#use your fucking words Dean goddammit

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Highly Unprofessional

Author: seidenapfel

Artist: Sasanka-27

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Length: 23000

Warnings: N/A

Tags: Professor Castiel, College Student Dean Winchester, Mutual Pining, Castiel is Jack Kline’s Parent, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues

Posting Date: November 4, 2024

Summary: On his first day of college, Dean feels like a fish out of water. After years of working his ass off with several jobs at once to fund his brother’s studies, his family and friends have decided to pay him back. That’s how he finds himself panicking in the lecture hall. Thankfully, a fellow student distracts him. She promptly becomes a good friend, and Dean has no idea how badly he will need her. The moment he lays eyes on his physics professor, Dean is lost. Castiel Novak seems like the man of his dreams. And when the professor’s son appears from under the podium, several lives take an unsuspected turn.

Excerpt: “Oh, fuck you,” Dean grouched, though he couldn’t help but grin. “No, thank you,” Charlie shot back without heat. “You’re not my type.” “Ouch.” Charlie chuckled, rolling her eyes. “As in, you're not a girl.” “Oh. Oh…” Taken aback, Dean was lost for words. Silently, he observed her in a new light. Of course, his reaction didn’t go unnoticed. Charlie sat up straight — or as straight as she could sit, given that she… Dean winced internally. Goddammit, Winchester! Get your shit together. A frown covered Charlie’s brow. “That a problem?” she asked coldly. “Uh… No?” Dean gulped as she glared at him, a hand on her bag, ready to leave. Finally, his main drive kicked back in. “Fuck, no. No, no, no. That’s… that’s awesome,” he stuttered, scratching the back of his head. The wary look on Charlie’s face was replaced by a broad smile, and Dean relaxed. “Saved by the bell, bitch.” Charlie nudged him. “And you got to know, there’s nothing wrong with working and saving up before being able to go to college. Actually, it’s kind of awesome that you’re here.” “That’s not—” Dean started to object, but then he shrugged. She didn’t need to hear his sorry life story. Instead, he offered his hand. “Dean.” “The dean? Head of the college? That at least explains your advanced age,” Charlie quipped, a twinkle in her eyes. “Oh, shuddup,” Dean muttered, earning him another chuckle. Before Charlie could answer, though, someone cleared their throat. The entire lecture hall fell silent at once, except for two idiots in the last row who were still wrestling on their seats. Somewhere, a girl laughed, but everyone else kept their mouths shut. And then, a voice pierced through the silence. “Gentlemen.” Goosebumps erupted all over Dean’s body at that sound and a shiver ran down his spine. That voice was doing things to him. Fuck! Slowly, he turned his eyes to its source and froze. There, behind the podium, stood the most breathtaking man Dean had ever laid eyes on. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence,” the man went on with a snide remark when the tumult stopped before addressing the crowd. “Good morning. Now that we can finally start, I’m really impressed how many of you joined me this term. A physicist talking about comparative religion and science is not everyone’s cup of tea. But keep in mind that many of our predecessors studied both. Back in the day when scientists didn’t have to specialise.” He paused. “Even though I have to admit, the cryptid part in the class’ description might have sold it…” The lecture hall erupted in laughter and Dean was too mesmerised to look away. Hanging on the professor’s lips, he was hooked, especially after he got a name a moment later. Castiel Novak was not what Dean had expected. Whatever Sam had told him about college whenever Dean hadn’t tuned him out — nothing could have prepared him for the lecture he was just experiencing.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[samsexualdeancurious]

My Baby

Pairing: None

Words: 659

Summary: John wakes to find Dean is not in his bed.

Warnings: Mentions of childhood trauma and selective mutism, Weechesters (v wee. Sam is still a baby. This is early post-fire days)

Written for a discord friend and inspired by this video 

---

John wakes with moonlight streaming through a gap in the curtains, lighting the motel room up silver around the edges. His mouth tastes awful, probably thanks to the drinks he had before bed, and he groans as he shoves the blankets off. The carpet is rough under his bare feet as he stumbles to the bathroom and flips on the light. He unwraps a plastic cup, fills it from the faucet, and chugs it before he glances around the motel room.

Dean isn’t in his bed.

Panic surges through him at the realization. “Dean,” he calls, pitching his voice lower so he doesn’t bother the neighbors. The red numbers on the alarm clock read 3:42 AM and a noise complaint is the last thing he needs. “Dean.”

The blankets on Dean’s bed are rumpled but the boy is nowhere in sight. John finds himself frozen in the bathroom doorway, unsure what to do or where to even start looking right up until the moment his eyes land on the ancient crib the motel manager dragged out of storage for him.

John crosses the room in two desperate strides and his knees almost buckle in relief when he sees his eldest son curled loosely around his youngest. He should have known. Dean has been extra clingy of Sam since the fire and that’s extending to sleeping in the crib. He used to insist on just getting into the crib with Sam at bedtime but John’s been trying to encourage him to sleep in his own bed. Clearly, it’s not working.

God, he wishes Mary were here. She would know what to do.

“Dean,” John sighs as he reaches out to gently rub the boy’s back. “Dean.”

He stirs, making a grumpy sound, and long lashes flutter open. Before the fire, he might have said something like “Daddy?” but now, he’s silent and it breaks John’s heart.

“Hey, buddy. Time to go back to your bed.”

Dean’s brow furrows and he shakes his head. “Uh-uh.”

John frowns and says, firmer than before, “Dean. C’mon. Back to bed.”

Slender arms tighten their grip on Sam’s chubby little body. He’s shaking his head almost frantically now.

“Dean.”

The minute his hands curl around Dean’s little shoulders, the older boy tenses his whole body and shrieks.

“My baby! My baby!”

John’s breath catches in his throat and he jerks back on instinct before one hand flies up to gently but firmly cover Dean’s mouth. They both sit there in silence for a long few heartbeats as Sam stirs and then settles once more. John’s mind is racing as he processes that Dean just spoke. For the first time in months, Dean spoke.

“My baby,” Dean repeats when John pulls his hand away from his mouth, thankfully much quieter this time.

“Your baby brother,” John murmurs in response and the side of the crib creaks when he leans against it. “Yeah.”

Dean nods, like they’ve come to some kind of agreement. He kisses the top of Sam’s little fuzzy head.

John scrubs a hand over his face and glances at the clock. 3:56 AM. It’s too fucking late - early? Whatever - to be dealing with this and honestly, isn’t Dean talking again a good thing? If Sam’s what gets Dean to talk, well. John really can’t complain.

“Your baby,” he repeats, more to himself than to Dean. He ruffles his oldest son’s hair. “Ok. Go back to sleep, buddy.”

Dean doesn’t respond, already closing his eyes and snuggling in close to his brother. John steps back from the crib and staggers the few steps to his bed. As he sinks down onto the edge of the mattress, he finds himself once again wishing that Mary were here. She would know what to do. John’s just making this all up as he goes along and maybe letting Dean sleep with Sam is the wrong choice but really? What options does he have?

My baby.

Goddammit.

---

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @manawhaat @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @emoryhemsworth @imsuperawkward

[inkedmyths]

S1: E22 "Devil's Trap"

Brought to you by hey so each and every one of you who made me watch this. You all suck. This is the worst. I hate it here. What sort of BULLSHIT was that—

This episode featuring: Odd interrogation techniques, family dynamics, bodysnatching, and one deeply upset Ink

Banging opening music

I will not fall doooown... when push comes to shove I will rise above... jammin

Here we fuckin go the boys are off to save or avenge their dad

[ Kayla asks if one of the opening montages has used Carry On My Wayward Son. I said no, because I would definitely remember that. ]

Where are we

What the dog doin

Holy water and whiskey. Mood.

Oh this be Bobby

[ Kayla and Crepe cheer. They love Bobby. ]

SCREAMS. JOHN JUST HAS THAT AFFECT ON PEOPLE (referring to when he threatened to shoot John) oh I like him already

Satanic Roach Hotel

Ohh. Bad year. Most years 4 possessions, but this one had at least 27...... well thats rough

UH OH

MEG

DEAN

Fuck off Meg

"Chuckleheads" GREAT word use Meg

GOTTEM

Okaaaay interrogation time

"Where's our father, Meg"

"You didn’t ask very nice"

"Where's our father, bitch"

Goddammit whys he so funny

Oh shes posessed

I dunno about innocent

Oh good news bc it means they can yeet the demon, yea?

"Hit it Sam" (begins praying)

[ Winchesters latest hit single in Christian Rap sweeps midwestern protestant congregations as a big hit! ]

Dean buddyyyy

Uh getting spookyyyyy

This is wild. Interrogation via exorcism

What the fuck are u gonna do here like what do u do

Shes dead but not but whats up

UHHHH WELL THATS FUCKING. SOMETHING

Hello ma'am

That sucks ass. Being exorcised certainly doesn't seem fun, esp when you got dropped from a building

A year............ bro.......

Poor gal...

As I went down to the river....

Oh she gone.............

:(

:((

STOP ZOOMING IN ON HER DEAD FACE

"You guys think you invented lying to the cops?" lmao thanks bobby

"I won't even try to shoot him this time"

[ Crepe asks Kayla if Meg is the woman Bobby has buried in his garden or if that's someone else. Concerning. ]

SCREAMS hes making the car safe and Dean is like MY CAR

Dean just wants his family to stop being self sacrificing. Hypocrite

Sunrise Apartments!

Building full of human shields... thats a problem

Pull the fire alarm lol

Oh those people are SO posessed

Yep there he is, tied u— hm. I don't. Like that actually

"I've got a Yorkie upstairs, and he pees when he's nervous—" Dean for funniest liar

THEY STOLE THE FIREFIGHTERS FITS

Demon? Demön?

Holy water!!

Hes still breathing hes not dead yet

But he might be posessed

Oh just had to check

Uh oh someone else just got posessed

And another....

Aha... the colt

[ Kayla: Uhhh I'm here for the colt stuff - the Winchesters]

2 bullets left!

Alright. Now what

Fambily

Dean can and will kill for his family huh

Uh oh zappy lights

The demon's here!

Uh oh

Something is wrong

OH

OH SHIT

Sam going AAA

AUGH WHATS HAPPENING

I DONT KNOW

WHAT IS THISSSSS

Bullshit bullshit

Me: DEAN WAS RIGHT

Kayla: and why was he right :)

Me: Bc he would have been pissed :(

Kayla: and never proud :)

Kayla: (therapy voice) and how did that make you feel

Me: I hate it here

Kayla: elaborate on that

Me: I haaaate it here

Kayla: mhm mhm (writing stuff down)

"What are you and God going to do?" dammmn

Justice for WHAT

Oh so a demon cares about its family

Good for him but also you were already trying to kill them before??

Yeah? Why?

What's your angle here

Huhhhhh. What the fuck do you want with Sam

"I really can't stand all your monologuing"

Oooough hitting him where it hurts damn

OOOH DAMN DEAN THROWING SHADE BACK

How are u guys goimg to get out of this

Oh shit oh SHIT

AAAAAAAAA

OH THE LEG!! SMART!!!!!!

Oh fuck man

Bro it fucking leaving

Well this is an Awkward Family Ride

Kayla: awkward family ride abt to

TRUCK

What the fuck what the fuck

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

BRO WHAT

THATS IT FOR SEASON 1??

