He shouts it across the clearing, a lopsided grin across his face. The shot was perfect, and he knows it- he always thinks your shots are perfect. He likes knowing you have his back, that he can trust you when things get tough. He wants you to know how much he appreciates that.
"Good girl."
His voice is quiet, pressed against the shell of your ear, fingers curling into you as another desperate gasp falls from your lips. "Doin' so good for me- that's it sweetheart, just a little bit more."
"Can't- De- too much-" you whine. You're still giddy with the last orgasm, body overstimulated, head swimming.
"You can- just keep going-"
"Stop moving- let me take care of you."
He says it firm, a short breath pushed out his nose. He's trying to sound patient, but with your blood still seeping out of the cut in your leg, he knows he needs to get you bandaged up quick.
You'd do the same to him, frustrated as you both try to sort through each others injuries. But that frustration never lasts. It always ends with him kissing your forehead, an affirmation that he's not actually angry- and that you're okay.
"Stop moving, baby, I'm takin' care of you."
It's not like you have a choice- wrists bound to the headboard, stretching your arms above your head as you lay against the mattress. Your hips are still lifting off the bed, thighs twitching as Dean dives his head back between them.
His tongue presses against your clit again- you tug at your restraints, another loud moan pushed out of you. You feel him grin, looking back up, "Thought I told y' to stay still."
"You want me to teach you?"
He raises an eyebrow, a genuine question. He likes being able to show you things, likes being useful. It's difficult with you- when you already know so much, when you have hunters instincts and skills he sometimes feels envious of. He secretly relishes those small moments where he can actually teach you something new.
You nod, looking down at the gun in his hand, the object of question in the first place- "Yeah- yeah show me how you did that-"
"You need me to teach you a lesson?"
You've been teasing him all day- the makeout in the police station that left his cock swollen in his pants, the way you flirted with the witness while keeping your glances on Dean the whole time, your outrageously short skirt. You knew he was gonna get you back for it- but maybe that's part of the fun.
He's got you pulled over his lap, that same skirt bunched up to your hips, his handprint already etched red against your skin.
"This what you've been asking for all fuckin' day?"
"Dean-" you whine, cheek pressed against the sheets.
"Asked you a question, sweetheart- you better start answering-"
"You just need to relax."
He's got the bath running, your candles are lit in the corner. Your body's still aching from the hunt, your mind more exhausted than you realized. He helps you pull your T-shirt off over your head, you manage to get your own pants down.
"You want some ice-cream? I've got some in the freezer- get in the bath and I'll grab you a bowl."
"Relax, darling."
His body envelops you, touching every part- lips on your neck, one hand on your chest, the other wrapped around your hip. He's going slow- torturously slow. He knows it's making you frustrated, whiny and bratty as you try to lift your hips for friction.
But he likes you like this- that's why he's gonna keep you on the edge, smiling against your body like he's just trying to be sweet. "You gotta take it easy, sweetheart, let me take my time."
"Jesus- that tastes good."
Dean doesn't trust Internet reviews- why should he believe strangers online, who gives a shit about their opinions?
Which is why you've started working strategically. You've got a list of the top burger spots in each state- you leave little hints during cases, "maybe we should head north after this, see if there's any more leads?", "let's come off the highway, I wanna go the scenic route.", "hey I'm getting hungry, why don't we stop here?".
This time it's paid off, Dean thinks he's found a hidden gem- the grease from the bacon coats his lips, fries scattered across the plate. He grins at you, still chewing the bite- "How'd you always find such good places?"
"Jesus- you taste good."
He looks up at you from between your thighs, eyes glosses with admiration, trying to hold himself back from rutting against the mattress like a fuckin' dog in heat.
He always gets like this when he goes down on you- you've actually had to stop him during cases coz you know it makes him so dumb he'll be useless for the next 3 hours. His tongue circles your clit again, fingers pushed into you to the hilt. He's gonna make you cum at least 4 more times before he even thinks about getting his cock inside you.
"So good- fuck sweetheart- fuck-"
///
A/N: me? Hopping on a trend while it's actually still a trend? Whaaaat
i'm writing this thinking 'cas is the lighthouse. he comes into dean's life and brightens it' NO. WRONG. dean is the lighthouse in this story, keeping his vigil in the dead of night to guide boats to shore, burning brighter than anyone, expending himself as the cost to keep others safe. cas is the KEEPER, who comes into dean's life and sees dean at the end of his rope, his light dimming, and tends to him, keeps his light bright, comforts and keeps him in tact. and cas is drawn to dean because without him, cas's world is dark, his path is dim, and he can't see the shore. but dean shines brighter than anyone and shows him the way - and in return, cas keeps dean's light burning bright.
✧･ﾟ:dean needs to be close to you. You’re the warmest, most stable and sweet thing in his life. The ground you walk on turns to gold and the kisses are sweeter than pie. He’d burn the world just for you to smile at him, because the light in your eyes would be brighter than the flames. There’s nothing he won’t do. Nothing he won’t try to give.
✧･ﾟ:it makes it hard for him to take, sometimes. You want him to. With everything he does—how hard he works for you and Sam and the world—there isn’t a person in the world who deserves to have things more. You kiss all over his face and test his willpower, trying to get him to snap.
✧･ﾟ:you crawl into his lap and grinding down until he groans and snap. You giggle as he grabs your jaw and kisses you like a starved man. You shriek in delight when he flips you over, ripping at your clothing almost like a feral animal. You coax him on with soft moans and fluttering, glossy eyes.
✧･ﾟ:he drops his brow against yours, exhaling sharply as he pushes himself inside your gaping, aching cunt. You push your head back against the pillow with a long moan, and he sucks on your throat. He needs to mark you. Show the world what’s his, what he does to his pretty girl.
✧･ﾟ:usually he drawls praise and moans your name, but tonight he’s desperate. His mouth is already slack, his eyes blown out and wrecked. He holds you tight to his chest like a doll, consuming your whole body with broad shoulders and low grunts in your ear.
✧･ﾟ:you’re almost overwhelmed with pleasure. Between the weight of him and split of his thick cock in your pussy, your vision is going blurry. But you can still see him, trying to give more than take. He drives into that gooey spot inside of you and your back arches. Dean cradles you in his arms and pants, brows knit tight and jaw clenched, trying to get closer but refusing to do more than long, deep thrusts of his hips.
✧･ﾟ:with a trembling hand you reach around him and press down on the small of his back. His hips drop down, hitting so deep you can feel him in your throat. He tries to lean up, but you press harder. He frowns at you, almost adorably confused. You smile, and press a soft, deep kiss to his pretty, parted lips.
✧･ﾟ:dean melts. He drops fully down, his face pressing into your chest so he can suck and kiss over your breasts as he moves your hips up. Big hands grope at your ass, letting him hit that impossibly deep angle, over and over and over. His thrusts become shallow and desperate, every gasp from his lips a prayer of your name.
✧･ﾟ:he uses you like a sweet little fuck doll, broken moans falling from his lips as his cock bullies against your g-spot. Your vision glazes, your toes curling and core flooding with heat as you cum. Dean pushes up to kiss every moan out of your mouth, practically a dead weight as he hits his own release.
✧･ﾟ:for a while after, he just leans over you, pressing his hips down to hold his cum in your tight, perfect pussy. You comb your fingers through his hair and kiss his brow, letting him take all the time he needs. He, more than anyone else, deserves it.
✦Dean Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!✦
i was wondering you can do a season 1-5 priest dean. the story follows a girl who just moved into town and her family attends the church and immediately dean takes an interest in her and breaks his vow of celibacy and makes a move on her. heavy on the angst and smut 😩.
⋆｡ ˚ sin incarnated
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ when you move into town and start attending his church, dean tells himself his interest is harmless… until restraint begins to feel less like devotion and more like fear.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ priest!dean winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 1293 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ angsty
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ religious doubt, catholic imagery, celibacy vow conflict, guilt, emotional restraint, suggestive tension
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ this is far too complex for me to fit everything in one tiny drabble, but the angst is there. the main plot is too. and i hope you like it enough 🥺
˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
the first time you meet father winchester, he’s standing outside the church with his sleeves rolled to his elbows.
it catches you off guard. not because priests can’t have forearms, but because nobody warned you that the man welcoming your family into the parish would look less like the stern, grey-haired figure you pictured and more like someone who belongs beside an old car with grease on his hands and a smart remark waiting behind his teeth.
he smiles when your mother introduces you. polite at first. practiced. then, his eyes find yours. only for a second.
still, something changes. “it’s a small town,” he says, mouth curving faintly. “everybody knows everybody. you’ll get used to it.”
