Free reign to say Jk Rowling is a predator who shared an upskirt picture of a trans woman and said she shouldn't have worn a skirt if she didn't want to be sexually harassed, enjoys the company of open child predators, and thinks Lolita is a tragic romance story. She is a danger to women and children.
STRIPPER! WINCHESTERS X DETECTIVE!READER & CASTIEL
~âĄęę â đŻhe devil's due â
ââââââ ¡ ¡ sam winchester x fem ! reader x castiel novak x dean winchester
a / n : 17.6k words...... i hope yall are happy. I DO LOVE THIS TROPE BTW. FEEL FREE TO REQ IN MORE OF STRIPPER!WINCHESTERS!!!
character/s featured. sam winchester .á dean winchester .á castiel novak .á
rating: smut .á
summary : you and Castiels, detectives for the FBI, have been partners fpr 3 years already. which is more than enough time for Castiel to know that being sent to a male stripper club for an inevstigation is code for your favourite thing in the world.
warnings! : NO WINCEST!! THE BROTHERS DO NOT INTERACT SEXUALLY!!! Sam x reader, Dean x reader, Sastiel and Destiel are present!! love being a multishiper
The fluorescent lights of the FBI field office hummed with their usual monotonous drone as you leaned back in your chair, watching the clock tick closer to five. Another day of paperwork, another day of chasing leads that went nowhere, another day of pretending you weren't slowly losing your mind.
Castiel sat across from you, his posture impossibly straight even after hours of hunched over case files. His navy blue suit was immaculate, not a single wrinkle in sight, and his tie was perfectly knotted at his throat. The man was a walking contradictionâa former pastor's son who had somehow ended up in law enforcement, carrying himself with the kind of rigid morality that would make a saint blush.
"Coffee?" you asked, already standing and stretching your arms above your head, feeling your spine pop in satisfaction.
His blue eyes flicked up from the file he was reading, and you watched as they brieflyâvery brieflyâdarted down to where your shirt had ridden up just slightly above your waistband before returning to your face. "I'm fine, thank you."
"You're always fine," you teased, grabbing your mug anyway. "Fine as in I'm suffering in silence because I was raised to believe that asking for things is a sin."
"That's not-" he started, then stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose in that way he did when he was trying to figure out if you were joking or not. "I simply don't need caffeine to function."
"Of course you don't, you beautiful freak."
He didn't dignify that with a response, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. That was practically a laugh from Castiel.
You were pouring yourself a cup from the office's sad excuse for a coffee machine when your supervisor, Agent Harris, appeared in the doorway of the bullpen. His face was set in that particular expression that meant something had come in, something that was going to ruin your evening plans.
"Agents. My office. Now."
You exchanged a look with Castiel as you both made your way to Harris's corner office. A look that said everything and nothing, the kind of silent communication that came from three years of being partners. Three years of late nights, stakeouts, and more near-death experiences than either of you cared to count.
Harris closed the door behind you, gesturing for you both to sit. He was a bear of a man, retired military, with a permanent scowl etched into his weathered face. But beneath the gruff exterior was someone who genuinely cared about the agents under his command.
"We've got a situation," he began, sliding a file across his desk toward you. "A case that's been brewing for months finally broke open. Nationwide operation, drug trafficking mostly, but there might be human trafficking involved as well. The head of the snake is a man named Malachi. We've been trying to get eyes on him for weeks."
You flipped open the file, scanning the contents. Photos of a nondescript man, mid-forties, unremarkable features. The kind of face that would blend into any crowd. But the intelligence was detailedâthis was a major player, someone who'd been operating under the radar for years.
"Where do we come in?" Castiel asked, leaning forward slightly.
Harris leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "We've got intel that Malachi frequents a specific club. Uses it as a meeting point, possibly as a front for some of his operations. We need eyes inside, someone who can blend in and gather information without raising suspicion."
"Blend in," you repeated, a slow smile spreading across your face. "What kind of club are we talking about?"
Harris's expression flickered with something that might have been amusement. "An establishment called 'The Devil's Due.' It's..." he paused, clearly choosing his words carefully, "it's a male entertainment venue."
"Male entertainment," you said, your smile widening. "As inâ"
"As in male strippers, Agent. Yes."
You couldn't help it. You laughed. A bright, delighted sound that made both Harris and Castiel look at you with varying degrees of exasperation. "You're sending me to a male strip club!"
