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hale-of-stiles-heart · 7 years

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💐

For whatever reason, the bouquet emoji made me think of weddings and florist!Cas. I added a twist and here we are! (also on ao3!)

Dean's best friend was supposed to be getting married in two months. The key phrase being supposed to because, according to Gabriel who had just called Dean ten minutes ago, the wedding was off.

As horrible as it sounded, Dean didn't think he had ever been so relieved. Which he knew made him a complete and utter jackass in addition to the worst friend in the world but it wasn't exactly his fault.

Cas' fiance — well, former fiance now — was an even bigger asshole than Dean. A smarmy Brit with a posh accent and a superiority complex the size of the UK, Arthur Ketch was a certified piece of shit.

He was some kind of higher up businessman for a London-based corporation called the Men of Letters. Apparently, his company had connections with Roman Enterprises and the Alpha Corporation in Chicago.

Together the three companies formed a mega-conglomerate that Cas ironically referred to as the Leviathan. Dean had thought the nickname was clever.

Ketch? Not so much. He took personal offense to the name.

Dean wasn't sure why. It wasn't like Ketch actually owned any part of the mega-corporation, he was just a guy in a suit with a plush corner office and a PhD in business.

Or so he said. Dean had always suspected that Ketch was actually just a pencil pusher. An accountant who played with numbers all day.

Dean had tried to get along with the guy for Cas' sake. He hadn't wanted to rain on Cas' parade and point out all of his new boyfriend's blatant flaws, sure that he would notice them himself soon enough.

But Ketch had made things insufferably difficult. He resisted any and all of Dean's attempts to spark some sort of rapport.

He thought American football was simultaneously barbaric and infantile, claiming rugby was superior in every way. He hated beer, especially American beer, sticking to Scotch or wine instead.

He thought American TV was all mindless drivel, especially melodramas like Dean's beloved Dr. Sexy. He even despised American food, turning up his nose at the fantastic blueberry pie Cas made in favor of ranting and raving about his aunt's spotted dick.

Dean had tried to grin and bear it. To just smile and nod whenever Ketch went off on another rant about his travel around the world or his most recent business meetings.

But it was extremely difficult considering how boring the guy was. Not to mention, condescending as all hell.

He subtly belittled Dean's profession any time they were in the room, straightening the lapels on his fancy overpriced suits while curling his lip at the sight of Dean's dirty jeans and band t-shirts. He even insulted Dean's car, calling it an overcompensating phallic symbol on wheels.

But Dean could forgive all that.

Could forgive the way Ketch sneered when he learned Dean was a high school dropout. Most people did, anyway. Ketch wasn't special in that regard.

Could forgive the way Ketch rarely deigned to even acknowledge him when Cas invited him to dinner. More often than not it was better than the alternative.

He could forgive nearly everything. Every subtle dig about his family or his line of work. Every eye roll whenever he showed up at Cas' for movie night.

But what he couldn't forgive was how Ketch treated Cas.

Couldn't forgive the way he constantly talked over Cas, cutting him off mid-sentence in order to correct him. The way he critiqued everything Cas did from the way he decorated his home to the way he dressed.

Couldn't forgive the way he always insisted that Cas get a better job than the one he had, despite the fact that he owned his own flower shop, that he was doing what he loved. The way he treated Cas more like an arm piece than a boyfriend or fiance.

Dean couldn't forgive any of that. Because Cas was his best friend and he would be damned if some British bastard treated him like shit.

And yes, Dean was man enough to admit that part of the reason why he hated Ketch so much was because he had been ass over ankles in love with Cas for the past eight years.

He had managed to ignore his feelings for the better part of a decade, tamping down on them so he wouldn't completely fuck up their friendship. He refused to lose Cas over something as stupid as his pathetic little brush.

So he had tried to be as supportive as possible when Cas had started dating Ketch. Had bitten his tongue and kept quiet about how much he despised the limey bastard.

He hadn't raised any objections when Cas announced his and Ketch's engagement. He had graciously agreed to be Cas' best man.

He had helped with all of the wedding planning, all of the minutiae from picking out the color scheme after staring at paint swatches for two hours to mailing out needlessly ornate invitations. He had spent days dealing with Cas' overly dramatic wedding planner, Crowley.

Hell, he had even helped Cas pick out the flavor of the wedding cake when Ketch couldn't make it to their appointment with the baker, giving only a bullshit excuse about work.

Thoughts of all the hours he had spent helping Cas put together a list of songs for the reception, sitting in the waiting room at the tailor while Cas got fitted for his tux, listening to Cas go on and on about how excited he was for the wedding flitted through Dean's mind as he climbed into the Impala.

When Gabriel had called him, Dean had been expecting an update on the situation with the caterer who kept trying to haggle. But Cas' older brother had instead relayed that Ketch had broken things off.