“that sounds vaguely threatening.”
his laugh slips out before he can stop it, warm and surprised, and your mother glances between you with the kind of innocent curiosity that makes you want to disappear into thin air.
father winchester clears his throat. “welcome to st. michael’s.”
you see him every sunday after that.
at first, it’s normal. he gives homilies in a low, steady voice and listens with his head tilted when people stop him after mass to complain about teenagers, marriages, weather, money. he remembers names. he helps older women down the church steps when the pavement is slick from rain. once, you catch him outside after a weekday service, trying to repair a broken hinge on the donation box with a multitool and a level of concentration that seems holy.
“should i call someone?” you ask.
he looks up from where he is crouched near the wall. “for the hinge?”
“for you. it looks personal.”
his smile is quick, crooked, more dean than father winchester. “i’ve got it.”
you stay for a while to hand him the tools anyway.
that becomes the problem.
not the tools specifically. the staying. the ease of it. the way conversation settles between you before either of you notices it happening. you stop by the church library one afternoon to return a book and end up sitting across from him for nearly an hour while rain rattles against the stained-glass windows. he asks how you’re adjusting to town, and unlike everyone else, he waits for the real answer. you ask why he became a priest, and the silence that follows is long enough that you nearly apologize.
“thought i could do some good,” he says eventually, eyes dropping to his coffee. “thought maybe that would be enough.”
you shouldn’t understand the ache beneath the words. but you do.
“is it?”
his gaze lifts to yours. “sometimes.”
after that, he starts avoiding you. dean is too careful to make it obvious. he still nods when you enter the church, still shakes your father’s hand, still asks after your mother with the same easy warmth he gives everyone else. but he stops lingering when you’re nearby. he no longer joins you in the library. when you catch him alone near the altar after mass, rearranging candles that don’t need rearranging, his shoulders tighten before you even speak.
it irritates you.
it also hurts more than you want it to.
“did i do something?” you ask one evening, finding him in the sacristy with a stack of old bulletins in his hands.
dean looks up too quickly. “what?”
“you heard me.”
“you didn’t do anything.”
“then why do you keep looking at me like i’m sin incarnated?”
his jaw shifts. he places the bulletins down carefully, buying himself a few seconds with the stupid little task. “you should go home.”
“that isn’t an answer.”
“it’s late.”
“dean.”
the use of his name lands hard. you know it immediately.
his eyes close for half a second, and when they open again, the warmth is gone from his expression, replaced by something tighter. frightened, maybe. of himself.
“you don’t get to call me that here,” he says quietly.
your pulse trips. “why?”
he lets out a breath through his nose. “you know why.”
dean stands a few feet away in black, collar bright against his throat, hands resting flat against the edge of the table as if he doesn’t trust them anywhere else.
you should leave.
he’s a priest. you’re a member of his parish. he’s made vows that existed long before you stepped into this town and smiled at him on the church steps. none of this is simple, and wanting it doesn’t make it right.
still, you don’t move.
“i thought i’d imagined it,” you admit.
his laugh is soft and humorless. “you didn’t.”
“okay.”
“it isn’t good news.”
“i didn’t say it was.”
dean looks at you then. properly. no careful priestly distance, no softened expression meant for parishioners who need reassurance. just a man who has spent weeks trying not to want something and is exhausted from failing.
“you think i haven’t asked myself what in the hell is wrong with me?” he says, voice low. “you think i haven’t stood in that confessionary and doubted if every decent thing i’ve ever tried to do means less because i can’t stop noticing when you walk into a room?”
your throat tightens.
“dean—”
“i took a vow.” his eyes flick briefly toward the door, then back to you. “and you trust me. your family trusts me. that matters.”
“it does.”
“then why are you still standing there?”
you swallow. “because you keep talking about what everybody else wants from you, and i’m trying to figure out what you want.”
his expression breaks slightly around the edges. for one breath, neither of you says anything. then dean steps closer. slowly. carefully. enough time for you to move away if you wanted to, enough time for him to stop if fear won out at the last second. he doesn’t touch you immediately. his hand hovers near your cheek, uncertainty visible in the tense line of his shoulders and the way his mouth parts without any words coming out.
“tell me to stop,” he whispers.
you shake your head.
his palm settles against your face.
the kiss is gentler than you expect. not reckless. not hungry at first. dean touches his mouth to yours as though even this small thing carries more weight than either of you knows how to hold, his thumb shifting softly against your cheek while your fingers curl into the front of his shirt.
then you kiss him back.
something in him gives.
he exhales against your mouth, hand sliding to your waist, drawing you closer with a restraint that feels hotter than carelessness ever could. the edge of the table presses into the back of your thighs. his collar brushes your knuckles when your hand rises toward his neck, and dean makes a rough, quiet sound that seems to startle him as much as it does you.
he pulls away before it becomes anything more. he doesn’t go far. barely even enough. his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven, fingers still warm at your side. “this is a terrible idea,” he murmurs.
you open your eyes. “probably.”
his mouth almost curves. then guilt settles back over his face, familiar and heavy, and the distance returns before he actually steps away.
“i need to think,” he says.
you nod, even though disappointment twists low and sharp inside you. “i know.”
dean lets you go carefully, like the softness of it might undo the fact that he’s letting go at all.
when you leave the church, the rain has stopped. the street shines dark beneath the lamps, quiet and empty, and your lips still feel warm from his mouth.
behind you, the church door never opens. you walk home alone, knowing that tomorrow he will still be father winchester and you will still be the woman he should not want. ever.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
It's Trailer Park Thursday for me this week and looks like good things come to those who wait! This chapter.. my god. Probably my favourite so far. Why am I so addicted to this? Why can't it be tpt every day??? ♥︎♥︎
Summary: Dean wants you. You're all he's ever wanted. But it's messy falling for a hunter. Even messier falling for your best friend - which is why he's pretending he hasn't. He's going to be happy with drunken mistakes instead.
NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW
a/n: this was gonna be a series and then I wrote 2½ chapters and gave up. So for now this is just a one-shot :)
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ☽ ˚｡⋆
It was just a drunken kiss- a stupid mistake neither of you were supposed to remember.
Dean's been telling himself that for months- just a kiss, a mistake.
But it wasn't just a kiss. It's never just a kiss.
It's every time you get drunk, it's making out in the backseat of the Impala, it's drunken words in shared motel beds.
Those precious nights, when the whiskey tastes too good and the air's just a little too cold. And you stumble back together, hands and teeth and lips and tongues.
But it never goes further than that. Not ever. One of you always stops it, usually you- pulling back and slumping against the mattress like it's not supposed to tear Dean apart the way he wants to keep going so bad. But he'll laugh, he'll grin and joke and pretend he's drunker than he is. And in the morning neither of you will mention it- why would you mention a thing like that? It's just a kiss.
He's staring at you across the small booth, lost in the way your eyes look in the dim light of the bar. He thinks you look beautiful, but he won't tell you that. It's not the sort of thing he says to you.
"-and then he actually went and knocked the whole top off!" You laugh, telling the end of a story Dean wasn't listening to.
Sam laughs next to him, clearly he was listening, "No way! How did the cop not see him?"
"Guess he had that magic touch!"
Both of you break into another fit of laughs. Dean feels guilty for not paying attention- he likes your stories. He picks at the label on his empty beer bottle, willing himself to pay attention to the words instead of the way your lips are moving.
You stand, grabbing the bottle out of his hand as you flash him a smile, "My round."
Dean doesn't watch you walk away. He's trying not to be obvious.
All the same, Sam knocks his knee under the table- a silent question.
Dean looks at him, "What?"
"You good?"
"Yeah- yeah course I am."
"You keep zoning out."
"I'm fine, just a weird hunt-" Twelve hours ago you were bleeding out in Dean's arms while Sam tried to fight off two ghouls, your blood soaking through his jeans as he kept you awake, "-nothing another beer won't fix."
"You and her-" Sam starts, not sure how he's going to finish.
