring him to justice. and they do it every time.. at the last minute. just like---," us.

palm digs into his eye socket, the heel of his wrist used to chase away the tired that's seeped into his bones. the sofa budges when cas joins him. his hair's a mess from shifting all around. it hangs in his eyes when he turns his attention to the angel sitting beside him. gentle fingers reach towards his brow. jack doesn't budge when cas starts fixing his hair. a warm smile chases the thoughtful expression. turns it into nothing but adoration. "thank you..." the gesture's mirrored. long fingers swipe through castiel's hair at the top of his head. "there. now yours is fixed, too.."

his head tilts to the side. gaze wandering over cas's. "is there something on your mind?"

[safetypinned]

😈

@murderdeals || crowley sends 😈 what does your character do? || this. (feat. @qapsiel)

sms // crowley ::

[bloodsaltedshifting]

@qapsiel || nightamres & sleeping meme || accepting!

[TUCK] - for sender to find receiver’s muse asleep somewhere and tuck them in with a blanket (or jacket, etc) - he uses his trench coat 🥺

dean's curled up on the sofa of some cheap hotel room. the bed covered in research, ammunition and a mess of other junk that he was too damn exhausted to bat away once he stumbled in for the night. exhaustion made every inch of his body feel heavy enough that each step must've been taken in a pair of concrete boots. his hair was an absolute disaster. a weary body and an even warier mind. only one boot was kicked off and when the other put up too much of a fight? he let it stay on. why argue, he figured. and simply let it have it's way.

he doesn't budge at castiel's entrance. it speaks mountains about the level of safety that he feels from the angel that something internal wasn't triggered in the hunter when someone else entered. much less came close enough that the coat was fanned out and brought down over him like a blanket. dean ends up squirming underneath it. settling in. tucking his chin towards the collar and inhaling deep. his body seems to sink more into the cushions. relaxing further and more solid than he was a second ago without it. the scent lulling him into a place that, perhaps, only it can do.

though when castiel rights himself again. even takes to making a slight distance between them, he's stopped by a hand curling around his wrist. dean doesn't open his eyes. "don't go. stay," comes out groggy. whiskey scented from the swig he had on the way past the table to the sofa. the way he tugs the angel while leaning back into the back cushions says he's making enough room for the two of them to fit if they face one another.

it's a request that doesn't come easy. a trust that comes even less so. but it's here as green eyes crack open. sleep riddled and dream touched before they close again. "with me."

[hellspell]

@qapsiel || meme continuation || from here!

"wouldn't dream of it, handsome. come sit with me. let's forget about poor fergus. i'm sure he's keeping himself busy somewhere. it's you i want to hear about. tell me everything you've been up to since we've spent time together." she wants to know all the dirt.

[nightmdic]

[  ACCIDENTAL BRUSH  ]  *  my muse touches your muse ( somewhere intimate ) on accident. (Accidental titty grab)

She's simply walking through the apartment, another visit from Castiel that was more than welcomed of course - another night of cooking, and this time it's more of a shared effort. Wanting to show him come simple meals to cook, them cooking together; it was always something her mother adored with everyone she cared for, from the children to her father to whatever friends came over.

Except, there's a moment where she's not paying attention, a moment of clumsiness rising where she nearly trips over her own steps, mug of tea discarded when she tries to halt herself -

only to feel Cas assist in keeping her from colliding with the ground, a grip from behind that helps, with one arm around her waist, and the other. . .a hand resting in a rather particular spot that has dark crimson rising on her features.

". . .T-Thank you, Cas. . ."

@qapsiel

[eyeless-smiles]

"You wanna go get something to eat?"

@qapsiel

                      "I don't eat," he promptly answers before squinting at the Nightmare. "And what do you eat, anyway?" Eyes? Dear God, please don't. Castiel would probably leave his vessel in utter horror.

The Corinthian scoffs slightly over Castiels response. A pitiful smile eating at his features over the thought of the Angel denying himself any culinary enjoyment.

"I'll eat anything, doll. Fast food, fine dining, a home cooked meal, you name it." The Nightmare cants its head back against the headboard of the unused motel bed it sits upon.

"Generally, the more indulgent the food, the more I like it."