"Officially, you're going to conduct surveillance on a known associate of Malachi's who frequents the establishment. Unofficiall-"
"Unofficially, you know I'm going to enjoy every second of it."
Castiel sighed, a sound of long-suffering patience that you'd grown intimately familiar with over the years. "This is a professional investigation."
"Of course it is. Completely professional. I will be the picture of professionalism." You batted your eyelashes innocently. "I'm a professional woman, Cas. I can appreciate beauty without it affecting my work."
"Beauty." Castiel repeated flatly.
"You know what I mean." You waved your hand dismissively. "The human body is a marvel of engineering. The way muscles move beneath skin, the curve of a spine, the-"
"Please stop."
"-way light plays off of-"
"For Godâs sake-"
"-the sculptural quality of a well-formed-"
"Agent."
You grinned at him, utterly unrepentant. "I'm just saying, Cas, if we're going to be doing surveillance, we might as well enjoy the view."
Harris cleared his throat loudly, reminding you both that he was still present. "Are you two quite finished?"
"Never," you said cheerfully. "But I'll be professional about it. Scout's honor."
"You were never a scout."
"And what do you know, Cas?"
Castiel rubbed his temples, a gesture you'd seen him make approximately ten thousand times over the course of your partnership. "The point is, we need to gather information without drawing attention to ourselves. If we walk in looking like federal agents-"
"We won't. We'll look like rich patrons." You examined your nails casually. "I've got a little black dress that would make a priest sin, you could tell me that. You can be my uptight accountant friend."
"I'm not wearing anything that involves-"
"Relax, Cas. I'll get you a nice suit. Something that says.. I have money and I'm here to spend it, or something." You winked at him. "Besides, you need to loosen up. This is the perfect opportunity."
"I don't need toâ" He stopped, took a breath, clearly counting to ten in his head. "This is an investigation. We need to be focused."
"I am focused. I'm focused on the case." You paused, tilting your head. "And on the beautiful men who are going to be there. At the strip club. Where we're going. To investigate."
Harris pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking very tired. "I'm sending the two of you because you're both excellent agents, and because you complement each other's strengths. But I need you to take this seriously."
"I will. I am." You tried to school your features into something approximating solemnity. It didn't quite work. "I just... I've never been to a strip club before while on a case. This is so exciting."
Castiel made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a prayer. âwhile on a case?â
Three days later, you found yourself standing in front of a full-length mirror in your apartment, examining the reflection of a woman you barely recognized.
The dress was sinfully short, a little black number that hugged every curve and left very little to the imagination. The neckline plunged dangerously low, and the back dipped all the way down to the waist. You'd paired it with strappy heels that added four inches to your height and made your legs look endless.
"You're going to catch a cold." Castiel said from the doorway, his voice carefully neutral.
You turned to look at him, and your breath caught in your throat.
He was wearing a suit that was definitely not standard FBI issue. Dark charcoal gray, perfectly tailored to his lean frame, with a crisp white shirt that was unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of collarbone. His tie was a deep burgundy that matched the subtle flush that spread across his cheeks whenever you complimented him.
"Cas," you breathed. "You look... wow."
"I look like I'm about to attend a funeral, that is what I look like." he said flatly, tugging at his collar.
"You look like you're about to break some hearts, baby." You stepped closer, reaching up to adjust his tie slightly. "Relax. You're supposed to look like you have money. You look like you have money."
"I don't have money."
"I know. But they don't."
He caught your wrist as you were about to step away, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the tension radiating from him. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"This." He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "Be... normal. In a place like that. I spent my entire childhood being told that establishments like this were dens of sin, that the people who frequented them were lost souls in need of salvation. And now I'm going to one as a... a patron."
You softened, understanding. Castiel's background was something you'd learned about slowly over the years, pieces of his past that he'd only shared in quiet moments. The pastor's son who'd rebelled by becoming a cop to enforce the manâs law and not Godâs, who'd left his family's church and never looked back, but who still carried the weight of his upbringing in every rigid posture and carefully measured word.
"You don't have to be normal," you told him gently. "Just be you. Watchful. Observant. The Cas I know." You smiled up at him. "Besides, you might surprise yourself. Maybe you'll enjoy it."
"I highly doubt that."