Dean doesn't let him try, "I'm worried she's gonna rip those stitches if she keeps moving around."
"They're small, they'll stay." Sam assures him, then adds "That it?"
"That's it." Dean isn't willing to give in to the inevitable conversation.
"Just- you're getting real close recently-"
He practically rolls his eyes, "She's my best friend."
Sam feigns mock anger.
"You're my brother- I didn't get to pick you."
"But you picked her?" Sam raises an eyebrow.
"She's a friend. That's it. Drop it." Dean's tone doesn't allow room for question.
"You sure? Coz you're not looking at her like a friend." Sam questions anyway.
"I'm looking at her like a hunter. A hunter who's gonna tear her stitches." He lets out a sharp breath through his nose.
"All I'm saying is- if this is gonna get... messy-"
"It's not gonna get-"
"If it's gonna get messy, you need to give me a heads up. She's my friend too."
You cut them off as you walk back over, carelessly setting down three more beers on the table. You look at Sam, "Go get her, tiger!"
"What?" Sam laughs.
"The girl by the bar, talked you up to her- only thing is she thinks your name is Roosevelt."
"Roosevelt?"
"Same as her dog- it's like a fate thing."
Sam raises an eyebrow.
You laugh, "Just go with it! She's cute!"
Sam doesn't need convincing, he grabs his beer and slides out of the booth, giving Dean one more glance before he moves away.
You take your seat back opposite Dean, still grinning, "Now we've just gotta find a girl for you!"
Dean doesn't say what he wants to say. Instead, "I'm too fuckin' exhausted for that."
You laugh, "The Great Dean Winchester is too tired to get laid? Never thought I'd see the day!"
"Give me one decent night sleep and I'll be back to normal, I promise." he jokes.
"You're always coming up with excuses- what was it last time? Nowhere to buy a condom?"
"Hey- that's not an excuse, I take that shit seriously-"
"I don't remember the last time you even thought about taking a girl back. How long's it been, huh?"
Dean doesn't want you doing the math on how long he's gone without sex- the math on how desperate he's pretending not to be- "Speak for yourself- god knows how long it's been since you've been laid!"
Two months. Dean remembers the hickey that stayed on your neck for a week. The feeling he had seeing you walking around with a reminder of someone else on your skin. How sick he felt until it faded.
You blush slightly at his words, but take another sip of beer, "Find me a guy who's actually worth going home with and I'll find you my plans for the night."
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ☽ ˚｡⋆
When Sam strikes out three drinks later, Dean's thankful. He doesn't mean to be, but he's been watching you fidget with the glass bottle with a desperate hope you have the same feeling he has. That feeling that mistakes are ready to be made.
By the time you stagger back to the motel, Sam's drunker than the two of you put together. The walk should only take five minutes, but with him slumped over your shoulders it takes fifteen. He's already half asleep when Dean gets the door open for him, helping him past the threshold so he can collapse against the bed.
Then he looks back at you. You're still stood in the doorway, just watching him. He doesn't know if its an invitation- if you know what he wants- or if you're just being cautious. He never knows with you, he can't work you out. You're just a friend, a friend he never stops thinking about, a friend he pictures spending the rest of his life with, a friend he needs more than he's ever needed anything.
He raises an eyebrow, "I'll walk you back?"
You nod, a small smile spread across your face.
Dean trails you to your room. Sam wouldn't say anything even if he was sober, this isn't an unusual sight. Dean always complains about the way Sam snores, about how sleeping with you is just easier.
He watches the back of your head, the way your hair falls as you step into your room, throwing your things down onto the tiny wooden table. He steps up behind you slowly, you don't move, just relax your shoulders slightly as you feel his presence behind you.
"I missed you." Dean speaks quietly, like he's afraid he's gonna say something stupid.
"I've been here all night." You laugh, still not turning around.
"I missed you."
You finally turn, looking back up at him, your eyes still sparkling like they did at the bar.
He brushes his hand across your cheek, moving a hair out of your face as he stares down at you, "You have a good night?"
You smile, "Course I did, it's always fun watching Sam get drunk."
He feels his heart pounding in his chest as he looks at you, that tingling in his fingertips that tells him he's drunker than he feels. That's what he'll pin this on- the alcohol- like he always does. He's been good at lying to himself recently, good at pretending he doesn't feel anything more. Today was a fluke, a weird moment where he couldn't stop staring- but he'll be back to himself by tomorrow. Back to being able to ignore that ache in his gut only you can resolve.
He won't admit he wants more than this, not to you, not to himself. That he wants more than stupid drunken kisses and hesitant mistakes. But if that's what you want, that's what he'll give you. That's what he'll give you every damn time.
His hand moves down as he runs his knuckle across your jaw, thumb finding your bottom lip, sweeping across it as he allows himself one moment of truth, "You look beautiful. I always think you look beautiful."
You reach down the hem off your shirt, pulling it up off your body without another word. Dean wets his lips as he takes a small step back, letting his eyes gloss over you. He's seen you like this hundreds of times- only a few hours ago he saw the same thing when he stitched up your abdomen, but he doesn't look there now. He's too distracted by your chest, the way your bra hugs your tits, rising and falling as you take in a short breath.
He leans down slowly, until his lips are almost touching yours, his eyes still trained on you. He could stop here, he could make this easy for himself, he could let the night pass without the taste of you waking him in the morning.
But then you push yourself up, closing the gap, until your lips press softly together. Dean's heart stutters when he feels the way you relax into the kiss, like maybe you've been waiting to do this just as long as he has.
His hand finds your waist without him meaning to, fingers wrapping around your body to pull you closer. His other hand reaches up, moving to the crook of your neck, running his thumb along your jaw. He feels your own hand find his nape, your fingers threading through his hair. You smile against him, unmistakable.
He pushes you back slowly, carefully, until the back of your legs hit the bed. This is moving quicker than it should, messier than it should, but Dean needs this. There's a chance that this will be the night you'll let it go further, that you'll let him give you everything he can. He's not willing to waste a second.
You collapse against the bed, Dean doing his best to lower you slowly against the mattress, though you both fall with a clumsiness he'll pretend doesn't make his heart tight. He likes being clumsy with you, it feels safe, like you won't judge him for any mistakes he makes.
He pulls at his own T-shirt, dragging it over his head and throwing it to one side in a move designed to get his chest closer to yours. He can feel the heat from your skin instantly as he presses himself against you, his hands finding their places back on your body. He holds the kiss, his tongue darting out to drag along your lips, his fingers curling against your skin.
He moves, planting light kisses along your jaw, the hand on your waist trailing up your body until he's running his thumb along the bottom of your bra. He nips at your earlobe, making your lean into him, your back arching as your breasts push against his chest.
He speaks without deliberateness, "I've been thinking about you all day- everything I wanna do to you-"
He never normally talks, something about keeping it silent makes it feel like you could be anyone- but you're not anyone. Dean wants you to know it's him, and the way you react to his words- the way you lean into him, a small gasp escaping your lips- clearly you do too.
He fumbles out something else, just to feel you move again, "I wanna touch every part of you-"
You reward him by kissing across his temple, your own hands running down his back, pulling him into you, heated.
"I want to see what you look like without this bra- wanna see these gorgeous tits-" He starts to regret it as soon as he says it, like it's something too primitive, but you keep kissing him, your nails dig into his skin, and he realizes maybe that's what you want too. Maybe he can't have everything- the affection and tenderness- but maybe, at least, he can have this.
He pushes it further, testing how far you'll let him go as he spills his secrets in a whisper, "I want to make you come on my fingers, want to know what it sounds like when you're moaning my name-"
This has never been part of the deal, anything more than soft kisses and groping hands. But Dean means it, he's thought about it constantly- every night since the first time you made out in messy drunken heap on an old motel bed. He's thought about all of it, how he'd touch you, how you'd react. He's touched himself with the images flashing through his mind, felt guilty after when he remembers who you are.
But you're responding. You're here, right now, and you're actually responding. Not with words, but with your body, the way you start grinding up against him, the way you pull him in close, the way a small gasp escapes your lips.
"I wanna fuck you with my tongue."
God he means it. That's all he wants, all he's wanted for months.
He feels you pull back slightly, slumping back against the mattress as you angle your body to push him away from yours. He swallows hard, heart pounding, that drunken feeling filling his body again. He doesn't want this to stop. It can't.