BULLSHIT

---

My so-called friends then proceeded to point, laugh, and heckle me for the next 10 minutes. This is bullshit I hope you know. Stupid goddamn cliffhangers stupid Winchesters and their STUPID FAMILY NONSENSE—

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 91

Fallen Idols

“Fallen Idols”

Plot Description: Sam and Dean reunite to investigate a small town whose inhabitants are being killed by famous dead people

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: I am far far too poor to buy the car James Dean died in and I have a healthy respect/fear of cursed items. I think I’m okay

Deans literally saying “we need a breather episode, Sammy” not in so many words. Honestly, yeah…the team does need some practice to get to be where y’all once were

CANTON, OHIO!! That’s not too far from me! (It’s like an hour/hour and a half drive…)

Dean’s excitement over this is fantastic. UMMMMM, how DARE you call another car Baby. I am TELLING the impala. Especially when this car’s name is LITERALLY Little Bastard

Goddammit Dean…can you stop pretending to be a casting agent

Was not expecting the person this dude said “no, you’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead” to be ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Like, at that point it had been almost a CENTURY AND A HALF

Wait…is this the one with the wax…YEAH! It’s the one with the wax museum! Paris Hilton’s in this one if I remember correctly

This wax museum in the middle of OHIO has REGULARS??? I just…ok. Actually, seeing the actual belongings of these famous people on the wax figures would be kind of cool. But I don’t think that’s gonna make your museum hip with millennials, especially if you keep calling us Gen Y

So which president is about to try to kill Sam?

Or is it…yeah. Gahndi. Gahndi tried to kill Sam

I’m glad the writers decide to have these brotherly conflicts on non-apocalyptic focused episodes

How the FUCK did Sam get clearance to just go digging around a corpse in the morgue

“Let’s go gank ourselves a Paris Hilton” is one of those lines that can only be seriously said in this show

Oh, is Poe going to get in the mix??

There she is!!! Amazing. Honestly, there’s something about her filing or sharpening her nails on that knife while wearing a frilly blue minidress. I’m literally obsessed with her performance in this episode

That felt…um, EXCESSIVE, Sam.

This reconciliation is really sweet 🥹

“Been On My Mind…”: Nope. There’s too much brotherly conflict

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 15x17 Unity

“It’s recap time” “They had to visually inform us that she is in fact wearing a top” “OK” “they really did position all the lights really well for this conversation” “oops” “I feel like the emotion of it is stronger the 2nd time, because you know the end is coming. First watch through wasn’t as strong, because you think Dean will brush it off” “Very long coat. Or she’s just really tall?” “Chuck has a strange way of delivering. I know it’s for the character and all that, but goddamn” “Is that the first time they’ve used the word fractals in the show? I feel like it’s the 2nd time” “what a weird fkn dude” “they can just snap anywhere, why doesn’t he know what’s happening?” “just normal end of the world things” “that was quite the bump” “what?” “Jack can’t just see it or whatever?” “why go through all the trouble?” “Jesus Christ” “unscheduled pick up?” “you sure about that Texas boy?” “how does this go tits up now?” “that was a cool effect” “what are you damaging books for? Learn to deal with your problems” “weren’t there all sorts of bunkers everywhere? And this one is the one with all the shit in it?” “how have they not been through all this shit already?” “I’d love to know if that latin was even remotely correct” “yes, let’s go sticking our keys into strange holes” “no time for a hug. Just run the fuck out” “what a random spot for a door. Right in the Ws” “how long have they been the Empty?” “goddammit” “what a fkn douche” “for real?” “so what are they going to do with Jack? Throw him out the 2nd story ground? I suppose they’re underground though” “that’s a little strange” “this would never happen” “He’s god and he just blew down the door” “popping all the good lines” “that’s not great” “That’s really the end of the episode? That’s some bullshit”

[write-nerdy-to-me]

“dean, how long have you known you’re bisexual?”

dean inhales sharply and shuts his eyes, managing to count up to six before settling for gritting his teeth. the only reason he doesn’t pour his coffee down the kitchen sink and leave to hide in his room for the next, oh, fifty-odd years so he doesn’t have to deal with this shit, is that he just filled it before jack meandered in. dean’s already close to snapping, and it’s not even 11am.

it’s gonna be one of those days.

he turns to face jack. “what.”

jack looks at him patiently, head tilted, resembling cas as he squints a little, like he’s focusing harder on dean’s face. “when did you know? or how did you?”

“piss off, kid,” dean says offhandedly, tired of this conversation everyone seems to keep having with him. “did sam put you up to this?”

“well— not exactly. he talked to me about it, but i came to you on my own.”

oh for fuck’s sake—

dean sets his coffee on the counter, needing both hands to rub his face as he says, “he did, did he.” looks like dean is gonna have to break sam’s knees now.

“yeah, i think he was trying to give me ‘the talk.’” dean can hear the quotation marks jack puts around the words, and while his face is covered, he doesn’t need to see to know that jack did the actual gesture, too. if it was any other time, dean would be suppressing a smile at the very cas-like mannerism, but right now, he’s not feeling it.

he lowers his hands to cross his arms over his chest. “how’d that go?”

“it was… unpleasant, for the both of us.”

dean snorted. “yeah, i can see that.” when jack continues to stand there, staring at him, dean lets out a breath that turns into a displeased groan at the end. “you’re not going to let this go, are you.” jack stays silent. “fuck, i dunno. when did roadhouse come out?”

“1989.”

“sure. yeah. that sounds about right, give or take a year.” he’s not being entirely serious — though roadhouse was a sort of awakening for him — and he wasn’t expecting jack to give him the actual year. part of him is proud that the kid knew the answer, but as he starts to imagine patrick swayze, he gets lost in thought. “swayze, hmm. and jennifer grey. demi moore….”

“who?”

oh. right, they haven’t gotten to ghost and dirty dancing during their swayze watch. and dean’s not sure if he’s ready to show jack to wong foo just yet — not with the way sam’s been acting. he swears his brother is gonna start hanging up pride flags around the bunker. “never mind. point is, a long time.”

“so… almost all your life?”

“i guess you could say that, yeah. didn’t always have a term for it. i just knew what i liked, better yet who i liked. that’s never been an issue for me. it was the-the…” he shifts his weight on his feet, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “the love thing that took me a while.”

“why is that?”

“jesus, kid,” dean says. he can’t help but laugh a little. “i dunno, i thought i was no good, that i didn’t deserve it. pick a reason, i’m sure i had it.”

jack gets a contemplative look on his face — and again, dean can’t help but be reminded of cas. “cas says we all deserve love, even when we don’t feel like we do.”

well, shit. jack just tosses that out there, his steady gaze on dean containing multitudes. his eyes are young and well beyond his age.

“yeah,” dean breathes, hit unexpectedly. just what this morning needs. he’s not gonna fucking cry now. “yeah. yeah, we do, especially then.”

“i’m… not sure what i am,” jack says. “is that okay?”

is that okay? as if dean could be upset with him for not knowing. dean feels his heart twist. goddammit, maybe he is gonna cry. he’s surprised — and grateful — his voice doesn’t come out a little strained. “'course it is.” to cover up the fact his eyes are stinging, he quickly adds some levity. “just— use protection.”

“protection? what would i— oh.” jack scrunches up his nose. “i don’t think i’m ready for that.”

dean picks his coffee back up, giving a lazy salute. “you and me both, kid.”

—

a companion piece to the crackfic taken seriously

[interrogatethecat]

‘Tis (Not) the Season

word count: 1.6k

a little fluffy roommate au for the holiday season. the rest is under the cut with the tag list or on ao3!

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la la la la la! ‘Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la—“

Cas pulled his pillow over his head.

“—la la la la la la! Don we now our gay apparel—“

Cas was going to kill someone. His roommate, probably.

“Dean,” he said tightly, “for the sake of your health, I highly suggest that you stop singing.”

Dean just grinned at him. “C’mon, Cas, you heard me!”

“Unfortunately,” Cas grumbled.

“‘Tis the season!” Dean said.

“It’s fucking November,” Cas pointed out.

“But it snowed!” Dean insisted, like that meant something.

Stupid midwesterners. Stupid Cas for deciding to go to a college in the midwest. Stupid Dean Winchester for taking it upon himself to sing every Christmas carol known to man. Stupid college people for sticking him with Dean Winchester.

Deciding to go to school outside of state, Cas needed to room with someone. He had been nervous, but not enough so that it scared him into staying back home.

He was starting to reassess that, because Dean was a godawful roommate.

He left socks and flannels strewn all over their room, played his music far too loud (usually, it seemed, when Cas was studying), and had hours that were unreasonable, even for a college student. He frequently made references Cas didn’t understand, and their first week in the dorms, had burnt popcorn in their microwave, which hadn’t smelled the same since. Not to mention the handful of times Cas had found himself across campus to spend an impromptu night with Balthazar and his roommate because Dean brought back a hookup (it wasn’t unlikely that he’d have to hear about them after). That wasn’t to say that Dean was a complete asshole. He was perfectly friendly, made excellent raman, and was occasionally— dare Cas admit it— endearing. And maybe sometimes cute.

That did not change the fact that at the moment, Cas was very seriously contemplating murder. If he could be bothered to get up, he could smother Dean with his pillow, then go back to bed for a few hours before he got arrested.

“Anyway, don we now our gay apparel—“

Cas blindly chucked his pillow in the direction of Dean’s voice.

“Fa la la la la la la la la! Troll the ancient Yuletide carol, fa la la la la—“

Goddammit. Now he didn’t have his pillow. Maybe he could strangle Dean with a blanket.

“—la la la la! See the blazing Yule before us, fa la—“

“Dean,” Cas opened an eye to glare at him, “shut up.”

Dean just winked at him. “—la la la la—“

Cas grabbed a flannel that had been discarded on the floor next to his bed and threw it at him.

“Stop throwing things at me,” Dean complained.

“Then shut up,” Cas said.

“But, Cas,” Dean said imploringly, “the best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear.”

Cas stared at him. “Again. It’s November. It’s not even thanksgiving. Perhaps you should come up with a rhyme for that.”

Dean gaped at him. “Dude. That’s from Elf. You’re telling me you’ve never seen Elf?”

“No,” Cas said, “nor will I be seeing it now, because I’m going back to sleep.” He rolled over to face the wall resolutely, pulling his blankets up.

There was a quiet ping from Dean’s side of the room.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Dean said, “we’re snowed in! No classes today or tomorrow!”

Cas groaned. No. God, no, he wasn’t going to stay in the same room as Dean Winchester during a blizzard. Forget about Dean, Cas was going to strangle himself.

The floorboards creaked mournfully as Dean crossed the room to ruffle Cas’ hair cheerfully. “This is going to be awesome!”

This was going to be hell.

Cas swatted at Dean blindly as he moved away, breaking into another carol.

***

Cas did not fall back asleep. Dean did not stop singing.

It had been almost an hour, and their dorm was filled with a slightly off key rendition of the Twelve Days of Christmas.

“—three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear treeee!”

Cas was glaring resolutely at his book, as though that would fix things.

“On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me: eight maids a milking, seven swans a swimming, six geese a laying— take it away Cas!” Dean waited expectantly.

Cas flipped him off.

“Four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves,” Dean continued, unfazed, “and a partridge in a pear treeeeee! On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—“

Cas made the mistake of looking up, because despite the fact that Dean’s singing was quite possibly the most annoying thing he could think of (that was a lie, the most annoying thing he could think of was his brother Gabriel), his eyes were immediately drawn to his lips.