"You never know." You stepped back, giving him an appreciative once-over. "You're a very handsome man, Castiel Novak. I've seen the way women look at you at crime scenes. You could have anyone you wanted."
"I don't want just anyone.." he said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made you pause. But then he was clearing his throat and looking away, and the moment passed.
"We should go," he said. "We need to arrive early enough to establish our presence before our target arrives."
"Right." You grabbed your small clutch purseâbig enough for your badge, your gun, and a few hundred dollars in cash. "Let's go meet some sinners."
The club was located in the basement of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. The entrance was marked by a single neon sign that flickered in red letters: "THE DEVIL'S DUE - EXCLUSIVE MEMBERS ONLY."
You and Castiel approached the bouncer, a mountain of a man with a shaved head and more tattoos than you could count. He looked you both up and down, his expression unreadable.
"Cover charge," he grunted. "Hundred each."
You reached into your clutch and pulled out two crisp hundred-dollar bills, handing them over without hesitation. The bouncer pocketed them and stepped aside, pulling open the heavy door.
The sound hit you first: a pulsing beat that thrummed through your bones, a mix of bass and synthesized music that seemed to vibrate in your chest. Then came the smell: a mix of expensive cologne, cheap perfume, sweat, and something distinctly... hedonistic.
The club was darker than you'd expected, lit mostly by strobe lights and the occasional pool of red or blue from strategically placed fixtures. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, and the air was thick with the kind of tension that only existed in places where inhibitions were shed like clothing.
"Wow." you breathed, taking it all in. "This is going to be a very productive investigation."
"Your definition of productive is a concern of mine."
"Look, I'm just saying. We need to blend in, right? Blend in means look like we belong here. And looking like we belong here means..." You gestured vaguely toward the stage. "Appreciating the atmosphere."
Castiel followed your gaze, and you watched his ears go pink. It was absolutely adorable. "I see."
"Do you? Because you're not appreciating much of anything right now."
"Appreciating is not..." He trailed off, clearly struggling to find the right words. "I'm not comfortable with this type of... establishment."
"Yeah, right. My bad, honey. Don't worry, I'll protect you from all the scary naked people."
"I'm not scared ofâ" He cut himself off, clearly realizing he was being baited. "You are insufferable."
âSticks and stones might break my bones.â
Castiel stood rigidly at your side, his eyes scanning the room with the intensity of a man cataloging every potential threat. "I count at least three security cameras. There's a private room in the back, likely for VIPs. The bartender is watching us."
"Of course he is. You just walked in wearing a suit." You looped your arm through his, pressing close. "Relax. We're just rich patrons. You're here to spend money and maybe get a lap dance. Don't look like you're casing the joint."
"But I am casing the joint."
"I know. That's the problem."
You guided him toward the bar, settling onto two stools and ordering drinks. You got yourself something fruity and expensive-looking, and Castiel got a whiskey neat that you knew he'd barely touch.
"See anything?" you asked, your voice low as you scanned the room.
"The target isn't here yet. But there's a man in the corner who's been watching us since we walked in. Mid-forties, dark hair, wearing a suit that's too expensive for this neighborhood. Could be Malachi's associate, could be someone else entirely."
"Or could be someone who's just looking for a good time."
âThereâs also another younger man that was looking at us earlier, but heâs nowhere to be seen now.â
âIs he, now?âÂ
âYes, I believe he went to the back.âÂ
âYeah, to get it on his back.â You shot back immediately, loving yourself for the pun.
Castiel shot you a look of pure exasperation. "This is a serious investigation, Agent."
"I know, I know." You patted his arm soothingly. "I'm just saying, this place is designed to make people feel... loose. Relaxed. Let their guard down." You leaned in closer, your lips brushing his ear. "That's our advantage. We're not here to have fun. We're here to collect intelligence."
"Then why are you grinning like that?"
"Because I'm about to have the time of my life."
And then you saw them.
Two men had just emerged from the back of the club, and the effect they had on you two was immediate. The first man was tallâimpossibly tall, with broad shoulders and the kind of golden-brown hair that looked like it belonged on a shampoo commercial. He was clad in white lacy lingerie that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, the delicate fabric tracing over the hard planes of his chest and the surprising bulk of his biceps. His thighs were bare beneath the lace, muscular and defined, and he moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how beautiful he was.