It doesn't. He realizes you're reaching for the top of your pants, kicking them off your legs before Dean even knows what's happening. He doesn't question it, just follows suit, fumbling at his belt so he can throw his own jeans off next to yours.
Your knees collide, the biting pain making Dean feel real- tangible- every sensation suddenly amplified. The way the pads of his fingers feel against your skin, your breath against his body. He knows he's drunk, that's why he feels like this, but he doesn't regret a thing.
Especially not when you let out a small laugh, pulling your knee back as your face twists into a mixture of pain and amusement, "Goddamn-"
You've spoken, breaking the seal that Dean didn't even realize was there. It makes him realize how desperate he is to hear more, how much he needs your voice.
He moves back against your body, tangling his bare legs into yours, pushing a knee up between your thighs. You react instantly, letting out a small gasp, pulling him closer, your lips landing on his shoulder in messy confusion.
He speaks quietly, grinding his knee against you, "I want to make you come so many times you don't even remember your name, I want you sobbing into the sheets-"
You moan against him, "Dean-"
Jesus he thinks he's gone to heaven in that moment, just hearing you say his name sends his brain fuzzy. He grips your waist tighter, fingers curling against your skin with a hunger he can't explain.
You bite down on his shoulder- Dean can't tell if you're trying to push him over the edge or if you're just trying to keep yourself quiet. Either way, the soft sting makes his cock jump, his jaw tightening as he lets out a sharp grunt.
He knows he should keep it down, that tonight shouldn't happen like this, but he doesn't care. Sam won't hear through the thin wall. He's too drunk. Sam won't know and you won't say and this can be your little secret. Your secret that he never wants to end.
He lowers his face until his lips are resting on the shell of your ear, his breath caught, "I wanna fuck you raw- want you to feel me come inside you-"
This is it. He can feel it. Your hands are grabbing at him, lips against his collarbone, hips grinding up. This is everything he's been so desperate for- fuck this is actually happening.
He moves down fast, lips against you- your jaw, your neck, your tits. He drags his tongue down, the feeling running down his whole spine as he realizes how good you feel, your chest right there, your eyes on him. He looks up as he moves lower, keeping his gaze trained on your face, the way you bite your lip absentmindedly.
He settles between your thighs, then look back down at your underwear. He holds his breath as he takes you in, this sight he's been so desperate to see. He reaches up towards your waistband, running the tips of his fingers along it.
You lift your hips off the mattress, a soft desperation spilling from your lips.
He can't believe the way you're looking at him, like he's something so special, so beautiful. No- no he really can't believe it. That's not how you look at him- that's not how friends look at each other. He's pushed this too far, too quickly- what if this is something you'll regret? A mistake that festers and eats.
He glances up towards the gauze on your abdomen, the one he put there only hours before. There's a tiny patch of blood starting to seep through, bright red and striking against the white of the bandage. The exact thing Dean's been worried about all night, sitting in front of him like a slap in the face.
He can't stop himself, he looks back up at you, propping himself up slightly, "Your stitches-"
"I'm fine-" you laugh, lifting your hips towards him again.
You're not. He knows you're not. He pictures you bleeding out in his arms, how warm your body was against his legs, how your blood soaked under his nails.
He was distracted. That's why you got hurt today- because he was distracted, he wasn't thinking, he was an idiot. He's always distracted by you.
And this is only going to make it worse- knowing what you look like with your underwear off. How's he supposed to focus when he knows a thing like that? When he knows what you feel like? What you taste like?
He pulls back, staring up at you, "Sweetheart-"
You swallow, it's like you know what he's going to say. You fall silent, letting him finish.
He doesn't want to. He wants you to stop him. But you don't, "-we're too drunk for this."
You nod, a small smile, "Aren't we just drunk enough?"
Don't make this harder, he wants to say, please don't make this harder. "We can't."
You nod again, and Dean wonders if the look on your face is regret over his words or regret this ever happened. He keeps one finger tracing your waistband for just a moment more, and then pulls back completely, staring down at your body like he's trying to sear it into his mind.
For a moment you just gaze at him, and then you shift on the bed, moving to one side to make space for him to lay next to you.
He looks at the blank space, willing himself to move into it. He wants to feel you next to him, wants to feel the warmth from your body as he falls asleep. These days it's the only thing that can make him settle, the feeling of you right there. And you're looking at him like that's what you want too.
But he knows he can't. Not after everything he said. Not after everything he's done. He needs to forget tonight, forget all of his feelings for you. He needs to get as far away from you as possible. At least right now, while his mind's still swimming and his cock's still throbbing and his fingers are still tingling.
He stands, quickly, trying not to look at the way your face seems to fall into confusion and longing. He swallows, looking away from you, "I need to go-"
"You don't have to."
He looks back, then regrets it, he can't see you right now, not if he wants to lie to himself, "I- I should check on Sammy-"
"You can stay."
"I'll tell him I was snoring- you kicked me out coz I was being too loud-"
"Dean- I-"
"You-" he sighs, "-You need to sort your stitches out before they get worse-"
Oof I can almost taste the longing, it's dripping all over your words. God I love this and for me it works super well as a one-shot but yeah.. I'm definitely one of the many people hoping for more of them. ♥︎♥︎
Dean's been at it for over an hour, head between your thighs, tongue inside your cunt.
You've cum more times than you can count- they've got it at every angle now, every sound you can imagine, moaning, gasping, begging. It's almost getting ridiculous at this point- you know they won't use all the footage.
But you're also not gonna stop him. You're not sure you've ever felt like this- it's overwhelming in the best way possible, your whole body feels like syrup, you're soaking over him, over the sheets. You'd be sobbing by now if you weren't so painfully aware of the camera only inches from your face.
He pushes his fingers into you again, deep and hard, curling in a way that makes your head spin.
Your hips lift off the mattress, he grabs hold of you quick, pushing you back down hard, "Stay still-"
You know they'll keep that. They'll make sure to keep anything he says. Those are always the parts that get the most replays- hell they're the parts you replay. When you're up late, watching his videos, hand between your thighs.
"-I didn't tell you to fucking move."
You don't know how it still works for you. You know it's not him, he even ran through ideas of lines he was gonna use before you started. He was very sweet about it, almost shy when you were alone- he's anything but shy now.
His grip on you tightens as he moves back to your clit, his tongue working against you rapidly. You're gripping the sheets, trying to keep yourself steady, your whole body convulsing as another orgasm starts to rise quickly.
"Fuck- please-"
He's already told you to beg, a couple times actually. You know he will again. It gets you hot just thinking about it, the stern tone in his voice. You bite your lip hard, trying to stop your hips from rising again. Your gaze falls to the camera, a reminder that you're supposed to be performing, you batter your eyelashes, let out another loud moan.
He pulls back suddenly, his sticky hand wrapping around your thigh, his other hand moving up to wipe his mouth. He looks like a mess, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, chin glistening with your arousal. He glances around to the set, speaking louder, "Sorry guys- I've gotta- I've gotta take a break."
The room picks up in a flash, people moving around, cameras resetting. People come running over with robes, one gets draped over your shoulders, a plastic cup of water pushes into your hands. You take a big swig of it, suddenly realizing how dry your mouth is.
People move around you, you see a few people checking the monitors, gearing up for the next shot. You glance at Dean, he's pulling in a shaky breath, pushing his hair out of his face with his long fingers.
You try to go over everything that just happened- why he wanted to stop. Maybe it's the way your bare heel had dug into his back the last time you came, maybe it's the way you tugged his hair a few minutes ago. Maybe he's just getting sick of being the only one actually doing any work.
He moves closer to you on the mattress, settling close enough that he could reach out if he wanted to. He looks up, gaze falling over you, then turns away fast, back to his own cup.
You speak quickly, nervously, "I'm sorry- did I-"
He cuts you off, leaning his head down slightly so he can speak in a hushed voice, "I'm gonna cum, sweetheart."
It catches you off guard, "What?"
He takes a swig of water, then speaks slowly, "If we keep going, I'm gonna cum."
You're still not sure you've understood him, "What do you-"
"I'm not kidding here, I feel like I'm gonna fuckin' explode- if they catch that on film my whole tough guy act is fucked-"
"We haven't even- I haven't touched you-" you manage to get out.