They were nice lips, Cas noticed, not for the first time.

Dean grinned at him, only boldened by the attention. “Nine ladies dancing, eight maids a milking, seven swans a swimming, six—“

Cas jerked his eyes back to his book.

***

“Hark the Harold angels sing, glory to the newborn king! Peace on Earth and mercy mild—“

Cas grabbed his earbuds off their shared nightstand and jammed them into his ears.

***

Dean’s solution to Cas’ innovation seemed to be singing louder.

“Feliz navidad! Feliz navidad!”

Cas eyed his pillow, still on the other side of the room, and wondered how hard it would be to stick Dean’s body outside and make it look like he had died of hypothermia.

***

Mercifully, a solid two hours later, Dean did stop singing. Cas was relieved to note that his excitement seemed to have worn off, leaving him to work on his coursework in peace. Enough peace that he was able to take his earbuds out.

He was in the midst of frowning at a particularly long-winded article when said peace was interrupted by Dean calling over, “Hey, Cas! Get your ass over here, we’re watching Die Hard.”

“Hm?” Cas glanced up.

“Die Hard,” Dean said, “It’s only the greatest Christmas movie of all time.”

Clearly, Cas had been wrong when he assumed Dean was done hyperfixating.

“I have homework,” Cas said bluntly.

“It’s a snow day!” Dean pointed out.

“It’s November,” Cas reiterated.

“Please?” Dean said. “For your favorite roommate?”

“You’re my only roommate,” Cas said.

“You love me!” Dean said.

“Enjoy your movie, Dean,” Cas said, reaching for his earbuds again. It had been nice while it lasted.

Dean looked absolutely betrayed.

“Dean,” Cas said, “in case I didn’t already mention this, it is November. It’s too early for Christmas movies.”

“Come on! Die Hard has terrorists,” Dean said. “And Bruce Willis. And there are only a few Christmas trees!”

“Like I said,” Cas said, struggling to untangle the cord, “Christmas—“

“Nope! You don’t have a choice.”

The earbuds were pulled out of his hands (“Hey!”) and his laptop set on the floor (“Dean!”). Then he was being dragged across the room to Dean’s bed.

Dean threw a panicked arm across Cas’ chest to keep him from moving— which was not cute, Cas reminded himself, it wasn’t, he was being kept here against his will— while the other hit play on Dean’s laptop.

“Is this really—“ Cas started, but then there was a hand being thrown over his lips as Dean shushed him. Cas clamped his mouth shut.

***

Dean was back to his singing. He’d left the old, traditional carols behind and instead was belting the opening to All I Want For Christmas.

Not even Cas’ earbuds could save him.

“I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know—“

Deep breaths. Cas was not going to become a felon today. He was going to graduate first.

“Make my wish come trueeeeeeeeeee,” Dean sang, painfully high pitched and off key. “All I want for Christmas— isss— youuuuuuu!” He pointed to Cas enthusiastically.

“All I want for Christmas,” Cas said, “is for you to stop singing.”

Dean threw a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt!”

“My ears are hurt,” Cas countered.

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need. And IIII don’t care about the presents—“

Cas barely registered what he was doing. His feet were moving of their own accord, marching him across the room in a few short steps and directly into Dean’s space.

“—underneath the Christmas tree. I just want you for my— oomph!”

Cas slammed their mouths together, because so help him god, he was going to make Dean Winchester shut up.

Dean let out a strangled sound, the remnant of suddenly forgotten carols as Cas pressed against him.

It was only supposed to be one kiss. Just enough to get Dean to stop. His lips were intoxicating, though; the one kiss lengthened, then turned into two as Dean began to kiss back, and then three, four, enough that when they finally pulled back, Cas’ lips were raw in the best possible way.

Their eyes locked.

“That was… uh,” Dean said articulately.

“I had to get you to stop singing,” Cas explained weakly. That was all it had been.

“Oh,” Dean said, sounding oddly disappointed.

“Yes,” Cas said.

“So,” Dean said, “if I started singing again…?”

“I’d have to kiss you again.” Cas didn’t miss a beat. He could feel his face flushing. “Because it would shut you up. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Dean repeated. There was a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, Cas? What’s your least favorite Christmas song?”

“Angels We Have Heard on High,” Cas said.

With a shit eating grin, Dean opened his mouth.

He didn’t make it through the first bar.

Perhaps being snowed in with Dean Winchester wasn’t so bad after all.

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[welldonebeca]

Bold Little Witch and the Two Incubi (IV)

WC: 1.4k words Warnings: Threesome, smut (obviously), dirty talk (so much dirty talk), oral sex, orgasming on demand, multiple orgasms, squirting, a little bit of angst/hurt, cum inflation kink and cum inflation itself, passing out from pleasure.

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Masterlist

Your legs were weak, but you managed to keep your knees up as Dean walked around your bed.

You should have been smarter. Rowena had warned you that it could go wrong, but you hadn’t heard her. The problem was, though, that you didn’t want it to end.

You were lonely as a person, more lonely than anyone would ever realise.

Studying had made you a great witch, someone with powers other people your age were still to unlock, but while the other witches in your cover had fostered friendly feelings with each other and even become a little family, you were too busy trying to be the best one.

You had no one. You had never known love or companionship, even your parents were very neglectful, and you never missed it. Until now.

Those two demons, those incubi…

They had given you more than you had ever heard in your life from anyone. Even if they were rougher than you were ready for, they had touched you and kissed you… you couldn’t remember the last time you felt anyone touching you. It could have been half a century ago.

Dean’s hand caressed your ass, and you could pretend – even if for just a moment – that you were being treated with kindness. Incubi were supposed to fulfil your fantasies, after all, not to be loving and sweet with you.

“Such a beautiful vision,” he spoke behind you, and you opened your eyes, seeing Sam staring right at you. “Love a messy cunt.”

The incubus in front of you raised his eyes from yours to his brother.

“She’s still tight,” he assured him. “Don’t worry.”

Dean snickered, running his fingers up and down your cunt.

“Bet she does,” he agreed. “She might be a slut, but she was a virgin, Sam, don’t forget.”

You whimpered, closing your eyes as his fingers moved over your folds, stroking slowly up and down.

“You’re right,” Sam tilted his head. “No matter what cock she has after all, it’ll still be a cunt made just right for us two.”

Dean grunted something behind you, and you jumped as he circled your clit, pushing his cock into you.

“Fuck,” he hissed, squeezing your ass cheek in his big hand. “Such a wet little cunt.”

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Sam spoke up, and you looked in his direction, finding him stroking his cock. “Little witch.”

You shivered at the way his words hit you, and moaned when Dean’s cock pushed into you, brushing on your walls, and you whimpered when the tip brushed over your cervix.

“An amazing cunt,” Sam praised, and you whined. “You like that, little witch?”

You moaned, nodding.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

Dean laughed, reaching for you and pinching your nipple.

“I can feel your cunt tightening up, little slut,” he hissed. “Fuck… you love being praised, don’t you?”

You lowered your eyes, swallowing down when the feeling hit you through the heat and sex haze.

“Never been before,” you muttered, unable to keep it in.

Sam breathed in deeply, and you looked over at him, finding his eyes as he started you.

You were ready to speak, to apologise or something, but a moan broke through your lips as Dean pulled back and thrust inside you once again, wrapping his hand around your neck for a moment to adjust your position.

“Never felt such a perfect little cunt,” he hissed, moving his hand up to take your hair out of the way, exposing the side of your face and neck to him before leaning down and planting a kiss between your neck and ear. “You’re such a good girl, taking our cocks so well.”

Your legs weakened, and you came without a warning to his words, closing your eyes and gripping the sheets, almost desperate.

“Goddammit,” he grunted into your ear.

In front of the two of you, Sam laughed.

“Perfect grip, uh?” he asked. “As if her cunt wasn’t already the best little thing.”

Tears fell upon your cheek, but they didn’t seem to care as Sam adjusted himself on the chair, and you yelped when Dean wrapped his arms around your waist, sitting on the bed with you over him before you realised what he was doing.

“Be a good girl and ride me,” he commanded, slapping your thigh, and you closed your eyes.

You could barely move your legs, but he was still expecting more from you.

Before you could even start, Sam moved over from the armchair, kneeling on the bed and grabbing your hips in his big hands, forked tongue moving in your mouth in a wanton kiss as he helped you move.

He didn’t verbalise it, at least you didn’t hear his voice, but you could feel his lips moving against your mouth when he spoke to you.

“Cum again, baby girl.”

Your whole body trembled, and you clung to him, pulling on his hair to keep him close as your orgasm broke through you, with no warning and strong as ever.

“Damn it, Sam,” his brother grunted behind you, holding you in place, cock deep in your pussy, and Sam’s hands cupped your jaw. “What are you doing over there?”

He smirked, and you fought to keep your eyes open.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean,” he winked, still staring at you, and licked your lower lip, making your gaze move down to his mouth just in time – or maybe triggering it – for him to mouth it to you. “Cum for us again.”

Your lips parted open just as your eyelids fell closed. You could have been screaming or just silent as your body quivered, and Dean moved your hips faster, brushing against your g-spot with his cock and making your clit throb with the lack of contact.

“Such a good girl,” Sam hissed, just the haze of a voice as your vision started to fill up with spots colourful and black. “No, no, baby, stay with us.”

He rested your forehead on his, and little cries and whimpers broke through your lips. It was too much but too little at the same time.

“Please,” you begged.

Your clit hurt, throbbed. It was so good, too good.

“Please what?” he asked. “What do you want, baby girl, tell me?”

Your cheeks were complete wet by now, and you could only feel them. There was nothing else in the world, just Sam and Dean.

“My clit, Sam,” you tried to hold onto his shoulders.

Dean was fucking you frantically now. You could feed your tits bouncing and hear the sound of your wetness.

“Good girl,” he hissed. “Touch her clit, Dean. She’s begging so good. She’s being so good.”

You nodded in agreement and sucked in a breath when Dean’s fingers finally – fucking finally – circled your clit.

“Good girl,” he kissed your lips. “Good girl.”

Sam was still kissing you when a voice echoed through your mind. Well, his voice.

‘Cum again.’

You came with an embarrassingly loud moan, feeling a different sort of wetness gushing from your pussy, and Dean grunted behind you, holding your hips in place as your body went almost completely limp, and something inside you grew heavier, almost as if something was keeping you plugged.

His cock throbbed inside you, filling you with his cum, never stopping and making you whimper.

Fuck, was he supposed to cum this much?

You didn’t even realise you were moaning and crying until Sam spoke to you.

“Look at me,” he held your face. “You wanna cum again? Uh? That’s what you want? Want me to make you cum again?”

You panted, completely breathless.

It was too much.

“Please,” you hissed.

You didn’t think you could take more.

“Sam,” his brother said behind your back in a warning tone.

They were going to kill you. That was it. They were going to make you cum so much that you’d die.

“Just one more,” he started into your eyes. “Give me more, baby girl, let me taste it. Cum again.”

You fell forward in his grasp, and both brothers held you as you completely lost control, convulsing as the pleasure ran through you, making you feel like every cell of your body was just exploding before your eyes crossed and your vision became black.