He was flanked by a slightly shorter man with short-cropped brown hair, green eyes, and a mouth that was currently curved into a wicked smirk. His outfit was a mirror image of the first man's, but in jet black lace that hugged his body like a second skin. He was more compact than the other, but no less striking, with an energy that crackled like electricity.
You felt Castiel stiffen beside you, felt the sharp intake of breath. And when you glanced at him, you saw that his face had gone a shade of red you'd never seen before.
"I found him," Castiel said, his voice slightly strangled. "That's the man I was telling you about."
You blinked, looking back at the two men. "Which one?"
"The... the tall one. The one in white." He swallowed hard. "He's the one that was watching us."
"He's beenâ" You stopped, because sure enough, the tall man in white was looking directly at you. His eyes were warm, almost soft, and there was a small smile playing at the corners of his full lips.
The shorter man was also looking at you, but his gaze was more predatory. Hungry. Like a wolf who'd just spotted a particularly interesting sheep.
They exchanged a few words, too low for you to hear, and then they were walking toward you. Moving through the crowd with the fluid grace of predators on the hunt.
"Act natural." you murmured to Castiel.
"I don't know what that means in this context."
"It means don't look like you're about to faint."
"I'm not going toâ" He cut himself off as the men reached you. "Hello." he said, his voice cracking slightly.
The shorter man laughed, a low, dirty sound that made something in your stomach tighten. "Well, he-llo yourself, handsome. Haven't seen you two âround this joint before."
"We're new," you said smoothly, sliding off your stool to face them. "First time at a place like this."
"Is that right?" The shorter man's eyes traveled over you like a physical touch, lingering on the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist. "Name's Dean. This is my brother Sam."
"Sam," you repeated, letting your gaze slide to the taller man. "You're brothers?"
"Business partners, really." Sam said, his voice surprisingly gentle for someone built like a Greek god.Â
"We usually work alone or.. two-for-two deals," Dean added, his grin sharpening. "Special tonight."
Castiel made a sound that might have been a whimper.
You stepped closer to Sam, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough to smell the cologne clinging to his skin. He was even more beautiful up close, with a face that belonged on a Renaissance painting and a body that had clearly been sculpted by someone who appreciated divine perfection.
"Interesting," you said softly, reaching out to trail your finger along the lace at his collarbone. "I've always appreciated... deals."
Sam's breath caught almost imperceptibly, and you saw his pupils dilate. "Yeah?"
"Mmhmm." You leaned in closer, your lips brushing his ear. "My friend over there is a little shy. But I think he could be persuaded to... loosen up."
"I've got just the thing for that."
Dean had moved to stand in front of Castiel, who was pressed back against the bar with nowhere to go. The shorter man was practically purring, his fingers toying with the end of Castiel's tie.
"Pretty," Dean murmured, his eyes raking over Castiel's face. "Real pretty. You like what you see, sweetheart?"
"I-" Castiel swallowed hard. "We're here to.."
"To have a good time," you interrupted smoothly, sliding your arm around Sam's waist. "That's what heâs here for."
Dean's eyes flicked to you, sharp and knowing. "Yeah? And what about you, darlinâ? You looking for a good time too?"
"She's looking," Sam said, his voice surprisingly low, "for someone who can keep up with her."
You laughed, a sound that surprised even you with its breathlessness. "I think you might be right about that."
Dean turned his attention back to Castiel, who looked like he was about to expire on the spot. "Don't worry, hot stuff. I've got you. I'm gonna take real good care of you. Treat you like a prince."
Castiel's eyes darted to you, wide and desperate, clearly begging for rescue.
You just smiled. "Relax, Cas. Enjoy yourself. This is a good time, remember?"
"buâ"
"Shh." You silenced him. "You're safe, Iâm gonna be right here with you. Just have some fun, yeah?"
Sam's hands had found your waist, big and warm and possessive, his thumbs stroking the bare skin just above your waistband. "You two are something else," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "All dressed up, new here, but you're not afraid of anything, are you?"
"I don't have a lot to be afraid of."
"I bet you don't." His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you against him so suddenly that you gasped. "But I'm just curious about one thing."
"What's that?"
"What's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this with a boy who looks like he's about to have a heart attack?"
You laughed, tilting your head back to look at him. "Cas? He's just shy. He's got a lot of religious trauma. This is kind of a big step for him."
Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Religious trauma? The Catholic kind?"
"How'd you guess?"
"Lucky." He chuckled, low and warm. "We get all kinds in here, but the religious ones are always the most fun. They're so desperate to be bad."
"Cas isn't bad. He's just..." You glanced over at your partner, who had apparently given up on the pretense of resistance and was now being slowly, methodically backed toward one of the private booths by Dean. ".. repressed."
"Yeah, I can see that." Sam's gaze followed yours, and you saw his eyes darken as he watched the scene. "Dean's gonna have a field day with him."
"He's going to eat him alive."
"Probably." Sam turned back to you, and suddenly his attention was focused entirely on you. "But that's not what I'm interested in."
"No?" You arched an eyebrow, stepping closer until there was no space left between you. "What are you interested in?"
He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, and you felt the vibration of his voice through your entire body. "I'm interested in you."
The booth was a small paradise of velvet and shadow, lit by dim red lights that cast everything in an intimate glow. There were two plush couches facing each other, both covered in crimson velvet that felt sinfully soft beneath your fingertips.
Castiel had been deposited on one couch, looking dazed and overwhelmed. Dean was already in his lap, straddling him with practiced ease, his black lace-clad hips beginning a slow, suggestive grind that was already making Castiel's eyes roll back.
"Too good to be true, isn't he?" Sam murmured, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he guided you to the other couch. "Dean loves taking them apart. The shy ones especially."
"He really does love his work, doesn't he?"
"He does." Sam sank onto the couch, pulling you down with him so you were straddling his thighs. "But I'm more of a⌠look-but-donât-touch kind of guy."
"So I'm special?"
"So you're special."
You laughed, settling more comfortably onto his lap. He was warm and solid beneath you, and you could feel every ridge of muscle through the thin lace of his underwear. The effect was immediate and distracting, and you found yourself shifting slightly, testing the pressure.
Sam's hands tightened on your hips. "Be careful," he warned, his voice husky. "I'm not as patient as I look."
"I wasn't planning on testing your patience."
"Good." He leaned in, nuzzling against your neck, and you felt his lips curve into a smile against your skin. "Because if you did, I might have to punish you."
The thought sent a shiver down your spine. "And what would that punishment look like?"
"Depends on how good you've been."
"And if I've been very, very good?"
"Then I might just reward you instead."
You hummed, tilting your head to give him better access to your neck. He took the invitation eagerly, his lips tracing a hot path from your jaw to your collarbone, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.
"You taste good," he murmured against your throat. "Expensive perfume?"
"I aim to please."
"You're already pleasing me just by being here."
You laughed softly, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his silky hair. "You're very good at that."
"At what?"
"Making a girl feel special."
"Maybe you are special." He pulled back just enough to look at you, and there was something unexpectedly sincere in his hazel eyes. "You've got this... vibe about you. Like you're not here for the same reason as everyone else."
"That obvious?"
"Only to me."
You smiled, tracing your thumb along his jawline. "Maybe I'm just here to see something beautiful."
"Did you find it?"
"I think so." Your gaze flicked to the other couch, where Dean had Castiel pressed back against the cushions, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that was quickly becoming more frantic. "Though I'm starting to get the feeling that your brother is about to have the best night of his life."
Sam followed your gaze, and you saw a flicker of something that looked like affection cross his face. "Dean's got a gift for reading people. He knew the moment he saw your friend that he needed to be taken apart gently."
"So that is what weâre calling gentle now?"
"Well, gently by Dean's standards. Which is to say, not that gentle at all."
You couldn't help it, you let out a breathy chuckle, bright and delighted, the sound seeming to cut through the heavy atmosphere of the booth. "That's going to end well."
"Probably not." Sam was grinning now, that sharp, wolfish smile that made your stomach flip. "But it'll be fun to watch for you."
"Look at you," Dean breathed, his voice rough and hungry. "All buttoned up and proper. I bet you're just aching for someone to undo you."
"I'm- that's-" Castiel's eyes were wide, his chest rising and falling quickly. He looked like a deer in the headlights, caught between his professional obligations and the very obvious, very beautiful man in his lap.
"Speaking of watching," you said, turning back to Sam while wiggling your eyebrows suggestively. "I'd love to see what you've got."
"Eager, are we?"
"Always."