"I'll never live it down if I blow my load just from tongue fuckin' you- jesus-" he shifts awkwardly, you realize he's trying to hide his boner- it's not easy when his cock is larger than any you've seen before.
"You're gonna cum just from going down on me?"
"You're moaning like you've never had a guy touch you before- it's not exactly helping."
You raise an eyebrow, "I can stop?"
He grins at you, "Don't you dare."
Your heart skips a beat, thighs clench together. Forget any video- this is what you're gonna be thinking about tonight.
He takes another gulp of water, then looks back at you, "Just give me a minute to cool off, and I promise I'll fuck you so hard you can't walk tomorrow-"
☁︎ Paring: Castiel x GN!Reader & Castiel x Dean Winchester (implied Dean Winchester x GN!Reader as a polyshipwith Cas)
☁︎ Summary: You teach Cas about lip balm, and he uses his knew knowledge with Dean.
☁︎ Warnings: fluff, comedy, Cas is perfectly adorable, Dean is like- straight and stuff
☁︎ Word Count: 600
☁︎ A/n: I am desperate for Cas to meet season 1 Dean, hence the head image lol.
꧁ Read my rules and send a request! ꧂
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Cas picked up a small tube from your desk, looking at it strangely.
"I thought you didn't wear makeup"
"I don't" You replied, taking your coat out of the closet, ready to go.
"Isn't this lipstick?" He turned, still holding the little white tube between his fingers.
"No Sweetie, it's lip balm"
"Is that different?"
"Yeah" You carefully took it from his hands, popping the cap off and twisting it far too high up "See the colour, it's kinda see through. Lipstick has pigment in it, kind of like a crayon or paint. This is for when your lips get dry and cracked and stuff, it's healing"
"Oh. Why don't you just come to me?"
"Hm?"
"I am healing, I could fix your lips"
You gave him a soft smile, God he was sweet "'s not that kind of thing Cas. It's normal, it doesn't hurt much, less than a paper cut"
"I don't like when you get those either" His voice was a little quieter, almost pouting.
You took his face in both your hands, guiding his eyes to yours.
"How 'bout this Angel, every day, we have a little check in. You can heal all of my wind burnt lips and paper cuts then, hm?"
"That's, acceptable"
"Good" You laughed "And here" You closed the chapstick up and pulled back his coat and blazer, dropping it in his shirt pocket "For if those pretty lips need a little honey"
You left a peck on his cheek, turning back to head out the door, your initial plan when he zapped into your room "You coming?"
When he came to your room the next day, like he did every day, he held the same yellow wrapped white tube in his hands.
"I need help"
"With what, Angel?"
"How is this applied?"
You smiled, taking his hand and tugging him onto your bed beside you. You took the lip balm, popping the lid and turning it a few times. You grabbed his chin sweetly, pulling him just a little closer. You swiped the stick across his bottom lip, then from one side of the top to the corner, repeating it.
"There" You grinned briefly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, solidifying the balm "Perfect"
"Th-thank you" He stuttered, hand wrapping around yours and the chapstick before disappearing.
He was so cute when he was flustered.
A week passed and Castiel remained as usual, until one fateful "mistake".
He narrowed his eyes at Dean, noticing the slight crack in his lips, walking up to him and removing the chapstick from his pocket.
"Oh, thanks man I-" Dean froze when Cas grabbed his chin, his touch slightly less light than yours "Cas, what're-" Before he could continue, Cas was swiping the honey over Dean's lips, who looked at him like he was making a bomb right then and there.
He pressed a slightly lingering kiss to Dean's lips before stepping back, smiling.
"What the fuck Cas?! You can't just- that's not- dudes don't do that! No one does that"
"I do" You chimed in from your seat, having caught the whole, perfect show.
Dean sputtered for another moment before stopping, brows furrowing "Is that, honey?"
"Yes"
"'s, kinda nice"
"Would you like some more?"
Dean nodded "Sure" Reaching for the tube in Cas' hand before Cas kissed him once again, after all, he was always wearing it, and it was nice to share. You taught him that.
Dean tried to push him away but there was some kind of Angel strength thing stopping him, though he didn't exactly try hard.
You grinned, wide and bright, leaving them to do as they please, leaving a little kiss to Dean's neck, lips brushing his ear.
"You're welcome, but next week he's mine"
Taglist for all of my Supernatural writing - 49 + more in reblogs!
Kiss #19 - One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.
For @jactingjoices 1k followers celebration, prompt: “I told you so”
50 types of kisses collection. Also posted on ao3.
“Did you know strawberries are considered an aphrodisiac?” Cas asked, materializing next to Dean at the kitchen counter.
Dean swore under his breath, the box of opened strawberries clattering against the steel counter as the fruits rolled out in every direction. “Goddammit Cas. Where the hell did you come from?” Dean said, turning around sharply to face Cas.
Dean could’ve sworn he was alone in the kitchen just five seconds ago. How had Cas managed to sneak up on him like that?
“Sam said you were in here cooking. I thought I’d offer my assistance.”
“By sneaking up on me? Yeah, that’s helpful,” Dean muttered, head spinning as Cas’ mention of the ulterior motive of the fruit he’d been about to use bounced around in his head.
“What are you using the strawberries for?” Cas asked, hand reaching out to pick up the fruit that had rolled all the way to the other end of the counter. And dammit all to Hell, now Dean was extremely aware of Cas’ hands; the way those long fingers wrapped around each individual strawberry, collecting them in his open palm one by one before turning back to Dean with his hand outstretched.
Oh, how Dean wanted to knock the strawberries right out of Cas’ hand and bring those fingers up to his lips and-
Shit.
Maybe strawberries really were an aphrodisiac.
“Dean?”
“Hmm?” Dean startled, almost dropping the box of fruit for a second time. “Oh I- um, strawberry shortcake. Jack wanted to try one this morning but when I suggested getting one from the store he gave me that sad puppy-dog expression that I think he learned from Sam. So now I gotta try to bake one.”
Cas nodded, stepping away from the kitchen counter to start shucking off his trenchcoat. Dean dropped the box of strawberries onto the floor.
“What are you doing?” Dean asked, and oh God, Cas without his trenchcoat was almost sinful. Did the angel know that seeing him without the trenchcoat was almost like seeing Cas naked? Striped bare with his forearms exposed as he rolled up his sleeves.
Screw the strawberries. Dean was pretty sure his knees were about to give out and he was going to end up on the floor, too.
“Helping you make this cake. Isn’t it customary to wear an apron while baking?” Cas asked, motioning to the spare apron Dean had found at a thrift store a couple weeks ago.
Except Dean wasn’t paying attention to the apron. Not when his eyes were glued to Cas’ body.
Cas tilted his head, expression puzzled as he searched Dean’s expression. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked a moment later. “I can leave if you don’t want me to bake with-”
“No! No. Stay, Cas,” Dean said, shaking his head to clear the lingering thoughts as he bent down to pick up the box of strawberries. “You just surprised me, that was all.”
Cas smiled, plucking the strawberries from Dean’s hands and setting them safely on the counter. “I like surprising you.”
There was something so simple about that statement. The way Cas almost leaned into Dean’s space as he said it; earnest and honest.
And it should’ve been a sentimental moment.
If Dean’s head wasn’t still stuck on the first thing Cas had said when he’d appeared in the room.
“The um- what you said earlier. About the strawberries. Is that just when you eat them?” Dean asked, inching closer towards Cas.
Cas cocked his head, blinking a couple times in surprise at the turn of the conversation, but he seemed willing to entertain Dean’s curiosity. “Some people say it’s an aphrodisiac to eat them. Some people say just seeing them in the vicinity of someone you’re attracted to is enough to feel the effects.”
“Yeah, I’d believe that,” Dean muttered, eyes darting down to Cas’ lips and lingering.
“Dean.” There was something about the way Cas said his name. Soft and intrigued; reverent and breathy.
Screw it.
Dean could always blame the strawberries… right?
Leaning in, Dean darted his gaze up to Cas’ eyes, and then back down to the angel’s lips. Cas shuddered, closing the gap until they were millimeters apart; his hand settling on Dean’s hip.
Dean hesitated, lips ghosting against Cas’; giving Cas a chance to pull away. “Cas,” he murmured; quiet, desperate, yearning.
Cas pushed forward, catching Dean’s mouth with his own.
Oh God.