After recovering from the shock, sure that Gabriel was playing some sort of cruel joke, Dean had snapped to attention and raced out to his car. His mind was racing and he was still in shock, but he had the presence of mind to know that he had to get to Cas. Had to make sure he was alright.

The drive across town was blessedly short, mostly because Dean's lead foot had him going well over the speed limit. Fortunately, no cops pulled him over and he made it to Cas' cozy little house in record time.

He didn't bother knocking. He just let himself in with the spare key Cas had given him for emergencies.

Getting dumped by one's fiance two months before the wedding? Definitely counted as an emergency.

Everything seemed normal, every ridiculous throw pillow in place and the ever-present scent of flowers hanging in the air. The only thing that struck Dean as odd, that made him pause in the doorway, was the shattered vase in the middle of the living room.

There were flowers in various shades of red strewn around on the floor amongst the shards of broken glass. A crumpled up note sat discarded along with the livid blooms.

"Cas?" Dean called, kicking the door shut behind him before he took a few steps further into the room. When no response came, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called again, "Cas?!"

There was still no response but Cas' car was parked in the driveway, so Dean continued on. Bypassing the living room and kitchen, Dean made a beeline to Cas' bedroom.

He found Cas there, sitting on his bed with his face buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking as he sniffled, sounding so despondent and miserable it immediately broke Dean's heart.

"Cas...?" He said questioningly, tentative and quiet as he walked closer to the edge of Cas' bed. When Cas didn't say anything, Dean took a seat by his socked feet, reaching out a hand to lay on Cas' knee. "Cas? Buddy?"

"He dumped me, Dean," Cas announced through his tears, keeping his face hidden in his hands. His voice slightly muffled and thick with sorrow, he continued, "Arthur dumped me. With fucking flowers."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, shifting closer. Cas didn't answer at first, too choked up, prompting Dean to give his knee a reassuring squeeze.

"He sent me flowers..." Cas explained, hiccuping a bit. "He sent me flowers to break up with me."

His hands curled into fists as he dropped them to his sides. His face was streaked with tears, blue eyes puffy and red-rimmed.

But where Dean expected despondency and dejection, he found righteous anger. He felt almost an electric tension in the air as Cas absolutely growled, "He sent me flowers from my own fucking shop to break up with me! He sent Mick to deliver them!"

Ah, Mick. Ketch's cousin and one of Cas' only two employees at the flower shop. The one who had introduced the two. Ketch's would-be best man.

Poor guy probably had no idea he was delivering a break-up bouquet. Dean highly doubted Ketch would have volunteered the information to his well-intending cousin.

"Fucking asshole," Dean hissed under his breath as Cas' anger melted away, dripping away like wax from a candle, leaving only a puddle in its wake. He watched helplessly as Cas wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, his breath labored and shaky.

"What am I supposed to do?" Cas wondered aloud, not really directing the question at anyone in particular. "I have to cancel everything. The venue, the catering, the band, the tailor. I lost ten pounds for that stupid tux. Oh, god, what am I gonna tell my family? If Gabriel hasn't already told everyone."

"You're not gonna tell em anything, Cas," Dean announced, surprising both Cas and himself. He knew what he was doing was stupid and desperate but at that moment he didn't care. "The wedding's still on."

"What are you talking about, Dean?" Cas whined reaching for the box of tissues on his nightstand. Dabbing at his eyes, with the corner of a tissue, he announced, "Arthur made it very clear that he doesn't want to marry me. And after all this, I don't want to marry him, either."

"You're not going to," Dean informed him, hoping he sounded much more confident than he felt. At Cas' confused squint, accompanied by one of his trademark Castiel Novak head tilts, Dean mustered up all the courage he could and announced, "You're gonna marry me."

"Very funny, Dean," Cas said, rolling his eyes as he gave a weak attempt at a laugh. "But I'm not in the mood for one of your jokes."

With a frustrated grunt, Dean shoved his hand into the pocket of his leather jacket. He dug around for a few seconds, his keys jingling, until he closed his fingers around the box.

The one he had bought two years ago. The one he had been carrying around ever since. The one holding the single most important piece of jewelry he had ever owned apart from the amulet Sam had given him for Christmas half a lifetime ago.

Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he thrust the box out at Cas. He kept his eyes down, cheeks burning with a bright blush, refusing to look at Cas' face.

He couldn't bear to see the rejection. The disgust. The pity.

This was better. If Cas was going to let him down gently, he didn't want to see the soft, sad forgiveness in those blue eyes.

He would rather keep staring at the bedspread. At the dark damask pattern of the comforter he had helped Cas pick out when they went shopping together after Cas moved into his house.