He laughed, low and warm, and pulled you closer. "I like that about you. You're not afraid to ask for what you want."
"I've found that's usually the best way to get it."
"Not always." He leaned in, his lips brushing yours, and his voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "Sometimes what you want is better when it's given freely, without having to ask."
"So give it to me freely."
He didn't hesitate. His mouth covered yours, soft and searching at first, then hungrier when you responded in kind. His hands slid up your back, pressing you closer, and you could feel every inch of himâhard and warm and eager.
You kissed him back with equal fervor, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling a low groan from his throat. His taste was surprising: something spicy and masculine that you wanted more of.
"Goddamn," he breathed, pulling back just far enough to look at you. "You're something else, you know that?"
"So I've been told."
"Good." His hands found the hem of your dress, fingers tracing the bare skin of your thighs. "I want to show you something."
"What?"
"I want to show you what it feels like to be worshipped."
Before you could respond, he was shifting you onto your back on the couch, positioning himself above you with an easy grace. His eyes were dark with desire, but there was something else there tooâa reverence that made your breath catch.
"Beautiful," he murmured, looking down at you. "Absolutely beautiful."
"You're not so bad yourself."
He laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. "I want to take my time with you," he said against your mouth. "Is that okay?"
"More than okay."
From the corner of your eye, you could see Castiel and Dean in their own private tableau. Dean had gotten your partner out of his suit jacket, his shirt unbuttoned, his tie loosened. He was straddling Castiel's lap, his hips moving in a slow, dirty grind that had Castiel's head thrown back, his hands fisted in the velvet of the couch.
"Look at you," Dean was saying, his voice low and coaxing. "Look how good you feel. So responsive. I bet you've never let anyone see you like this before."
"Deanâ"
"Shh." Dean pressed a finger to Castiel's lips, silencing him. "Don't talk. Just feel. Let me take care of you."
Castiel's eyes fluttered closed, and you heard a soft moan escape his lips.
You turned your attention back to Sam, who had been watching you watch them. "Really good at this, ainât he?"
"A professional even before the job," Sam agreed, rolling his eyes playfully. "But I'm not worried about him. I'm worried about you."
"You don't need to be worried about me."
"Maybe I'm just the worrying type." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "Or maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to touch you."
"Fair enough." You arched into him, letting your fingers trace down his chest, feeling the lace of his underwear beneath your fingertips. "You're not wearing much."
"Neither are you."
"TouchĂŠ."
He laughed again, and the sound was so warm, so genuine, that it made something in your chest tighten. "I like you," he said simply. "You're fun."
"I like you too," you told him honestly. "You're pretty."
"Pretty?"
"Very pretty." You ran your fingers through his hair, marveling at the silky texture. "I could look at you forever."
His eyes widened slightly, a flush creeping up his neck. "Most people don'tâ" He stopped, clearing his throat. "Most people don't say that."
"That you're pretty?"
"Yeah. Usually it's just 'he's tall' or 'he's got good muscles' or 'I bet he can-'" He stopped again, this time looking genuinely flustered. "Never mind."
"Pretty," you repeated, savoring the word. "You've got pretty eyes, pretty hair, pretty lips. You're the prettiest boy I've ever seen."
"Sweetheartâ"
"Don't argue with me. I'm an FBI agent. I'm trained to recognize beauty when I see it."
He froze. "FBI?"
"Relax." You pulled him down for another kiss, slow and deep. "I'm off duty. Or I'm trying to be. You just happened to be exactly what I needed."
"Is that right?"
"Mmhmm." You ran your hands down his back, feeling the muscles flex beneath your touch. "Now, are you going to give me a show, or am I going to have to take matters into my own hands?"
"I think," he said, his voice dropping to something low and predatory, "I've been doing this long enough to know how to handle a demanding client."
"Client?"
"Customer. Patron. Whatever you want to call yourself." He grinned, that sharp, wolfish smile that made your stomach flip. "Tonight, you're mine."
"I like the sound of that."
"Then let me show you just how much."
Sam's lips found yours again, and this time there was no gentleness in the kiss. It was hungry, demanding, and you matched him kiss for kiss, letting your hands roam over his chest and back. The lace of his underwear was a tantalizing barrier between you and the warmth of his skin, and you were quickly growing impatient with it.
"What's the rule about taking this off?" you asked, tugging at the fabric.