…

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[writethelifeyouwant]

SPN A/B/O Drabbles 2 - Team Free Love

Pairing: Team Free Love (Dean x Sam x Cas x Gabriel) Rating: 18+ Tags: Omegaverse, Foursome, Incest, Nude Photography, Polyamory, Alpha!Sam, Alpha!Cas, Omega!Dean, Omega!Gabriel Word Count: 1,104

Created for: @spnabobingo - chocolate/almond/coconut | @spnkinkbingo - Team Free Love | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Nude Photography | @j3bingo - Football Game | @samwinchesterbingo - Pansexual | @spndeanbingo - Breast Play

A/N: This is probably the weirdest thing I've ever written, I can only blame the bingos 🤷🏻‍♀️

Betting on the football game had been a stupid idea, Dean realises now. He and Sam make silly bets on stuff like that all the time, and Cas had felt a little left out, so Dean figured: why not? And when Gabriel had suggested that ridiculous forfeit for the loser of said bet, it hadn’t ever occurred to Dean that he might lose. What the hell did Cas know about football, after all?

But here he is, lounging on the couch in his Dean cave and naked as a cherub, while Gabriel uses an old polaroid camera that the bunker’s former inhabitants had left behind to take a series of boudoir photographs.

“Spread those thighs, Deano! Show Cassie why he claimed you,” Gabriel grins, ducking back behind the camera as if he was hiding from the absolutely murderous glare that Dean’s throwing him right now.

“I hate you,” Dean grumbles, but he does as instructed, letting one leg hang down off the side of the couch and resting his opposite knee on the backing cushion, his cock now clearly visible laying on his stomach where Dean had been shielding it with his thigh a moment before.

“Eeexxcellent,” Gabriel leers, camera snapping away.

“Play with your tits, Dean!” Sam calls from where he and Cas are watching from the sidelines.

“Play with your tits, bitch,” Dean gripes, flipping Sam the bird over his head.

“Ooh, love the bad boy attitude. Turn that towards the camera, baby boy,” Gabe whistles, grinning maniacally. “And be a good little omega and play with your tits like baby bro asked, or else I’m putting you in a bra,” he threatens, and Dean shudders.

“No thank you, not wearing one of those torture contraptions.”

“Then better make those nipples pink and perky for us!”

“Yes, I would like to see that,” Cas adds matter of factly, and Dean reluctantly acquiesces. If his alpha says he wants to see Dean play with his tits then goddammit, there was no way around it, Dean would always do what Cas wanted of him.

“You like seein’ Dean all laid out for ya, Cas?” Sam stands behind his fellow alpha and circles his arms around the angel’s waist, speaking into his ear so his breath is warm and damp against Cas’s stubbled neck.

“Very much,” Cas replies stoically, his voice even deeper than usual.

“You getting hard watching our omegas play with each other?” Sam asks, hands trailing down to Castiel’s trousers and feeling the telltale bulge for himself.

“Fuck, Sam,” he grunts as the man unzips his pants and gets his hand beneath all the layers a fabric covering his cock, playing with the head teasingly while they watch Dean and Gabriel. “Yes, keep touching me, please,” Cas breathes heavily, resting his back more firmly against Sam’s chest and relaxing into the alpha’s chest.

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna be good and ready to knot one of those boys over there by the time I’m done with you,” Sam growls playfully, wrapping his hand around Cas and pulling him out of his trousers to jerk him off more freely. “Which one do you wanna fuck?”

“Gabriel,” Cas answers after a moment of deliberation, “I don’t think Dean deserves a cock since he lost the bet.”

“What?!” Dean’s outraged protest makes Gabe and Sam both burst into hysterics, while Cas just stares at his omega smugly.

“I think I have another job for Dean,” Sam muses, catching Gabe’s eye and jerking his head towards the end of the couch Dean’s head is resting against, silently communicating with his mate, and Gabriel understands perfectly. He swaggers up to the couch and straddles Dean’s face, forcing his hole down onto Dean’s lips. “Get him all sloppy and wet for your alpha, baby boy,” Sam calls to Dean, who he can hear struggling under the weight of the angelic omega.

“Let him breathe, Gabriel,” Cas huffs in exasperation, and Gabe sits up on his knees further to give Dean room to breathe while he eats him out.

“Why does your slick taste like a fucking Almond Joy?” Dean demands, flabbergasted, when he can speak again. Gabe only shrugs.

“Thought it would be nice to have it match my pheromones.”

“I don’t need to taste chocolate, almonds, or coconuts when I eat your ass, dude. It’s disconcerting enough that you smell like fucking candy all day. Can your body just taste like a body? Please?”

“You’re no fun,” Gabe rolls his eyes, but wills the tastes away before lowering himself back onto Dean’s face. “Cassie, you almost ready? I wanna make Dean take pictures of you fucking me, we can send ‘em to Dad for the family scrapbook.”

“I don’t think he would appreciate that,” Cas shakes his head. “But yes, Dean, you should take photos. You can use them to get yourself off later, if you behave.”

Sam groans appreciatively behind Cas; he likes that idea very much. “You’re evil, Cas.”

“You should fuck Gabriel with me,” Cas offers. “Then Dean can imagine it’s him who’s getting fucked in both of his holes when he’s jerking off. Maybe you Gabriel could take photographs of that, too. I think that is something I’d like to keep in my collection.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Sam grunts, “me too.”

“I know how much you love to watch your brother touching himself,” Cas smirks up at Sam, not so subtly referencing what Sam had told him about secretly doing just that when he was younger, before he and Dean had admitted their feelings for each other. Sam rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t contradict the angel.

“Shit, okay, let’s get this going. I need someone to touch my cock,” Sam pants, stepping away from Cas and stripping off his clothes as the other alpha follows suit. “Gabe, c’mere,” Sam beckons him over as he walks towards the couch. “Give Dean the camera and get on your knees.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Gabriel purrs lasciviously, dropping to his knees eagerly.

Cas walks over to the couch and sits down, stroking himself lazily as he watches Sam and his brother. There’s a flash from the polaroid camera that draws his attention towards Dean, and he sees his omega standing there with a sheepish smirk on his face, shrugging slightly.

“Hey, if you get all these of me, I want some of you too,” Dean explains, almost shyly, and Cas smiles indulgently.

“Of course you can have photos of me Dean. Would you like me to do anything in particular?”

Dean pauses for a moment and then raises the camera back to his eye, grinning.

“Play with your tits.”

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[bowlegsandbiceps]

Suptober Day 4: Secret

Secret Agent Man

Mature / Secret Agent!Cas/Domestic Dean / Destiel / 2,726 words

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

Castiel’s heart hammered in his chest as he rolled to a stop on a nondescript residential street and killed the headlights. The entire mission was FUBAR, was from the start in all honesty but he never dreamed it would end up like this. He rubbed a hand over his mouth hard, glancing up at the small sliver of moon in the sky, and ran the call through his head again.

“Speak”

“C-C-Cas?” He remembered how every muscle had seized at the sound of Dean’s voice, tremulous and staticky on the other end of the line. He’d looked down at his phone, confirming that, no, he hadn’t accidentally brought his personal phone on a job. Dean was on the opposite end of a burner with only one contact and that could only mean one thing.

“Hello, darling.”

“Crowley.” Castiel had done his level best to keep his voice even and calm, no hint of the rage and turmoil roiling in his gut.

“Let’s not dally. You have something of mine. I have something of yours.”

“You’re suggesting a trade.”

“An even trade.” Crowley had emphasized. “I get the weapon, the money, a plane on the tarmac and a twenty-four-hour head start.”

“Is that all?” Castiel had been sarcastic, a knee-jerk response from years of having nothing to lose, and regretted it instantly.

“Buddy boy that’s generous considering what I could do to your young lad here. He’s a pretty one, Angel. Has a lot of fight in him too.” Castiel heard Crowley sniff and he hoped that Dean had broken his fucking nose. “One hour, Angel. Or the body you’ll be collecting will be his.”

Castiel lowered his head, hands still gripping the steering wheel tight as moments with Dean flashed through his mind. The night they met, him working security at an event Dean was catering and Dean permitting him to stop whatever threats emerged as long as Castiel stayed out of his way and didn’t touch his knives. Dean’s husky baritone as he sang “Secret Agent Man” at him from several yards away when they ran into each other at a festival a few days later, Dean tipsy enough to force Castiel to take his number and Castiel smitten enough to accept it, against his better judgment. The night Dean cooked for him and Castiel thanked him by carrying him off into the bedroom like they were in some romance novel, Dean’s ankles locked at Castiel’s lower back as he kissed the life out of him.

Castiel shook his head, cursed under his breath. He knew better than to form personal connections, but Dean with his mega-watt smile and terrible jokes had wormed his way past all Castiel’s defenses one home-cooked meal at a time until Castiel got sloppy. Now Dean would pay the price for Castiel’s foolishness, a burden Castiel didn’t think he’d be able to bear if he were to fail tonight. 

So he forced himself to harden, feeling his insides solidify to stone and when he climbed out of the car he wasn’t Castiel, certainly wasn’t the man Dean called Cas in the tender moments they shared wrapped up in Dean’s sheets. He was the Angel of Death and he would neutralize this threat. 

Silent as the grave, Castiel made his way up the street, staying in the shadows. When he reached Dean’s driveway he saw the Impala through the open garage door and slipped in next to it. The door was unlocked, a habit Dean had to break goddammit and Castiel slipped inside. He paused in the dark laundry room, startled for a moment to see Dean standing at the stove in his underwear, humming a Metallica song as he sautéed something in a pan. Dean seemed to catch movement out of the corner of his eye and when he turned to look Castiel could see the wound at his temple, blood tacky down the side of his face. 

Castiel immediately lifted his finger to his lips but Dean just blinked at him and looked back down into the pan.

“Is that you, Angel?” Crowley’s voice crooned from somewhere past the doorway and Dean’s shoulders tensed, his spatula pausing. “Don’t burn the veggies, Dean. You don’t want to have to start over again.” Dean immediately lifted the pan and shook it, tossing the chopped peppers, onions and bits of ham with practiced ease. 

Castiel strode forward, not bothering to silence his steps this time and he couldn’t stop himself from touching Dean’s shoulder as he passed though he didn’t look at him. Crowley was sitting at the small kitchen table, dressed sharply in a black suit with a blood-red tie. His nose was crooked and there was blood in his mustache and beard, something that caused Castiel’s lips to quirk in satisfaction though the gun casually pointed at Dean’s back soured his stomach. The table was set for three and Castiel glanced over his shoulder to see that Dean was now transferring the veggies onto a paper towel then began to crack eggs in a shallow bowl.

“You’re just in time for breakfast!” Crowley crooned, gesturing with the gun for Castiel to sit.

Castiel did so silently, taking the seat across from Crowley and directly behind Dean. Crowley adjusted his aim accordingly. 

“So, rough night?” Crowley teased and Castiel merely stared back. 

He could feel Dean moving behind him, his bare feet tapping against the linoleum as he turned to shuffle over to them. Dean, pan in hand and spatula poised stood over Crowley, face blank as he slid the completed omelet onto Crowley’s plate and made to turn to go back to the stove. Crowley’s hand shot out, gripping Dean’s wrist and Dean froze as Castiel snatched up a fork, stretching over the table, and pressed it to Crowley’s jugular. The gun in Crowley’s other hand went snuggly against Dean’s lower back, just above the band of his boxers.

“Easy, Angel. Easy now. I’m sure you wouldn’t want your lover here to lose all feeling below the waist.” Castiel’s eyes flicked to Dean’s face and found his eyes closed, face shuttered in forced calm. Castiel slowly lowered the fork and edged back into his seat. “That’s it. Now, Dean, be a dear and bring me the salt.”