[sintoarchive]

this little grove of land is stilled at the behest of that which were divine and holy. a rustle of trees, the rippling of the breeze against the surface of the lake up ahead, and the fluttering of wings as the sparrows abandon their posts and fly away — lucifer thinks he had been fond of it once, this planet and its wild nature, the purest form of creation before it had been desecrated by man. on a good day, he might even admit as much; in his irritation now, however, he finds the greenery excessive, the birdsong incessant, and it is only the lingering presence of @qapsiel, stood somewhere behind at a safe distance, that keeps him tethered to the dingy little bench, deriving intrigue from the devil.

❝ don't linger, castiel. ❞ he drawls in the space of silence, leaning back against the wooden backrest with a huff, ❝ i won't bite. ❞

castiel said, you are always pitiless, always full of ruthlessness.

he scoffs. ❝ you are no different than i. ❞ when lucifer rises and draws near, it is with casual, elegant ease and the barest hint of grin gracing his features; his hands are nestled in the confines of his coat's pockets, and his wings, hidden though they may be, droop languidly behind, as he inclines his head to better observe the renegade angel. to see a holy creature serving man is an affront and a mockery to all he stood for — the odd rebellion intrigues him, though, the sort of volition he had not seen come out of heaven in a long while. it is a morbid desire to nourish it that presents itself here. the devil comes bearing hunger, as he always does.

❝ your war in heaven, your rebellion — everything you've done, i set a precedent for. ❞ he does not raise his tone, because he does not need to. the grin that spills over his maw is like an open wound, jagged with teeth, cut by a dagger. a few steps closer. when he speaks again, his voice drops lower. ❝ i understand you. heaven never will. ❞

[bloodsalteds]

@qapsiel || location based smut prompts || accepting!

while driving home after a date,  they get too impatient and pull into a parking lot to have sex. (IMPALA SEX OK)

the parking lot of an abandoned drive in? well. sure does set the setting for what dean's got in mind. musta been watching cas drive that got him riled up. (as if he needs a reason). but he gave the angel directions towards the broken road with it's cracks in the pavement letting wildflowers bloom through and then? well. he didn't really have a whole lot of room to do much talking after.

because cas's zipper is down and dean's bent over in the front seat with him in his mouth, sucking against his tip with a quiet groan. they gotta be close to it by now. not that he cares. not with that taste coating his tongue and the moan he lets go warm and quiet over cas's shaft as he pulls back to run his tongue down the length of it.

fingers grip the inside of cas's thigh through his pants. the other set? that's busy spread out over cas's abdomen stroking softly as he feels the car do a jerky turn that's gotta be onto the road off the main highway. they're almost there. he doesn't stop. doesn't give him any reprieve as his lips wrap back around him again and swallow the angel down as far as he can with a soft choke fluffing the edges of his nose out.

fuck. his mind's reeling as he bobs his head in slow, exploratory strokes. tongue pressed tight against the hardening ridge. dean's throat works around the saliva and the overwhelming flavor that he couldn't stop himself from having for the entire ride back. eyelids flutter closed and he sinks into sating the craving that's twisting him up inside. christ. he can't get enough of him. and now that they're doing this? he has every chance to make up for lost time. ...every second of it.

[bloodsalted]

dean would like to say that @qapsiel hanging out with his dead body is very much NOT THE SAME as when he hung out with sam's trying to figure out what the hell he was gonna do. okay?? TOTALLY different circumstances! he was in denial and guilt and it was sammy. (okay so what if he was starting to get a lil ripe? still SAMMY just a ripe sammy!!!) not his own dead ass, alright?! don't believe cas when he says it's the same thing. cause.. that's a lie.

[bloodsalted]

"Please stop teaching Jack curses. He uses the word bitch without even knowing what it means."

"i'm sure he's using it just fine. i double-checked that he knew when to toss it out and how. did he throw up a peace sign or hit his chin with the side of his pointer, fingers up and his thumb tucked in, when he did it? made sure to teach him both of those for extra spiciness should be partake in the forbidden words." queue the happiest little chuckle without a shred of guilt. simply just doused in pure entertainment.

[bloodsalted]

@qapsiel || a meme from over yonder! || inbox catch up!