Cas had picked the blanket, deep blue with a navy pattern, because it reminded him of damask roses. Brilliant complexion, Cas had said while admiring the blanket in the store. They symbolize brilliant complexion. And love.

Dean's bittersweet reminiscing was cut short when he heard Cas suck in a sharp breath. Cas' fingers brushed his as he gingerly took the box from Dean's hand.

He let out another gasp when he opened the box. "Dean...? Is this...?"

"Meteorite," Dean confirmed. He kept his eyes lowered, fisting his hand in the denim of Cas' jeans. "I know how much you hate gold and silver 'cause they're not really rare and you'd rather have something more unique. And I know you hate that stupid ring Ketch got you because you hate chocolate diamonds."

He barely paused to take a breath before steamrolling on, "Look, I've known you for a long time and I've loved you for just as long. I-I bought this ring a while ago. I was gonna ask you out the day you introduced me to Ketch. And I know it's wrong and selfish and stupid, but I wanna marry you, Cas."

There was a small rustling sound, followed by an almost metallic clunk accompanied by Cas' soft laugh. It was only then that Dean chanced a look up to find the dark silver ring he had bought Cas on the man's ring finger, Ketch's gaudy diamond ring set aside on the nightstand.

He flicked his eyes up to Cas', his mouth slack with shock. "Do-Do you really...? You wanna...?"

"Yes, Dean. I'll marry you," Cas announced, scooting close enough to wrap his arms around Dean's shoulders. "On one condition."

"Anything," Dean breathed, settling his hands on Cas' waist as the dark haired man shifted closer, pressing their foreheads together. Cas could have asked for Dean's heart and he would have carved it out of his chest himself and presented it to Cas with his dying breath.

But all Cas asked was, "You have to help me mail out all the new invitations."

Then, after years and months and interminably long seconds of pining and perishing, Dean finally pressed his lips to his best friend's. His fiance's. His angel's. His Cas'.

#alternate universe #destiel #destiel fic #my fic #fic #friends to lovers #engaged!cas #past castiel/arthur ketch #getting together #marriage proposal #pining!dean #implied pining!cas #florist!cas #best friends #brighidestone

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hale-of-stiles-heart · 7 years

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If you're still looking, then: Prompt: I like the idea of Derek and Stiles either late at night or early in the morning, with tea and quiet and comfortable. And maybe a cat. About valuing the moment? Either way, have a lovely day.

I raise you two cats!

After spending years of their lives valiantly trying to just make it through the day without getting eviscerated or worse, Derek and Stiles learned just how important it is to live in the moment, to cherish every second.

One of their favorite ways to just focus on the moment was to sit on their front porch in their new home, the renovated Hale House that no longer felt cold with the ghosts of the past. It was full of warmth and light from what the future might hold thanks to their peaceful present.

The entire pack had helped to rebuild the house from the ground up, reconstructing it brick by brick, along with a few others who volunteered to help. Sheriff Stilinski had been the first to volunteer to help with the rebuild, followed by Melissa, Deaton, and even Chris Argent who had been dedicating himself to escaping the shadow of his and his family’s past atrocities.

It had taken a year to finish the house but it was a year well spent as at the end of it the Hale House stood in the middle of the preserve in all its glory. The house was a testament to the perseverance and endurance of the Hale family, a physical place commemorating it.

Derek had decided to extend the previous porch that had existed, explaining that he had spent a summer building it with his father when he was twelve years old. He had turned it into a huge wrap-around porch with an attached gazebo-like structure complete with a porch swing and cushioned chairs.

It had quickly become one of his favorite places in the entire house, others being the grand stone fireplace, the home library, and his and Stiles’ bedroom. He and Stiles liked to spend their mornings sitting in the gazebo, just watching the sun rise through the trees as various songbirds sang an aubade to greet the day.

Stiles would sip his favorite caramel espresso as he sat on the porch swing, the leisurely motion keeping him calm in spite of the caffeine in his drink. Derek, on the other hand, always sipped a cup of jasmine tea, the same kind that his mother used to make him before he left for school.

They were rarely alone when they sat in the gazebo, their cats, Charlie and Smoky, always joining them to sprawl out on the portion of the porch unobstructed by a roof. For hours they would lounge in the sunshine until they decided to meander back inside for some food.

Only occasionally did they actually talk, instead content with just sitting together with their hands joined and their heads on each other’s shoulders. For once, Stiles didn’t need words to fill the silence, the birdsong doing it for him.

Rather than talk, they would luxuriate in each other’s presence, pressing lazy kisses to each other’s cheeks and temples. Besides, they didn’t need to talk when all they needed to say could be said without a word.

send me a prompt/theme and i’ll write a 500 word drabble!

#sterek #drabble #comfortable!sterek #domestic!sterek #ficlet #500 words #brighidestone

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