“Taste it first,” Dean said over his shoulder and Castiel glared up at him. Dean shrugged his shoulders giving him a come on expression and Castiel was going to absolutely lose it if Dean’s irrational hatred of people seasoning their food before they tasted it was what actually got him killed.

Crowley laughed lowly, giving a tilt of his head as he used his fork to dig into the omelet. Steam billowed out, the scent of cheese and vegetables strong as Crowley forked a piece into his mouth. He rested his hands against the table’s edge as he chewed and gave another tilt of his head.

“You’re right. It’s perfect. Thank you, Dean.” Dean made to walk back to the stove but Crowley’s grip tightened, the gun pressing harder into his lower back. “Manners, lad.”

“You’re welcome,” Dean gritted out and Crowley finally released him, Castiel watching him pass and had to settle himself at the sight of the red mark left by the gun barrel at the base of Dean’s spine.

Crowley grinned at Castiel. “Nice little set up you got here. Stupid. But nice.”

“I don’t have the weapon.”

Crowley lifted a finger. “Ah but you have the location of the weapon. And what protections have gone into keeping nasty men like me from getting to it.”

“I was on the extraction team. You know very well that extraction and security don’t have anything to do with each other once the handoff is made.”

Crowley gave him a tart smile. “I also know very well that they trust you to handle both. Again…” Crowley’s eyes lifted over his shoulder but Castiel kept his gaze on Crowley, feeling Dean move around him to slide an omelet onto his plate. “Stupid.” The whisper of Dean’s fingers on his shoulder made every muscle in his body tense and Dean immediately pulled away.

“I don’t have the location of the weapon. I only have the drop-off location.”

Crowley pressed his lips together, displeased. “You also have the activation codes.”

Castiel hesitated, listening to the sizzle of eggs in the pan. “I have the self-destruct codes.”

Crowley grinned cheerfully, digging into his omelet. “Good enough for me.” Crowley’s eyes moved to Dean again and Castiel fought the urge to snap his fingers to regain Crowley’s attention. He didn’t have to. Crowley looked at him again, then gestured at his plate. “Eat!”

Castiel dutifully picked up his fork and speared into the omelet, shoving a bite into his mouth that took all the skin off the roof of his mouth. He chewed anyway. Dean was making his way back over, sliding his own omelet onto the final plate before turning to place the pan back on the stove. He hesitated there for a moment.

“Sit down, Dean we don’t want your breakfast getting cold.”

“It’s a little early for me.” Dean’s voice was controlled and even as he spoke to the stove. 

Crowley rolled his eyes and cocked his gun. Dean’s shoulders tensed. “Get your pretty little ass over here and eat your breakfast, Dean Winchester. Or I’ll put a bullet in your boyfriend’s kneecap.”

Dean turned abruptly, hurrying to sit in the chair between the two men. He grabbed his fork and immediately sawed off a bite and shoved it in his mouth, chewing diligently. Crowley watched him as he opened his mouth to allow steam to exit, continuing to chew laboriously until he swallowed. Crowley grinned. 

“He really is darling, Castiel.” Crowley’s eyes were roving over his face as Dean kept his eyes on his plate, cutting off another piece to shove into his mouth. “Didn’t give anything away and I put him through the wringer a bit there.” Crowley used the gun to indicate the hit to Dean’s head.

“Looks to me like he put you through it,” Castiel commented as he speared another piece of omelet contemplating it. “Must be humiliating to have your nose broken by a civilian.” Castiel ate it.

“Not nearly as humiliating as stripping him down so I could really appreciate him before he started cooking.”

Castiel stilled. Dean normally slept in his underwear. Castiel had figured that Crowley had gotten him out of bed at this late hour but then he remembered Dean had an event tonight. Castiel glanced at Dean, sucking in a deep breath, and over the smell of breakfast, he caught a whiff of Dean’s body wash, noted his hair was a little darker than normal, just the slightest bit damp. Dean’s eyes were closed, his jaw set as he held his fork in his fist and Castiel saw red.

Swift as a viper Castiel’s hand shot out, the fork sinking into the tendons of Crowley’s wrist, the same one holding the gun, as Castiel’s other hand went over the barrel, stopping the slide when Crowley attempted to pull the trigger. Dean had flung himself backward, chair skidding against the linoleum until he crashed back into the cabinets. One quick jab to the face, groaning through the pain of a fork stabbing into his chest just over his heart, Castiel managed to twist the gun in Crowley’s hand, his fingers limp from the damaged tendons, and without another thought, Castiel put a bullet in his brain and three more in the center of his chest. 

Castiel was breathing hard, adrenaline scalding through his veins as he stared at the lifeless body sprawled back in the chair, brain matter and bits of skull spraying the wall behind him. His heart began to slow. The threat had been neutralized. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Castiel’s head whipped to the side, finding Dean still sitting, wide eyes filling with tears as his hands gripped the side of his chair frozen. Castiel hit his knees immediately, moving to tuck the gun into his belt behind his back before he cupped Dean’s face gingerly. Dean was shaking all over, teeth chattering and Castiel immediately shrugged out of his trench, a motion that sent pain shooting across his chest. He cursed, looking down and finding the fork still stuck in the meat of his pectoral muscle. He ripped it out, angrily tossing it aside before looking back at Dean just in time to see a single tear slip over his lashes and down his cheek. 

Castiel gathered up the coat and threw it around Dean’s semi-naked form, pulling him off the chair and into his arms. Dean went willingly, his arms going around Castiel’s neck as he planted a knee on either side of Cas’ perching in his lap. Castiel ran one large hand up and down Dean’s back, shushing him as he trembled and cried quietly into Castiel’s neck, his other hand delving back into Dean’s hair. Castiel sucked in a deep breath that was all Dean, shampoo and body wash, and the unique scent of his skin. Castiel huffed it out in a sigh, hands going to Dean’s biceps to push him back so he could see his face.

“Dean.” Castiel held his face in his hands and Dean sniffled, shaking hands coming up to clutch at Castiel’s wrists. “Dean, I need you to be honest with me. Did he hurt you?”Dean shook his head, sniffling again. “Did he touch you at all?”

Dean shook his head again, swallowing hard. “N-no. He just watched me shower. The creep.” Dean let out a breath of a chuckle before he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and tears cascaded down his face. Castiel snatched him close and Dean held on for dear life. “C-Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“You killed a guy in my kitchen.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You really weren’t kidding when you said your job was dangerous.” Castiel grumbled, holding him tighter and Dean pressed his face to Castiel’s neck. “Is it weird I wanna know how your omelet was?”

Castiel couldn’t help it, he laughed, pressing a kiss to Dean’s uninjured temple and Dean gave a watery laugh of his own. 

“It could’ve used some salt.”

“Oh fuck you. Salt. Jesus.”

“Dean I’m-“

“Don’t.” Dean pulled back, reaching up to wipe at his face. “I’ve seen this part of this movie a thousand times. You’re gonna say you’re sorry because we can’t be together it’s too dangerous, blah blah.”

“Actually that’s not what I was going to say.”

Dean’s brow crinkled. “No?”

Castiel shook his head. “I was going to say I’m sorry you probably won’t get your deposit back.” Dean glanced over at the carnage behind the dead body sitting at his kitchen table. Castiel cocked his head to the side. “You’re taking this remarkably well.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m in shock.” Dean gave a sharp shake of his head as he tore his eyes away from the body and gave a shiver. “Do you need to like… call this in or… You’re hurt!” Dean’s hand immediately went to Castiel’s chest which was bleeding sluggishly. 

“I’m fine. Nothing a bandage and a tetanus shot can’t fix.” Castiel ran a hand over Dean’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

“I hate that wallpaper, Cas, maybe the landlord will finally get rid of it.”

“No, I mean… when the shock wears off you’ll-“

“Still want to be with you,” Dean insisted arms tightening around Castiel’s shoulders. “Yeah that guy found me because of you but you also neutralized the threat.” Castiel felt a smile tug at his lips at Dean using his jargon. 

“I let my emotions get the best of me.” Castiel touched Dean’s face gently. “It was a dumb move stabbing him. It’s sheer luck I didn’t get either of us killed.”

Dean turned his head, kissing the heel of Castiel’s hand. “You’re just a lucky guy, Cas.” Dean gave him a big smile, the one that never failed to render Castiel speechless. “You got me after all.”

Castiel huffed a laugh, his head dropping to Dean’s shoulder, and let his arms curl nearly double around him. Sirens could be heard in the distance, likely one of Dean’s neighbors called the cops at the sound of gunshots and Castiel relaxed into Dean’s hold as he began to hum “Secret Agent Man.”

[thebloggerbloggerfun]

Based on something @wanderingcas and I briefly chatted about in the only tumblr group chat I lasted longer than a day in

In Castiel’s defense, he’d been in the middle of telling Dean that he probably shouldn’t touch the glowing metal object that had fallen out of a crammed closet in a less-explored room in the bunker when he’d gone ahead and done it anyway. 

“Ha, it’s one of those old ear-trumpet things.” Dean said, picking it up and holding it to his ear.

“- and glowing is rarely a good sign.” Castiel finished, but not before the trumpet flashed even brighter, and then stopped glowing altogether. 

Dean pulled it away from his ear and frowned at it. 

“Are you... alright?” Castiel asked, but there didn’t seem to be any outward signs of any harm done to him. 

Dean said nothing, but his frown deepened as he glanced around, squinting enough that Castiel could tell something wasn’t quite right. 

“Dean?”

“Uh, I think -” Dean stopped abruptly and blinked. “Hello? Hello?”

Castiel stepped forward in concern, snatching the object out of Dean’s hands before it could do any more harm and he could almost feel the curse oozing off of it. 

“I’m still here, Dean. What’s wrong?”

“I can’t -” Dean started tapping at his own ears, then patting them, “I can’t hear anything!”

Dean looked up at Castiel, a panicked tone in his voice and written on every line of his face and Castiel bit back the retort about how if he’d only waited just a few seconds - 

“It’s alright,” Castiel said, slowly, methodically, so that Dean would be able to read his lips. “Don’t panic. The curse doesn’t feel strong.”

“Oh, fuck me - I really can’t hear!” Dean said again, and definitely panicking. 

Castiel waved his hands in front of Dean’s face until he received his full and undivided attention, and mimed deep breaths until Dean followed suit, eyes still wide, but no longer frantic. 

“You’re okay,” Castiel said, holding up his hand in the universal ‘OK’ symbol, “We can fix this. I don’t think it’s permanent.”

Dean swallowed and nodded, running a hand through his hair with a shaky sigh. 

“Dammit, I shouldn’t have touched that stupid thing.”

“That’s what I said.” Castiel muttered. 

“What?” Dean said. 

Castiel waved a hand dismissively. 

“Nothing. We’ll talk to Sam when he gets home and see if we can do any research on it. It was cursed, but it didn’t feel like it was a dangerous one.”

Dean stared at him and blinked once.

“What?”

Castiel gave him a thumbs-up.

-

Sam tapped on the page of the book and flipped it around for Castiel to clearly see a picture of a sketched ear-trumpet.

“Yep - it’s in their inventory. Apparently it was designed as a last resort for battling against oceanic sirens, but it looks like they never needed it.” Sam shrugged his shoulders and glanced over at Dean, who was snapping his fingers in front of his ears and looking increasingly more frustrated with the results. “It’s just for seventy-two hours. He’ll be fine on Friday.”