It felt like Heaven. Felt like sheer bliss.
Dean moved his mouth against Cas’, and Cas let out a gasp of pleasure.
Oh yes.
Shifting his hands, Dean tugged at Cas’ suit jacket, pulling Cas closer, closer, closer. Their lips collided and melded together, kisses quickly morphing into something desperate and deep.
Dean licked across Cas’ lower lip, stuttering out a breath when Cas opened his mouth for him. And then their tongues were darting against each other; teasing hot brushes that had Dean feeling dizzy with desire.
And then Cas was pulling away, breaking the kiss with a shaky breath, and Dean felt like the world was spinning. But Cas’ hands tightened on Dean’s waist, moving to press firmly against his lower back. “Dean. Do you want to do this?” Cas asked.
Dear God.
Cas’ voice sounded even deeper than normal. As if just by kissing the angel had wrecked his vocal cords.
How could Cas even be asking a question like that? Had Dean not made it clear enough in the way he’d kissed Cas?
Oh, now that just wouldn’t do.
Forgoing words, Dean wrapped a hand around Cas’ tie and yanked him back in, chasing Cas’ mouth into a kiss even more passionate than the last one. Deep and slow, he slipped his tongue into Cas’ mouth and kissed him with every last ounce of yearning he felt. Everything felt slow and hazy, kisses merging from one to the next; pressed against the cool metal counter as Dean slowly memorized the feel of Cas’ mouth tangled with his own.
“Was that answer enough for you?” Dean asked against Cas’ lips, refusing to break the kiss as he kept their lips brushing against each other.
Cas hummed, stealing a couple quick chaste kisses before lingering on the next kiss. “I told you so. Strawberries are an aphrodisiac.”
“Shut up and kiss me again,” Dean said, tugging Cas against him until they were kissing again, laughing against each other’s mouths.
Talking of strawberries though, maybe Dean should sneak one of those into the kisses? Would Cas’ mouth taste even sweeter if they passed a strawberry back and forth between their lips?
Maybe strawberries really were an aphrodisiac. Or maybe it was the image of the strawberries in Cas’ hands. Oh yes. Dean’s own personal aphrodisiac.
I never get tired of reading about them kissing, especially when you're the writer. Amazing stuff every time, no wonder you're one of my absolute faves. ♥︎♥︎
for my mini birthday celebration, prompt: angel!cas <3
also posted on ao3. word count: 1309
It had started as a simple question; Dean’s curiosity getting the better of him as he let his mind wander to how Cas’ angel powers worked. They’d been cooking together, even though Cas rarely ate. The angel claimed he enjoyed spending time with Dean, and something in Dean’s chest had flip-flopped at the thought that Cas did things like this with him even though it had no benefit for Cas himself, merely because he enjoyed Dean’s company.
“What do sensations feel like?” Dean asked, sliding the bowl of mixed spices from Cas’ hands as he added them into the dish.
Cas cocked his head, gazing at Dean with scrunched eyebrows that made Dean want to reach out and feel them against the pads of his fingers. “What do you mean?”
Shaking his head to disrupt the stray thoughts of cupping Cas’ face and tracing each wrinkle and line of stubble, Dean cleared his throat. “I mean… to you. What do sensations feel like to you? How do you interpret taste? Or touch? Or smells?” he asked, motioning to the pan where a warm aroma of paprika and cayenne pepper floated up to infuse the air around them.
Shrugging, Cas gave Dean a puzzled look as if he were searching for the answers within the very fabric of space that separated at the counter. “Different than you do,” Cas said carefully, almost thoughtfully. “Not bad. Just different. We have words in Enochian that capture things similarly to how you feel sensations, but it’s not as visceral as human descriptions.”
“Does that mean you like things that have human sensations? Or are they disconcerting?”
Moving past Dean to pick up the vegetables, Cas let their hands brush as he handed them to Dean. “Sometimes it’s overwhelming. But when it’s something we share… it’s good.”
Pausing his stirring, Dean turned and gave Cas a small smile. “Tell me what you feel?”
Sliding a long slender finger along the rim of the bowl, Cas murmured several words in Enochian- sending a shiver down Dean’s spine- before tilting his head to smile softly at him. “Warmth. Luscious. Soulful.”
There was something about the words that had Dean’s breath catching in his lungs. Swallowing thickly, Dean asked, “Which part are you describing?”
“All of it,” Cas said, eyes flickering across Dean before darting away.
Oh God. Yeah, Dean was so screwed.
~
The second time Dean inquired about sensations, they’d just stopped at a diner on the way home from a hunt the two of them had taken in Oklahoma.
It was late, the moon having replaced the sun hours ago; sending a cascade of silver light across Cas’ face until he was almost glowing in the seat next to Dean. It felt poetic, watching the ethereal energy that seeped from Cas as he quietly munched on the food they were sharing.
“What do you want?” Cas asked, gesturing to the food that was balanced in his lap. “Don’t want it going cold.”
Humming, Dean pointed at the wrapped burger, and when Cas handed it to him he unwrapped it against the steering wheel. He couldn’t stop himself from darting his gaze from the road over to Cas, watching as Cas ate like it was the most captivating sight he’d ever witnessed. And, yeah, it kinda was. Watching Cas experience tastes, blending Angelic thoughts with human sensations was something that left Dean dizzy.
“Can I have a-” Dean trailed off, watching from the driver’s seat as Cas’ plush lips wrapped around the straw dipped in the creamy milkshake. He swallowed thickly as Cas licked his lips absentmindedly to chase the taste of sweetness, flashing Dean a gummy smile as he tilted the cup towards Dean.
“Did you want a sip of this milkshake?” Cas asked.
Dean’s mind had been focused on the fries a moment ago, but now he’d been sidetracked by Cas’ mouth and the idea of tasting the Oreo milkshake on Cas’ lips.
“What does it taste like?” Dean asked, noticing a little too late that his voice had dropped an octave and he desperately needed to clear his throat to shake off the hints of something more lingering beneath the surface.
Closing his eyes, Cas took another sip, a content expression settling across his face. “Light. Like the first peeks of sun in the morning.”
“Is that a good thing?” Dean asked, the comparison slightly obscure and yet completely Cas.
Nodding, Cas took another sip with a pleased smile. “I can catch a lingering hint of sweetness, too.”
There were a lot of things Dean wanted to say to that; most of them about Cas being the sweet one. Instead, he bit down on his tongue and held out his hand with a beckoning motion. “Well, now I’ve gotta try it to see what this first peek of sunshine tastes like.”
The milkshake was good, but something about knowing Cas’ lips had been wrapped around the straw was the real taste that Dean was chasing as he took another sip.
~
Slumping down the couch, Dean let his legs press against Cas’ side as the final scene came to a close and the credits began to roll. It was late, several beers and more popcorn than a human should eat making Dean feel content and carefree.
He blamed that feeling on the words he said as the movie ended. “What does touch feel like to you?” Dean asked.
“Depends what kind of touch,” Cas replied absentmindedly, balancing the empty bowl on the edge of the table as he picked up the remote.
“Like this,” Dean mumbled, pressing his feet against the warmth of Cas’ thigh.
Cas froze for a second, eyes flickering over to Dean before he said quietly, “That’s not fair.”
“Why not?”
Tilting his head, Cas gave him this unreadable expression that made Dean’s heart lurch in his chest. “Because it’s always different with you.”
“Different how?” Dean asked, pushing himself up against the cushions so he could analyze Cas’ face. Did Cas feel it too? This spark between them, indescribable and overwhelming to every sensation?
“Like it’s never enough,” Cas replied, glancing at Dean with a look that struck a chord deep in Dean’s chest.
He knew that feeling all the way to his soul. Deep and aching as he reached out across the space between them to pull Cas closer. “Longing. That’s what the sensation is.”
Cas opened his mouth, about to say something, but Dean shook his head, letting his hand reach up to trail fingertips across the warmth of Cas’ cheek. “What about this? What does this sensation feel like?” Dean murmured.
“Temptation,” Cas replied, eyes fluttering shut as if he couldn’t handle the simple touch.
Leaning in, Dean let his mouth ghost over Cas’, heart leaping against his ribs as he whispered, “What about now?”
Before he could let Cas reply, he pressed their lips together; a butterfly kiss, soft and tender, before he was pulling back, completely breathless.