❝ you're such a lightweight, it's so funny. ❞ (from endverse!cas)

dean's not sure where the hell cas got his weed from but thrown in with all the liquor dean's swallowed down since the start of this weirdly fucked up night? he's gotta say he's completely stoned. we're talking soul hovering somewhere above his head--staring into space with nothing on his mind while circling the atmosphere stoned. this is not what he came here to do. he came here to talk some sense into cas. his best friend. he needed him.

wait a damn minute.

was he fucking peer pressured by cas? as in castiel? as in after school special'd. as in i learned it by watching you?! by..

dean's palm covers his mouth, drags down it and his brows cock up. "holy shit...," internal monologue finally breathed out into the open. he turns his head. his vision catches up a few ticks later. "what was in that stuff..? and...god damn. nancy reagan's rollin' in her grave right now."

[bloodsalted]

@qapsiel || oh this is coming. i told you. || no i'm not sorry.

[AGONY] - Dean rescues Cas from the hands of the enemy, and finds him in terrible shape. 😇

the room where cas was taken from him? it's one that he's avoided taking every damn precaution he can to turn a blind eye to the slimmest chance he might see those four walls ever again. all but one night. the next one. where he tricked himself into thinking that, maybe, if he showed up and called for him enough--the previous night would simply go away and like some fucking magic that doesn't exist in his world (because why would it? why would he get even that much of a god damn BREAK?)--cas would be standing there. coughed up by the ink and black and NOTHING that he willingly let take him shattering every piece of dean and what they had in the process. because why? because he loved him. as much as dean loved him back.

he can't get the feeling of cas's skin off his hands. he doesn't want to. the last touch. the last whisper of i love you, too against the angel's mouth as the worst nightmare he could think of happened in front of his eyes and he was powerless to stop it. even his hands that gripped cas's face, that desperately clawed for and missed his shoulders. felt like they betrayed him. THEY KEEP FEELING THAT WAY. even now. in all the time it's taken him to figure out HOW. in all the time's he's gotten down on his hands and knees and prayed or screamed until his voice was raw and torn and sam heard and came running to JACK that he give him some sorta sign. some sorta power to take that day back! that he'd give up the rest of his decades on earth (if you could count that high..who knows how much time he's got?? OR WHAT IT'S WORTH) for just another week. another month. another YEAR (just one) to have cas back. where he belongs. back WHERE HE BELONGS.

to all the people we've lost along the way.

only he couldn't accept that. he couldn't rest. he couldn't sleep. tried to have his own sorta funeral that was bullshit come a few hours later. he trashed his room. he threw insults, in his mind and outloud, at the boy he loved if he isn't going to fucking LISTEN then what good was ANYTHING FOR? until he thought his heart couldn't break anymore. and that's when it came to him. what to do. where to go. and that he'd bleed for it if he had to. so? that's where he is now. standing in that room. staring at the empty spot where cas was dragged off to with a blade in his hand that feels so heavy, he doesn't know if he can keep hold of it for long. dean drops to his knees. 'maybe not today... but someday.. TODAY IS SOMEDAY.' like some force outside of himself is in control. the blood that swells out of his cut palm puddles freely from the cut as the blade hits the floor. he paints in his own shades of reddish black brown markings that come to him without even a thought as to what they might mean. he doesn't know. but there's a warmth in his chest and a glow to his eyes that illuminates the floor in a shade that only reminds him of their son.

the same light begins to fill the room. and there's a warmth on his shoulder that pulls him up and pushes him forward towards it. it's so bright that he has to squint his eyes. so blue and white and that guiding hand simply pushes him FORWARD into it. and past that? BLACK. thick air so heavy he can barely move his limbs. he drips blood as he walks. a steady trail that bursts with color instead of rotting into brown in his wake. it follows him. step by step. even as the muddy dark battles against him. he smells of ozone and honey. beer and pie. and that scent reaches out like a coil around the angel trapped in the dark. it curls around his mind and soothes him as if it's a touch beckoning him to seek out the source. a voice in castiel's mind. not dean's.. but someone else he loves. 'you don't deserve to be here, castiel. go.' and that's when dean's steps can be heard. little puddles of light bead behind him still. brightening cas's NIGHT like the stars of the big dipper. "CAS?!" dean's hand clasps his shoulder. marking it as he was once marked. glowing brilliantly bright. all the warmth and love and LIGHT of family there to bring him HOME.

HE FOUND HIM.