“What?” Dean said from across the table. 

Castiel pushed the book towards him and tapped on the sentence that included “seventy-two hours” in it. 

“Goddammit.” Dean said, shoving the book back angrily in Castiel’s direction. “What the hell am I supposed to do until then, huh? Lock myself in my room and live like a hermit?”

“Plenty of people live without their hearing, Dean.” Castiel said, folding his arms against his chest. “And it’s just for three days. You’ll do just fine if you don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.”

Dean frowned. 

“What?”

- 

By Wednesday, Castiel had heard Dean list all of the things that he couldn’t do without his hearing at least fifteen times. 

“And I can’t even listen to Led Zepplin! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve gone this long without listening to Zep? Since the womb, Cas. The womb.” Dean rambled as he leaned over the engine of the Impala. 

Castiel flipped a page in the mystery novel he was skimming in the corner of the garage and nodded.

“A true tragedy.” Castiel said.

“What?”

Castiel let out a long breath, stood up and walked over to Dean, and pointed at his lips. 

Dean jumped as he turned to reach for an oily rag. 

“Jesus - I can’t go through this again, Cas. You don’t even have your wings and it’s happening again you sneaky motherfu -”

“Can. You. Read. My. Lips.” Castiel said, slowly and methodically. 

Dean’s eyes flicked down to Castiel’s lips, then immediately flicked away as Dean quickly turned around to face the car’s engine again.

“Nope. That’s not gonna work.”

Castiel frowned, but he supposed it would be a lot of work to have to stare so intently at his lips as he tried to decipher what shapes his mouth was forming. 

“Have it your way, then.” Castiel said, knowing he might as well be saying it to the Impala, and went back to his mystery novel. 

- 

Castiel sat himself down at the table in the kitchen as Dean stirred at something in a large skillet, whistling to himself off-key as he did so. 

He had on Claire's birthday gift - an apron with “Culinary Badass” written in bold lettering on the front - and was swinging his hips from side to side as his whistling turned into humming. 

Castiel smiled fondly as he watched, falling into the pit of endearment that he often found himself at the bottom of. He wiped the smile from his face before letting it tug at the corners of his lips again - the smile was safe as long as Dean wasn’t looking. 

There were a lot of things that could be safe right now. 

Dean was adorable.

And not listening. 

“You’re adorable.” Castiel whispered, staring at the back of Dean’s head. 

The humming continued with no reaction from Dean. 

“You’re adorable.” Castiel repeated, louder this time - it felt good to say out loud. “Even when you’re being dramatic.”

Dean tapped on the oven with the spoon he’d been using to stir to add rhythm to his humming, not saying a word in response. 

Castiel’s smile grew a little wider. 

-

“Every day I hope I get to see you smile.” Castiel said after Dean handed him a beer and turned away.

-

“Your soul shines brighter than you can imagine.” Castiel said, his face hidden behind a load of laundry he was handing to Dean.

-

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life.” Castiel said as he climbed into the passenger’s side of the Impala to go on a grocery run with Dean.

-

“I love you.” Castiel said as the two of them watched a subtitled television show that Castiel had long since stopped paying attention to in Dean’s TV room. “I really do.”

Dean’s head slowly turned away from the television, and towards Castiel. 

“What?”

Castiel just waved a hand. 

Nothing. He mouthed, and shrugged his shoulders, hoping Dean would just let it go. He usually did now that explaining became a big situation. 

“You... love me?”

A chill shot down Castiel’s spine as he tensed, and mentally counted the hours in his head - yes it was about seventy-two hours now. Had he not been paying close enough attention? 

No, of course he hadn’t. 

He’d been happily confessing things to Dean while there would be no consequences like a fool. 

Castiel shouldn’t have let himself get comfortable in that.

“Y-you’re hearing -”

“...just came back, yeah.” Dean said slowly, hesitantly, like he was regretting the admission. 

He was probably wishing he was still under the effects of the curse and Castiel didn’t blame him one iota. 

“I’m - Dean I’m so sorry. I thought you were still - I didn’t - “

“Do you mean it?” 

Castiel’s stuttering died in his throat as he stared back at Dean, eyes wide. 

“I- I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.” He whispered. 

There was a long silence between them as they simply stared at each other, and the sound of the television still played in the background. 

“This is The Good Place finale,” Dean said, pointing at the TV, “So, we have to finish watching it - but after that we’re gonna make-out, okay? Like a lot. And then probably talk about shit.” 

Castiel blinked. 

“What?” 

Dean smiled in the special way that made Castiel’s heart stop. 

“You heard me.”

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 14x12 Prophet and Loss

“Is this the first underwater shot we’ve gotten? It couldn’t be. I don’t think we’ve been underwater much” “Alright. Going back a few, our little submarino friends, this is lit up, so you’re not that deep at all. He wanted to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere. It’s lit up so he’s probably not even 100 feet down, but the crush depth of that box is probably not that far down. It’s not a sphere. Instead of this odd box, you’d have to have a titanium sphere like 6” thick. You’d need like 6” of titanium in a sphere in the Marianas depth. Challenger Deep is 36000 feet down.” “I know it’s a TV show but fkn A” “DIdn’t he build it? Why would he be banging his way out of it?” “God I hope it wouldn’t make that much noise down there. Fuck” “You know what would suck the most about being in a box in the dark for however many years, knowing you have functioning eyes but not knowing if you’ll be able to see if you ever get out” “Fkn wallpaper goddamn” “just a bad dream, eh?” “fukc dude” “this wallpaper was definitely on purpose” “These conversations are so insane if you think about what happened in Season 1. Before demons and stuff. These conversations are so out there” “are we making concrete or what?” “or is it some crazy ass chemical?” “fkn Sweeney Todd or what?” “how the fuck is this guy so alive? Every time I forget about him, I think he’s dead, but then he shows up and I get frustrated” “I get so frustrated with Nick being around that I forget what happens to him every time” “Do they have a fkn hitch on this thing?” “no pressure” “helluva a hairdo man” laughter

“I love how Dean is the most dangerous thing to Dean at this point. Even more than the other shit they’ve run into before” “the fuck is he doing/“ “When are they going to jump in his head and put more than a screwdriver in the door?” “who’s creepin’ on the shitter? Oh it’s a door” “no cameras? Nothing?” “hmm” “we’re on iPhone 6 era I think” “helluva a knocker” “well that’s something” “that’s all it took to snap the guy out of it?” “really?” “you know the answer to this already, Sam” “No shit” “oh he’s breaking into a house now’ “isn’t het this his old fkn house? Or some shit? How did he get back here?” “yeah it’s his old house” “Fkn die already goddammit” “Wouldn’t Lucifer’s vessel had died a thousand times over? How is this possible?” “good luck explaining that to your wife bud” “dun dun dun” “she’s never met an angel clearly” “helluva a way to word it” “what a fkn asshole” “she should ghost-kill him now” “says who?” laughter “Clear?” “does it alternate every other season who is going to sacrifice themselves?” “Does Cas have to spend grace doing this” “we did all this grace blasting and couldn’t get his eyesight fixed?” “they’re going to keep reminding us that he doesn’t have a soul” “is that supposed to be funny? Cas almost killed him” “this is probably one of the top 5 sam speeches ever” “to be fair I don’t really like many of his speeches. Right up until the part where he fkn punches Dean” “ehh” “you better clean up that fkn mop at home” “that scene just looks like a homeless guy wrestling some guy in the parking lot and the security guard coming to check it out” “idk he’s in one of those murdering moods. Better watch out” “Fuck that’s bright. Why?”

[amiwritesthings]

young dean hooking up with older men at truck stops. when john witnesses one of these encounters, he's furious, wants to step in, but doesn't, can't, d. on his knees with a cock in his mouth too much of a turn on, so he just watches in secret, maybe even jerks off to it. feelings of guilt. eventually confronts d. about his hook-ups. anger, drama, angst. d.: it's you, i just want you, i'm thinking about you when they fuck me, please let me suck your cock, dad. what will j. do? you tell me.

i am so so so sorry this took me so long and technically this isn't exactly what you asked for but it's where my brain wanted to go today so hopefully you still like it

link to ao3

_______

It’s dark when Dean walks back the short distance from the truck stop to the adjacent motel. He pulls his jacket tighter around his body against the cold, prays that John is still out somewhere drowning in cheap whiskey.

His jaw aches, his knees are sore, there’s a wet patch in his jeans, but there’s also 50 bucks in his pocket and his mind is pleasantly fuzzy with post-orgasmic endorphins.

He slides the key into the lock as quietly as he can, eases the door open carefully to keep the salt line intact. He feels his heart skip, pure rush of adrenaline, when he sees it’s not just Sammy in the room; John’s passed out in the ratty loveseat in the sitting area. It’s the next best thing to John not being here at all. If Dean’s lucky, John was too out of it to remember Dean not being here when he got back.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click, takes a second to make sure the salt line is indeed intact. Sammy snuffles softly in his sleep, turns over to his other side, and Dean shrugs out of his jacket, lays it down at the foot of his bed, before tip toeing to the bathroom, thankful for the small window, the moonlight from outside illuminating the room just enough that he doesn’t need to hit the light.

He leans on the sink, doesn’t dare to look at his own reflection in the tiny mirror that’s already gone half blind. He reaches for the mouthwash, takes a swig, lets the liquid sting his mouth and get rid off the taste of dick. He spits into the sink, blue remnants of mouthwash running into the cracks in the porcelain, rinses with water and spits again.

He freezes when there’s a rustling sound behind him, and he knows it’s John, just from the prickle of heat where John’s gaze rests heavily on the back of his neck. Fuck. Dean forces himself to look up into the mirror, to acknowledge his father’s presence. A cloud passes over the moon outside, making the room darker for a moment, casting John’s face in shadows.

John takes a step forward, eerily silent, and with how small the room is, it only takes another half-step for John to be close enough to him that his body tenses with awareness. There’s a moment of silence, unbearable seconds of uncertainty, and Dean averts his eyes, lets his head drop forward, hands bracing against the sink.

A soft puff of air against the back of his neck, warm whiskey breath, is his only warning before John’s hands come down next to his on the sink, his father’s body hot and looming behind him. ‘What’re you playing at, boy?’ John asks gruffly, voice low and dangerously quiet, and Dean swallows against the dryness in his throat, that raw sting just behind his tongue.

‘Sir?’ he asks, voice raspy and wrecked. Best to let John tell him which transgression he’s angry about before Dean accidentally adds more fuel to the fire.

‘Saw you. Out there, on your knees.’

Fuck. Dean feels like is heart is about to beat out of his chest, pulse echoing loudly in his own ears. ‘I can expl-‘, he starts but stops the moment he sees John’s hand moving, body bracing for the inevitable blow.

It never comes.

John runs a hand up Dean’s arm, a barely-there touch, hovering just close enough to give the illusion of contact while still keeping Dean acutely aware of the underlying threat. He shivers when the hand comes back down to cage him in and John leans in closer, stubble brushing his cheek, the ghost sensation of lips right up against the shell of his ear.

‘God, boy, looked so good,' John breathes, words just the tiniest bit slurred, tongue heavy with whiskey. ‘Wanted to kill that asshole for taking advantage of you like that. Old enough to be your father, that guy.’ There’s a trace of anger to the words, that sharp edge that usually has Dean bracing for a verbal lashing.