Reaching out, Cas pulled Dean closer without opening his eyes. “Dean,” he said on an exhale, so softly it almost wasn’t a word.
“Look at me,” Dean said, waiting until Cas’ eyes opened before he kissed him again. Cas kissed him back, lips gentle yet delicious against his own as they moved against each other. “What do you feel now?
“Whole,” Cas said, quickly pressing their lips together again in a chaste kiss. Then another. And another. “Is that how it’s supposed to feel?”
Dean nodded, chasing Cas’ mouth until they were hovering on the brink of a kiss. “Yes, it’s-”
Cas didn’t let him finish before he was drawing him closer until they were tangled together. “New favorite sensation,” Cas said against Dean’s mouth.
Laughing, happy and giddy, Dean chased the enchanting sensation until he’d memorized the way Cas’ mouth tasted. Definitely his new favorite sensation, too.
I love this so much, it made me feel something I find kinda difficult to put into words. And I don't exactly know why. Something about this feels very unique to me and though I know you write beautifully, this still found a way to surprise me in many ways. I don't know what this feeling is but it's a good one. ♥︎♥︎
word count: 1,381 (continued under the read more), also posted on ao3
A day and a half after Cas has been rescued from the Empty, he realizes he needs sleep. But that… well, it’s easier said than done.
Even though his body is exhausted, a fatigue that makes Cas feel dizzy with its potency, every time he tries to fall asleep, his brain is flooded with the Empty; wrapping around him and pulling him down down down into darkness, into pain, into cold loneliness and complete despair.
He tries to fight through it. Tries to dig his fingers into the warm bed sheets of his bed and feel the soft pillow cushioning his head. But the comforts are short lived. It isn’t enough to fight the creeping inky blackness as it swallows Cas whole again and again.
So instead, he forces himself to wander around the Bunker until the exhaustion is unbearable; until he collapses and falls asleep leaning against the jukebox in Dean’s cave or curled up in the hallway outside of Dean’s room or in the garage with his head against the drivers door of the Impala.
He wasn’t aware of it at the time. How he finds spaces that are etched by Dean’s presence or his energy. How, even in his fatigued conscience, he gravitates towards Dean’s essence.
And he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. If his brain wasn’t so fuzzy, he would scream at himself to stop falling for this agonizing torment.
Dean doesn’t love him back. Otherwise Dean would’ve said something when he rescued him… wouldn’t he? But he didn’t; he just kept touching Cas’ shoulder and repeating that Cas was home home home. And Cas can live with that. He can. He told Dean his truth, and everything else is out of his control.
That’s the hardest part though. Accepting that he isn’t an Angel like he used to be. He can’t control fate and choices and destiny like he used to. Or maybe he never could. Maybe it was all Chuck. Not that it matters anymore. Not that his tired brain can process it anyway; his sleep-addled brain is unreliable and makes decisions he wouldn’t make if he were more awake.
Especially because it’s late, and now it’s a week after his escape from the Empty, and he’s leaning against Dean’s chair in the Dean cave, and now he’s seeing Dean crouching down in front of him and, oh, what a beautiful mirage he is, and oh, Cas’ heart clenches in his chest because Dean is beautiful and God, Cas wants him and he loves him and it’s too much too much too much.
The words sound unreal in Cas’ ear. “C’mon Angel. Let me take care of you.”
And that can’t be real. Because he’s not an Angel anymore. Or maybe he is and maybe he isn’t. Some powers remain and some have been sucked away by the tendrils of the Empty.
But the hands on his skin feel warm and tender as his body is floating up up up and then there’s a guided walk to his room and a hand slowly helping him into bed as sheets are tucked softly and carefully under his chin.
“I’ve got you,” lingers in the air, and Cas can’t tell if the words are spinning in his head, fabricated by his own desires, or if they were ever even spoken aloud at all.
A soft brush of lips to his forehead, a hand resting against his shoulder, and a weight lingers on the other side of the bed. “Sleep, Cas. You’re safe. I’m not letting anything happen to you ever again.”
Cas finally allows sleep to lap at his subconscious until he’s lulled into peace.
When his eyes flutter open again, the room is quiet. There’s no presence by his side. He’s in his own bed with the sheets tucked around him. He can’t remember how he got here; if he fell asleep in his bed all along, or if, in his weary state, he managed to stumble his way back to his own room before passing out. But there’s no Dean perched at the end of his bed. Just a mirage invented by his exhausted brain. It aches so deeply in Cas’ chest that he doesn’t know how to cope. It feels like it’s cracking his ribs apart and tearing his heart from his chest.
Kiss #23 - A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating.
50 types of kisses masterpost. Series also available on ao3.
Summary: Of all the things Dean was looking forward to, watching a Western movie by himself from the comfort of his bed with a secret midnight snack of Tiramisu was top of the list. What Dean hadn’t been expecting was a certain angel sneaking into his room to eat his dessert, only to get caught in the act. And he certainly hadn’t been expecting Cas to have a sweet tooth. But maybe tiramisu wasn’t the only sweet treat that Cas might be interested in. Only one way for Dean to find out… by offering Cas one more taste.
Word count: 1,818 (continued under the read more). Also posted on ao3.
The benefit of being the one who stocked the Bunker’s kitchen with food meant that Dean had the advantage of buying himself midnight snacks. The downside? Having to hide them before they got stolen and eaten by a Sasquatch and a Nephilim. Hence why he’d been coming up with ever increasingly clever places to hide snacks and desserts.
But today, Dean was quite proud of himself. He’d gone to the store early that morning, remembered to get honey for Cas, cereal for Jack, and fresh fruit for Sam, and then managed to sneak a tiramisu for himself into the mini fridge in his room without anyone seeing.
That tiramisu had been motivating Dean all day as he cleaned the Impala and continued inventory with Sam. Reshelving books in the library, which had been strewn out across the tables from weeks of cases, was only made easier by thinking of his plans of watching a Western movie in bed and eating that tiramisu by himself.
Evening bled into night as Dean flicked books at Sam just to annoy him, and Sam retaliated by blowing dust into Dean’s eyes. Dropping the final book into place, Dean yawned exaggeratedly and nodded towards his room. “Think I’m gonna hit the hay for the night,” he said, before belatedly realizing the library seats that had been occupied were now suspiciously empty. “Hey, have you seen Angel and Angel Junior recently?”
Sam shook his head, scrubbing his eyes tiredly. “Think they wandered off an hour ago? Not really sure.”
Deciding Cas and Jack could very much take care of themselves, Dean used the opportunity to slip out of the library, sneaking into the kitchen on the way to his room to snatch a fork.
Oh, he could already taste that rich coffee flavor on his tongue.
What a good night this was going to be.
Swinging open his bedroom door with a fervor that could only be fueled by anticipation of dessert, Dean stepped into his room, humming AC/DC under his breath…
And froze.
The fork clattering to the floor.
Dean stared…
And Cas stared back, a deer-in-headlights look crossing his face as his eyes darted to Dean and then flittered away.
“Dean,” Cas mumbled around a mouthful. Of tiramisu.
The dessert was sat on Dean’s desk… half eaten.
And there Cas was, sitting in the chair at the desk, with a streak of cream across his cheek. Eating Dean’s tiramisu. In Dean’s room. As if Cas belonged there.
Dean’s eyes darted from the demolished tiramisu to Cas, and back to the dessert again. “What the actual-” Dean started to sputter.
“I can explain,” Cas rushed out, quickly pushing away from the desk. That embarrassed look was still darting across his face, eyes cast down as a red flush graced his cheeks.
Dean crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe and raising his eyebrow at the angel. “Oh, this oughta be good,” he said, gesturing at Cas in a ‘well, go on, talk’ kinda way.
Cas fumbled for a second, glancing back at the dessert he’d stolen before guiltily looking over at Dean. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but then floundered. No words came out.
It was the first time Dean had ever seen Cas speechless. Actually, scratch that. The first time he’d ever seen Cas at a loss for words, and the first time he’d ever seen Cas actively choosing to eat.
A tug of pity yanked in Dean’s gut, and he softened. “All you had to do was ask, you know. Woulda shared it with you,” Dean muttered, moving into the room and knocking Cas’ shoulder with his own.