"Normally it costs extra."
"I've got plenty of cash."
"Hmm." He kissed your neck, tongue tracing a path down to the swell of your breasts. "I think I'll make an exception for you."
"You do?" The surprise in your voice made him pull back and look at you, that same wolfish grin playing on his lips.
"The girls that want pretty boys are always the best."
"You caught me." You laughed, feeling the warmth bloom in your chest. "I'm just here for the-" You stopped yourself, catching the pleased look in his eyes. "..experience."
He raised an eyebrow. "The experience?"
"Some of us come here to appreciate the human form," you said, aiming for lighthearted. "To see it in all its glory. To marvel at what nature has created. Like a museum, but less quiet and a lot more fun."
He laughed, bright and surprised. "A museum. I've never heard it called that before."
"I'm expanding your vocabulary. You're welcome."
"Oh, is that what you're doing?" He shifted above you, settling himself more comfortably over your body, one long leg sliding between yours. "Expanding my vocabulary?"
"Words are important," you said solemnly. "So is anatomy. Biology. The physical form as art."
"And here I thought you just wanted to see me naked."
"That too. We can have multiple goals."
Sam's laugh was low and rough, vibrating through your chest where his body pressed against yours. "I really, really like you."
"Good." You reached up, pulling him down into another kiss. "Then show me."
The darkness of the booth seemed to swallow everything but the two of you. Sam's hands roamed across your body like he was memorizing every curve, every contour. His lips followed suit, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and chest. The dress was a flimsy barrier that he easily pushed aside, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your collarbone.
From the other couch, a low, deep moan echoed. Castiel's voice, barely recognizable, cracked with pleasure. "Dean... please..."
"You like that?" Dean's voice was a low, filthy whisper. "You like feeling my body on yours?"
A broken, unintelligible response, followed by Dean's low, dirty laugh.
Sam's hand gripped your chin, turning your head back toward him. "Eyes on me, sweetheart."
The possessiveness in his voice sent a thrill through you. "Jealous?"
"Maybe." He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Maybe I just want to be the only thing you see."
"Greedy."
"Guilty as charged."
You smiled, your hands sliding down his chest to the waistband of the lacy underwear. "Then give me something worth seeing."
"You want a show?" He raised an eyebrow. "I could have done that for you back there."
"You can do it better here." you agreed softly, the words tasting sweet on your tongue.
He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your face. "I don't usually do this with people I just met."
"Neither do I."
"But you're different."
âAnd I'm also about to take off a piece of clothing you're probably charging extra for. So unless you want to argue..."
He laughed, low and surprised. "Okay, okay. You've convinced me."
His hands found the clasp of your bra, his fingers working it open with practiced ease. The cool air of the booth hit your skin, making you shiver, but then his mouth was there, warm and wet, and the shiver turned into something entirely different.
"Beautiful," he murmured against your skin. "Absolutely beautiful."
"You already said that."
"I know. I meant it both times."
His hands moved to your hips, gripping the fabric of your dress and pushing it up until it was bunched around your waist. His fingers grazed the bare skin of your hips, making you gasp.
"Shh," he whispered. "Just relax."
"Easy for you to say."
He smiled, his eyes dark with desire. "I'll make it easy for you."
The red lights of the booth cast everything in a warm, intimate glow. Sam's body was a study in shadows and highlightsâmuscles moving beneath smooth, golden skin, eyes dark with desire, lips slightly swollen from your kisses.
"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" you breathed, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
"I've got a pretty good idea." He kissed the corner of your mouth. "But I like hearing you say it."
"Pretty boy."
"Mmhmm."
"Pretty, pretty boy."
"Keep going."
You laughed, pulling him down into another kiss. His hips ground against yours, and you could feel the evidence of his arousal: hard and long and pressing insistently against your thigh.
"Impatient?" you teased.
"Very." He nuzzled against your neck, his voice muffled against your skin. "You've got no idea how much I want you."
"I think I've got a pretty good idea."
"Then let me show you."
His hand slid down your body, fingers finding the edge of the underwear you were wearing beneath your dress. He traced the edge of the cloth, making you shiver.
"Can I?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Please."
His fingers slid beneath the fabric, finding you wet and ready. His breath caught, and when his eyes met yours, there was a flash of raw hunger.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You're soâ"
"Sam..."