Dean exhales shakily, dares to press back just a bit into the weight of John’s body behind him. Whatever he had expected to happen if John ever found out sure wasn’t this. ‘Why didn't you?’ he asks quietly, and John drops his head forward with a sigh that fans hotly over Dean’s skin.

‘Too pretty, your lips stretched wide like that. Fuckin’ hot. Could just imagine-,' he trails off, pushes his hips forward into Dean instead, and oh. For the first time tonight, Dean wishes John was less drunk, that there was a chance this was real and not just some drunken mistake John would pretend had never happened the next morning, if he even remembered.

‘Wished it was you,’ he confesses, quietly, and behind him John draws in a sharp breath that shudders out of him in a tortured groan only a few seconds later. ‘Always wish it was you.’

At his sides, John’s knuckles go white against the sink, fingers flexing once, twice, before resettling on the cold porcelain. ‘Don’t say shit like that. Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ There’s no heat to the words, no reprimand, and Dean presses back, into John’s body, until they are flush, until he can feel the bulge in John’s jeans riding high against his ass, John’s lips dragging messily, uncoordinated, down his cheek.

‘’s all I think about. ‘s why I started doing it in the first place.’ It’s not entirely true but Dean sure as shit isn’t going to fess up about needing the money to buy food for him and Sammy when John had been gone way longer than planned a couple of years ago.

Dean tilts his head to the side when John mouths down his neck, on purpose this time, wet-hot, tongue teasing against the sensitive skin. ‘Always pretend it’s you,’ he continues, moves his hand to cover John’s, drags it to the front of his jeans where there’s still a wet spot from when he’d come in his pants earlier while sucking off some faceless stranger.

John growls, a sound that’s rumbling up from so deep in his chest, Dean can feel the vibration of it against his back. ‘Gonna let me have the real thing?’ Dean asks as he uses what little space he has to turn, face John, and he isn’t prepared for the look of sheer hunger in John’s eyes, pupils blown wide in the darkness of the room.

He drops his hands to John’s belt, fingers the buckle, waits for John to stop him, but he doesn’t. His voice is raw, low and raspy when he says, ‘Goddammit, baby, gonna be the death of me,’ and Dean can feel the flush spreading up his chest, crawling up his neck, making his cheeks pink. He deftly undoes the belt, thumbs open the button, draws the zipper down, watches as John’s eyes flutter shut, mouth dropping open in a soft pant. It’s even better than he could ever imagine.

He tugs, fingers on each side, shimmies the jeans off John’s hips, takes the boxers underneath right with it as he drops to his knees, one fluid motion, perfected with years of practice. It stings a bit, his knees still sore from kneeling in gravel earlier but he breathes through it, focuses on what’s right in front of him. And boy, when he wraps his hand around John’s dick, his mouth fucking waters. He knows that John is big, they’ve been living in each other’s pockets all of Dean’s life, he knows, but from down here, on his knees, even only half-hard, it’s impressive and his jaw already aches with the anticipation of what’s to come.

Above him, John white-knuckles the sink with one hand, the other dropping to cup Dean’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone and down to drag over his lower lip, dark eyes watching his face intently. Dean tongues at the digit, just a tease, hand softly squeezing on John’s dick, a slow stroke up to the crown, and John breathes a soft ‘fuck’ as he closes his eyes, eyelashes fluttering darkly in the shadows.

The hand leaves and John takes a half-step forward, trapping Dean between his body and the sink as he braces against the wall, the mirror, and Dean takes it as the invitation it is, opens his mouth wide to take John in. He closes his lips around the head, takes it flat onto his tongue and Dean can’t stop the groan at the feeling of John’s dick finally in his mouth, at the salty-sour taste.

This is nothing like all those strangers, he thinks, this is what he’s been waiting for all along. John keeps chubbing up in his mouth and it stretches his lips, wide. He sinks down a little deeper, gets John wet, then pulls off to slick his spit down the length with his fingers. John’s breathing is heavy above him, body tense, curled tight, like he’s preparing for a fight.

Dean strokes him, once, twice, before licking around the head, wicked curl of tongue, and taking him back in, spit slicking the way as John pushes deeper with a slight flex of his hips, rubbing over the soft palate of Dean’s mouth. And fuck, Dean wishes his throat wasn’t so raw already, the drag of John’s dick almost too much when he takes a deep breath through his noses and pushes down further.

John’s hips stutter forward at the sensation and Dean pulls away with a choked cough, tries to catch his breath, as John mutters softly ‘sorry, baby, sorry’ but then his hips hitch forward again, into the loose fist Dean has curled around him. He keeps his fingers around the base this time as he sinks down, relaxes his jaw, to let John fuck into him with impatient little thrusts.

The noise his wet mouth makes is obscene in the quiet of the small room and he drops his free hand into his lap to where he’s already hard again in his jeans. He gives himself a squeeze, hums softly at the spark of pleasure, and John’s breath hitches as he flexes forward, pushing right at Dean’s throat again. Dean lets him this time, gets his own dick free, still sticky from before, and jacks himself in sync with John’s movements.

John curses under his breath, dick jumping in Dean’s mouth, and Dean redoubles his efforts, slides his mouth, wet and open, down as far as he can go, focusing on breathing through his nose. John stills on his next downstroke and the first pulse of come on his tongue almost makes Dean choke.

He pulls back, mouth open, John’s dick on his tongue, jacking him through his orgasm and he holds it there for a moment before swallowing, the hand stripping his own dick almost a blur. He hunches forward, rests his forehead against John’s hip, nuzzling at the juncture of his thigh, as he chases his own high.

When he finally comes, it’s with a high, breathy whine and a ‘fuckin’ Christ, Dean’ from John who cradles his skull, holding him close.

It takes a moment for his breathing to slow, for his heart to stop racing and when he finally pulls away, John takes a step back, the look in his eyes unreadable as he looks down to Dean. The hand slides around to cup his face, and the thumb traces his lip again, slowly, reverently, before John releases him with a pat to his cheek.

‘Get cleaned up, it’s late,’ he says, voice rough, before he steps back, away, swaying gently, leaving Dean on his knees and suddenly feeling cold.

By the time he’s cleaned up and dressed in a sleep shirt and fresh underwear, John is passed out on the bed, jeans still undone, snoring the way he only ever does when he drinks. Dean grabs a bottle of water, takes little sips – it burns to swallow – before sitting down on the edge of the other bed. He nudges Sam, all long lanky limbs sprawled out, taking up all the space, and his brother huffs in his sleep but shifts over anyway, making just enough room for him to slip into the bed beside him.

When Dean wakes the next morning, it’s to Sam already bitching about something or other and John at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, brows furrowed as he tries to make sense of something. The last night feels like a fever dream now and as Dean sits up on the bed, he tries to make eye contact with John, get some kind of acknowledgement, but he has no such luck. John pointedly avoids looking at him, busying himself with squinting at the newspaper with bleary eyes as he takes another sip of coffee.

‘You want coffee?’

Dean blinks at the question, at Sam who’s holding up an empty cup at him in question. ‘Yeah,’ he croaks, voice breaking on the just the one syllable and across the room he can see John stiffen in his seat, while Sam just looks at him funny. ‘You coming down with something?’

Dean clears his throat, tries to ignore the burn as he swallows. ‘Nah, I’m fine.’ He doesn’t sound much better, voice still all scratchy and raw, and his jaw still aches dully, and his knees protest when he pushes to stand. He excuses himself to the bathroom, taking the coffee cup Sam hands him with him. He sets the cup down on the sink, lets his eyes come up to look at his reflection in the mirror.

And there it is, the proof it was real, the smeared handprint on the mirror. Dean touches a finger to it before bringing his hand to his throat, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, chasing the sense memory of the night before.

[interrogatethecat]

mug in my hands, your lips on my lips

word count: 900

the rest is under the cut with the tag list, or on ao3 :)

Dean has never liked tea.

He can remember being four years old, crawling up next to his mom on the couch where she’s sitting down with a steaming mug cupped in her hands.

“Do you want some?” she offered.

Dean spat it back into the mug while she laughed.

He’s tried it a few times since then. Usually when he misses her the most, but quite frankly, it’s still just as disgusting to him now as it was before his life went up in flames. It’s a constant, though, which he can at least appreciate.

A new constant is catching Cas sipping tea out of one of those novelty mugs he started collecting when he fell for the last time. Dean has no idea what he sees in it, but every day without fail, Cas wanders around the bunker with a mug of tea.

The domesticity of it is jarring at times. It makes Cas seem more human when he’s grimacing at the taste after he’s left it steeping too long, or when he blindly closes a hand around his mug while he pours over something or other in the library. It makes it so much easier to imagine little things he doesn’t get, like dropping a kiss on Cas’ cheek as he gives him a mug, or curling up against him while they watch a movie. Dean doesn’t like tea, but he loves Cas with it.

It’s a beautiful, beautiful torture. He inflicts it on a daily basis.

Today, Cas’ mug says spill the tea. Dean shouldn’t find that as endearing as he does, but when it comes to Cas, he’s a goner. He tamps down the smile that comes with Cas’ beadhead, electric blue eyes blinking back sleep, and fingers curled around a mug.

“‘Morning,” Dean says.

Cas’ eyes flick up to him. “Good morning, Dean.”

Dean takes his usual spot by the counter, futzing with the coffee machine. It takes a minute for it to get going, and then he moves to rummage through a cabinet, pulling out one of the mugs that has made itself at home in the bunker (one of Cas’, this one says don’t be a prick with a picture of a cactus). They sit in comfortable silence backed by the quiet hum of the coffee machine.

Soon enough, there’s a shrill beep, and Dean is pouring himself a mug. He sits down across from Cas.

Cas takes a sip of his tea and Dean watches him swallow. Goddammit. It’s too early in the morning for his feelings and shit.

Halfway through his cup of coffee, Cas speaks.

“That’s disgusting,” he says, squinting at Dean’s mug. “How do you even drink it?”

“This?” Dean raises his coffee and Cas nods. “Buddy, you don’t get to talk, you’re drinking hot leaf juice.”

Cas frowns at him. “You’re drinking hot bean juice,” he argues.

“At least it’s not gross hot leaf juice,” Dean says.

Cas raises his eyebrows over his mug as he takes a drink. “Tea isn’t ‘gross,’” he says, using his free hand to make air quotes.

Dean scoffs. “Hell yeah, it is.”

“Dean,” Cas says.

“I’ve got thirty years of experience that say so,” Dean says, “You’re not changing my mind.”

Cas looks at him. Really looks at him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and, for the love of god, Dean, stop looking at his lips!

Dean jerks his eyes back up to Cas’, but it’s too late.

Cas leans fluidly across the table and then Dean’s brain goes offline.

He tastes like earth and honey, crowding into Dean’s space. Hands come up to cup his face and the back of his neck. It’s a moment before Dean gets with the program and presses back. The flavor intensifies, and he’s suddenly drunk on it. He wants more, and holy fucking shit, Cas is kissing him, and—

Cas pulls back, slightly out of breath, lips pink, pupils blown and looking far more awake than he was a few moments ago. He manages to sound almost unaffected when he asks, “Did that change your mind?”

Dean can’t answer. He can still feel the phantom texture of Cas’ lips against his, and seeing Cas like this is doing things to him. How the fuck is he supposed to talk about tea when he can’t even think coherently?

“You kissed me,” he manages. “Cas, you—“

“Yes,” Cas agrees. “Did it change your mind?”