The touch seemed to spark something in Cas, because the angel jerked backwards and deflated; shoulders sagging in shame. “Dean, I’m sorry, I-”
But Dean cut him off. Grabbing the half-eaten tiramisu, he snagged Cas’ sleeve and tugged them both down onto the bed. “You’re here now. Might as well share it.”
Cas shook his head, immediately making a move to get off the bed. “No, Dean, no, I can’t. Why aren’t you angry? I stole your dessert. I didn’t ask. I only meant to take a bite…”
Cas looked helpless. Utterly lost.
Dean felt a tug on his heartstrings for the second time since he’d laid eyes on Cas in his room.
That was a good question. Why wasn’t he mad?
Because… because it was Cas. Because if there was anyone he’d share a movie night and midnight snacks with… of course it would be Cas.
Rolling his eyes fondly, Dean tugged on Cas’ sleeve again. “Sit down and share this with me before I change my mind,” he teased, making room for Cas on the bed.
Shaking his head again, Cas muttered, “No, I’m not having another bite.”
Something in Dean’s brain twinged, and an idea sprung to mind. A very risky idea. A very risky, very dangerous idea.
But if Cas was already here, eating his dessert, knowing there was a risk of being caught… what was one more bold move in the grand scheme of things?
“Oh?” Dean said, flickering his gaze up and down Cas’ body before deliberately picking up the fork Cas had been using. “What about one more taste then?”
Slowly, Dean dragged the fork down into the dessert, making sure to get each layer of the tiramisu. He caught Cas’ eye, making sure to raise his eyebrow deliberately as he carefully and intentionally brought the fork up to his lips.
The taste of coffee and cream burst across his palate as he ate the forkful of tiramisu. Taking his time, he chewed slowly, making sure to savor the delicious flavor and warmth of cocoa powder and mascarpone, never taking his eyes off of Cas as he pushed the tray with the dessert to the other side of the bed.
Swallowing with a show, watching Cas break their eye contact to follow the movement of his Adam’s apple, Dean grinned. Leaning forward towards where Cas was perched on the end of the bed, Dean made a show of dropping his gaze down to Cas’ lips before dragging back up to Cas’ eyes.
“One more taste?” Dean asked again. The offer was clear. But Dean let it hang in the air between them. Letting Cas process what was happening, giving the angel a chance to bolt if Dean had read this all wrong.
Cas’ gaze flickered to Dean’s lips, then he was nodding, imperceptibly at first, and then more obviously. Shifting forwards slightly, Cas made a noise in the back of his throat, cut himself off, then looked at Dean and murmured, “Yes.”
Surging to close the gap, Dean caught Cas’ lips with his own. Cas let out a startled huff of air against Dean’s cheek and he pressed closer into Dean’s touch.
Starting the kiss out slow and simple, Dean traced Cas’ mouth with his own, giving Cas just the barest hint of sweetness on his lips. Cas hummed softly, and Dean felt a shiver cascade down his spine.
Gliding their lips together, Dean slipped one hand down to snag Cas by the waist, drawing him in closer. The new angle made it even easier for Dean to trace Cas’ lower lip, first with his own lips, and then, slowly, with just a hint of tongue.
Now it was Cas who was shuddering, letting out a little gasp and parting his lips.
Using that to his advantage, Dean slipped his tongue into Cas’ mouth.
Cas was quick to chase Dean’s tongue with his own, tracing the sweet taste of mascarpone cream. The touch was warm and delicious, and Dean felt himself letting out a shaky breath this time.
Cas broke the kiss with a little huff of laughter, and the sound was enough to have Dean seeing stars. Yanking Cas by the lapels of his trenchcoat, Dean pulled him back into the kiss with his own lips parted as an invitation. Cas immediately took it, licking past Dean’s lips and into his mouth.
The kiss tasted like tiramisu; coffee and sweet cream and rich cocoa all at once. Cas was chasing the flavor of the dessert, while Dean was savoring the flavor that was distinctly Cas.
Dean let Cas take the lead; let the angel trace his tongue over the roof of Dean’s mouth, curving along the back of Dean’s teeth before gliding along Dean’s tongue.
Sweetness mixed with intoxication, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from meeting Cas’ fervor. The more Cas leaned in, the more Dean tugged him closer. The more Cas let out little gasps and stuttered breaths, Dean felt a moan catch in the back of his throat.
The last traces of tiramisu were licked away by Cas, and yet, Cas didn’t break the kiss. Instead, the angel nudged his nose against Dean’s cheek, wordlessly surrendering control to Dean.
Pulling back a fraction so he could draw in a sharp breath, Dean slowly melded their lips together again, just barely catching a hint of coffee on the tip of Cas’ tongue. And then Dean was taking his time, kissing Cas deep and slow as if there was nothing else in the world except for this kiss. There was still a sweetness lingering on Cas’ lips, but maybe that had nothing to do with the dessert at all.
Breaking the kiss felt like sweet torture, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from leaning back in and pressing fast and chaste kisses to Cas’ lips, as if that could make the moment last longer.
When Dean finally pulled back, putting the smallest amount of space between them, Cas looked utterly wrecked. His hair a mess and his pupils blown wide with desire. His cheeks tinged and his lips swollen red. There was still a streak of marscapone left on his cheek, and Dean shifted forwards, pressing his lips to skin and licking away the cream.
Cas’ breath caught in his throat, his voice deep and thick as he gasped, “Dean.”
The word hung in the air between them, and Dean darted his eyes down to the forgotten dessert. Without a word, Dean picked up the fork and snatched another piece, offering it to Cas with a little smirk. “More?”
Glancing at the fork, Cas shook his head. Hand reaching out, fingers wrapping around Dean’s wrist, Cas guided the fork to Dean’s mouth, and the angel’s eyes lingered on Dean’s lips—kiss swollen and gleaming.
Dean got the hint, opening his mouth and letting the tiramisu melt on his tongue. Cas’ eyes never wavered from Dean’s lips, the angel swallowing thickly when Dean deliberately licked his lower lip, leaving a trace of mascarpone cream at the corner of his mouth.
“Well?” Dean teased, raising an eyebrow at Cas when he’d finished the piece of tiramisu.
Closing the gap between them, Cas’ lips hovered over Dean’s as the angel murmured, “Maybe one more taste.”
Dean whines in frustration. "'S not fair," he grumbles against Cas's skin.
"Hm?" Cas jostles them as he moves to smooth a hand over Dean's back.
"Why you gotta heal so quick?" Dean peers up Cas's chest through his lashes. He's not pouting. He's scowling. Cas squints at him in response, questioning. Dean sighs and ducks back down. His fingers play piano along Cas's ribs. After a few moments of stubborn silence he relents. "You get to mark me up all over. Brand me, even. But I never get to leave my mark on you."
He presses a little harder against Cas's ribs, digging his nails into flesh. Dean's own ribs still bear Cas's protective sigils from over a decade ago. Carved into the bone.
Cas tightens his hold on Dean. His voice is straining when he asks, "You want to mark me?"
Dean looks back up to meet the hunger in Cas's heavy-lidded gaze. He swallows thickly, heat stirring in his belly. "Duh," he says, eloquently.
Cas's next words come out fervent. "Why didn't you say? I can suppress my grace, the way I do when I let you move me around—"
Let you. God, does that make Dean crazy. The way Cas trusts him, lets down his guard, shows him his soft underbelly. Dean surges up to kiss him. Their mouths collide, bruising. Dean nips at Cas's bottom lip.
"Don't heal anything," he murmurs, before kissing away along Cas's jaw and down the column of his throat, leaving a trail of marks in his wake.
Dean: “Cas' lips, man, they're unlike anything else. They're soft, incredibly soft, but there's this strength to them, a control that's just... fucking hot. When he kisses me, it's like everything else just disappears. There's this firmness to them, a kind of command that's not demanding but searching. They're the kind of lips that could whisper secrets of the universe but, instead he uses them to sweet talk me. I love taste of his warm breath mingling with mine, it feels like we're the only two people in existence. And it's not just the physical touch; it's the emotion, the connection that comes through. Those lips, they're like a promise, a vow of something profound and unshakeable. And every time he kisses me, I feel like I'm finding a piece of myself I didn't even know was missing.”
Sam: (staring in disbelief) I uh yeah... I just meant that they look swollen.
Dean: “Oh shit yeah, he gives a hell of a blow job too, real dedicated like. Good work ethic.