Dean gapes at him. He’s been wanting to do that for so long, and Cas just kissed him, out of nowhere, over an argument about tea. A lot of strange things have happened to Dean, but the domesticity of this particular moment might make it one of the strangest.

Cas takes pity on him after a minute or so of Dean failing to string together a sentence.

“Do you need to try it again?” There’s something light and hopeful in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Uh, yeah. I don’t think I got enough of a taste to decide. Maybe a few more times?” Maybe a lot more times?

Cas smiles. “Of course, Dean,” he says.

Dean’s words may not be working like they should right now, but leaning back in is easy. Right.

Dean doesn’t like tea, but this? His lips against Cas’, he thinks he could get used to this.

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[5typesoftrash]

Here’s 15x20 fix-it number one courtesy of 10:30pm brain overloading on Destiel feels. Dedicated to the lovely humans in my Discord server.

Dean drives for about fifteen minutes before he finds the right place to do this. He needed a moment to think about what he was going to say – who are you kidding, he thinks to himself, you haven’t stopped thinking about it for 9 days – before he threw his car into park on that bridge and leaned out over the overlook.

He takes a deep breath.

“Hey, Cas,” he mumbles to himself. “I, uh…” He sighs, glancing down at his hands which are fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. “I don’t know if you can hear me. I really hope so. I need – I need to talk to you, man, and I can’t do it like this. So if you gotcher ears on… c’mon, man, I need you.”

His voice breaks at the end, his eyes screwed tightly shut. He’s going to fuck this up, he knows it—

“Hello, Dean.”

All of the tension and anxiety seeps from his muscles at once, replaced with nothing but a thrill of excitement buzzing in his ribcage. That voice he never thought he’d hear again…

He spins around and there it is, there he is. Dean’s angel. Dean’s beautiful, beautiful angel and his marvelous blue eyes that are crinkling with crow’s feet at the corners because Cas is grinning at him, a huge, white-teeth grin, and Dean can’t stop himself from grabbing Cas and pulling him into a hug.

Tears dot Cas’s trench coat, turning it from cream to brown as Dean squeezes him. “I missed you,” he chokes out. “You, uh. You didn’t even let me say goodbye.”

Cas pulls back and looks at him in concern. “I am sorry, Dean. I was afraid… I was araid of keeping you too close to me, physically. I didn’t want to Empty to take you as well. The world still needed you.

“The world needed you, too,” Dean croaks, but what he really means is I did.

Cas shakes his head sadly. “No,” he murmurs. “I had fulfilled my role.”

Dean grabs him roughly by the shoulders. “Don’t say that,” he snaps. “Don’t you fucking dare, not after what we’ve gone through, what we’ve done together. Cas, I am honored to have been your best friend all these years. I just—”

He takes another deep, slow breath.

“You changed me too,” he finally says. “I was still bitter and angry and cold and stubborn and yeah sure, I’m kinda like that even now but you showed me that it was okay to be bitter and angry and cold and stubborn. And at the same time you showed me ways that I could use it, ways that I could learn from it and grow from it and I got better. I kept getting better cause I kept wanting to. I—”

His words die on his tongue. He said them to Sam earlier; why can’t he say them to Cas.

He knows why. It’s because Sam had known, Sam’s always known. Cas… Cas died not knowing that he was loved. He died not knowing that he was wanted or needed or that he had a place in Sam and Dean’s little family. With Cas, it’s a much, much bigger deal.

He inhales Heaven air, somehow crisper and softer than Earth air, and nods. When he continues, his voice is quieter, but packed with something indescribable that makes the words cut so much deeper.

“I wanted you to love me so bad,” he declares softly. “I knew I didn’t deserve it, I didn’t deserve you, but I wanted you to. I wanted to think that maybe I could be worthy of that sort of divine, unending love, but I didn’t want it from anyone else. I wanted it from you. You—you were my best friend. You still are, goddammit Cas, you always will be. I— I’m—”

He cuts off, a choked sob dropping from his lips and landing heavy on the cobbled pavement below their feet. His head falls with it, heavy from the disappointment of knowing he can’t say it even when it matters, even when it’s the most important thing ever.

“Dean,” Cas says quietly. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” Dean says and his voice is sharp, slicing through the air between them. “No, Cas, I—” He looks up, stares directly into Cas’s eyes, and the words slip through his lips almost unbidden. In that moment, it’s the easiest and most natural thing in the world.

“I’m in love with you. I love you too, Cas, I love you so much.”

Cas stares back at him in awe, the sort of righteous and flawless wonder that Dean has always seen in him and has always felt himself far too lacking to be worthy of. But here it is, directed at him and him alone. He smiles back timidly.

And then one of Cas’s hands slides up Dean’s arm from his elbow to his shoulder, and cups his cheek. “I love you too, Dean Winchester,” he murmurs, that wonder mingling with the same heartwrenching tenderness Dean had found ringing from every corner of his being the last time he said it.

Dean surges forward, not caring about time or limits or Heaven and Hell anymore, and grips the lapels of Cas’s coat as their lips crash together in a raging cacophony. The first kiss is all fire, hot skin meeting hot skin as they express things too long left unsaid. Cas’s stubble rubs against Dean’s chin and he finds he likes it. He pulls back and goes right back in again.

The tidal wave brims over, a decade of love and affection and other as-yet-unnamed feelings spilling out all at once, and they hold each other there in the cool fall air for a long time, kissing and laughing and feeling far too giddy for any of this to be real.

And hours later, long after they’ve separated, they stand together and look.

And then Dean turns, smiling.

“Hiya, Sammy.”

[writethelifeyouwant]

Lost

Summary: When Dean finally finds Castiel in Purgatory, their reunion is all consuming.

Pairing: Dean x Castiel Rating: 18+ Warnings: Non Con/Withdrawn Consent, Major Character Death Tags: Destiel, hint of Denny, Lovers to Enemies, Erotic Cannibalism kinda… IDEK ok Word Count: 1,102 Created for: @spnkinkbingo - Leviathan!Cas | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Lovers to Enemies Fic | @spndeanbingo - Rough Sex

The sight of the angel by the stream is euphoric. Thrilling, incandescent. Dean doesn’t know when he turned into such a fucking pussy but seeing Castiel again feels like being whole. Cas has been an extension of him since he put that goddamn brand on his shoulder four years ago. And even though the scar isn’t there any longer, Cas had marked Dean in other ways. Deep, invisible ways Dean never intended to admit to, but recognises in himself now, with Cas standing stoically and bedraggled by the water’s edge.

“Cas!” Dean laughs as he pulls him into a hug, one the angel doesn’t return. “Damn, it’s good to see you.” He makes himself let go and pulls back to look at Cas more closely. “Nice peach fuzz,” he pokes at Cas’s unkempt beard, raising his hand as if to run his fingers across it, but then remembers Benny and lets his hand drop. There was a lot that had gotten complicated since they’d been separated in this hellhole.

“Thank you,” Cas responds in his grumbly timbre, and Dean can’t help the smile that comes to his face at finally hearing his voice again after so long. And to hear him speaking sanely again, back to his old grumpy, wooden self. Dean’s missed this Cas. Now they can finally get out of this god forsaken cesspit of crazy and creepy.

Except Cas doesn’t want to go.

“Cas, buddy, I need you,” Dean admits with a breathless laugh, the closest he’s ever come to saying what he really wants to say. Cas’s expression drops, forlorn in his convictions.

“Dean,” Cas shakes his head, but Dean doesn’t let him finish.

“And if Leviathan wanna take a shot at our ass, let ‘em. We ganked those bitches once before, we can do it again.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Cas protests.

“Let me bottom line it for ya. I’m not leaving here without you, understand?” Dean isn’t taking no for an answer goddammit, not after how long it took to find him, not after everything else. Cas pauses, takes a deep breath, considering.

“I understand,” he nods gravely, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief, pulling him in for another hug. He hears Benny scoff behind them but decides he doesn’t care enough to break away. Cas tucks his head against Dean’s shoulder, his new beard scraping roughly against his neck. Dean shivers in his grip, but reprimands himself. Now isn’t the time.

As if Castiel had read his mind, and it isn’t the first time Dean’s wondered if Cas can do that, Cas pulls out of the hug and kisses him. He grunts in surprise against the angel’s lips, greeted with an onslaught of tongue and fervour reminiscent of what Dean could recall of Cas kissing Meg against the wall of that grimy warehouse. Dean remembers feeling incredibly conflicted about that, simultaneously jealous and turned on. Experiencing it put him on a whole new plane. For an angel who was still a fucking virgin so far as Dean was aware, the guy knew what he was doing in the tongue department. He could hear Benny trying to talk to them but his mind was far too distracted to discern any of the words.

Suddenly Cas pulls back and Dean is left staggering, staring blindly at the angel, who is panting hard and staring back at him.

“You two done yet?” Benny grunts, arms crossed over his chest, clearly unimpressed, and if Dean’s reading it right, just a touch jealous. He’s flattered, really, that he’s so desirable. Dean grins sheepishly at the vampire, with a shrug of his shoulders as if to say ‘well, can you blame us?’, and Benny rolls his eyes back.

“No,” Cas grunts, and both Dean and Benny turn to him. It takes Dean a moment to realise that Cas was answering Benny’s question. “No we’re not done yet.”

The breath is knocked clean out of him as Cas pulls Dean down to his knees and shoves him roughly back onto the bank of the stream, climbing over him and kissing him again, fierce as ever.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean hears Benny groan somewhere behind them. “Come find me when y’er done.”

Dean tries to grunt out an agreement but it turns into a moan as Cas’s fingers fumble down his chest and land on his jeans. Cas isn’t careful with the clothing, and Dean’s not inclined to care about that right now, though he may regret it later. He reaches down to get Cas stripped out of his garments too. The trench coat comes in handy as a blanket to lay down so he doesn’t get mud up his ass.

It’s rough; messy. Just like everything else in Purgatory. Dean is wide open, vulnerable as he’ll ever be, but even in a place like this, he still feels safe. This feels right.

The pain of Cas pushing in is dulled by the pleasure of the angel’s hand on his cock, pumping him roughly in his spit-soaked palm. Dean’s eyes squeeze shut against the onslaught of sensations, too overwhelming, and he lets himself go, losing himself to just another primal urge that seems to be all he can cling to in this place.

“Fuck, this was worth it,” Cas grunts above him, and Dean groans in agreement. This was absolutely worth the wait; Cas filling him up, finally being inside of him, not just near, not just touching, not just scarring, but actually inside. Part of him.

“God, Dean,” Cas groans, thrusting harder, hand dropping from Dean’s cock as he chases his own pleasure, arms dropping to either side of Dean’s head as he falls forward. He fucks into him without mercy, Dean’s hips banging into the ground with every push, and even though Cas isn’t jerking him off anymore, this new angle is getting something inside him that’s pushing him over the edge.

“Shit, Cas!” Dean moans, punching his hips back, trying to force the angel back inside him. “Fuck, gonna cum.”

“Almost,” Cas hisses through gritted teeth, breath hot and sharp against Dean’s ear. Then in a blinding rush of heat and pain, everything is over.

Cas straightens up, pulling out of Dean’s body with a relieved sigh. He cracks his neck, shrugging away the tension and ache in his muscles. He’ll be refreshed soon enough. Dropping the obsidian blade back to the ground he stretches his mouth wide and roars as his teeth sink into his prey, devouring from the head down.

Other Leviathan frowned on it, but he always thought it was more fun to play with your food first.

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