His name was barely a whisper on your lips as his thumb found your sensitive bundle, index and forefinger slipping inside, stroking with a practiced rhythm that made your hips rise involuntarily. He was goodâso goodâand you could feel yourself approaching the edge much faster than you'd expected.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice soft but firm. "I want to see your face when you come."
"Sam, Iâ"
"That's it, sweetheart. Let go for me."
And you did, with a moan that was swallowed by his kiss. His fingers worked you through it, bringing you to the edge again, and then you were coming again, your body shuddering with the force of it.
His eyes were dark and satisfied as he watched you come undone. "Beautiful," he repeated, kissing your forehead. "You're so beautiful when you let go."
"You're one to talk."
"Youâre yet to see." He chuckled, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "But I think you're still the beautiful one here."
"Flatterer."
"What can I say."
A low, anguished cry from the other couch drew your attention. Castiel was on his back now, his body laid out like an offering, and Dean was crouched between his spread thighs. He'd removed Castiel's dress pants and boxers, and his hand was moving rhythmically, touching Castiel in a way that had him coming undone.
"Look at that," Dean murmured. "Just like that. You've been holding out on me."
"De-ah.. an..." Castiel's voice was a broken whisper, his eyes squeezed shut, his hips bucking involuntarily into Dean's hand.
The sight was intoxicating. Your partner of three years, so rigid and controlled in his day-to-day life, completely undone. And Dean was a master orchestrator, his touch coaxing Castiel's surrender with careful patience and raw skill.
Sam's hands tightened on your waist.
"Don't worry about them," Sam murmured, drawing your attention back to him. "Dean knows what he's doing."
"I'm not worried," you said, surprised by how true those words were. "He's in good hands."
"Better than good." Sam's hands were moving again, sliding under the edge of your jacket and pushing it off your shoulders. "Now, where were we?"
"You were telling me I was beautiful."
"Oh, was I now?" He grinned, and it was boyish and charming and completely at odds with the way his body was pressed against yours. "But that you are. The most beautiful woman in this place."
"Now I know you're lying. There are literal models in here."
"I'm not lying." He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "None of them look like you."
You shivered, and he noticed. Of course he noticedâhe seemed to notice everything.
"I like that," he breathed. "I like that I did that to you."
"Sammy" Dean's voice cut through the moment, rough and impatient. "Stop hogging her."
Sam pulled back, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation. "I wasn't hogging her. I was appreciating her."
"Same thing. You always take forever."
"Quality takes time."
"I'm quality," Dean said, affronted. "I'm nothing but quality."
"And humility, apparently."
"I like them," you said to Castiel, who looked like he was on the verge of a complete breakdown. "They're fun."
Castiel's eyes darted to you, pleading. Your name slipped out in a whine.
âAwh, baby, whatâs that, huh?â You cooed at him. "Relax, honey. I've got you. Mâright here."
"See?" Dean said, his voice warm with satisfaction. "She's got you. Now stop overthinking and just feel."
"What a lovely couple." Dean said, his voice a playful purr, clearly jealous. "Really beautiful."
"Focus on your own," Sam said, but there was no heat in his voice. "She's not going anywhere."
"Neither is he." Dean's grin was sharp and predatory. "Are you, now, sweetheart?"
Castiel shook his head, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. "No," he managed. "No, I-"
"That's what I thought."
You turned back to Sam, smirk on your lips. âHelp me down?âÂ
ââCourseâ He hummed, not understanding where this was going but aiming to please anyways.
He helped you down off his lap, and when you positioned yourself on your knees on the plush carpet before him, it clicked. His legs spread wide, the white lace doing nothing to hide his erection straining against the fabric.
"So pretty," you murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to the lace-covered length of him. "So fucking pretty."
Sam's breath caught, his hand threading through your hair. "That's- you don't have to.."
"I want to." You mouthed at him through the lace, your tongue tracing the shape of him through the thin fabric. "I've wanted to since I saw you."
His hips jerked involuntarily, and you smiled against him. "Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, that'sâ"
"Good?"
"Amazing. You're amazing."
You tugged the lace aside, freeing his erection, and you couldn't help the moan that escaped you. He was beautifulâlong and thick and perfect, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.
"Just like the rest of you," you murmured, leaning in to kitten-lick at the head. "Perfect."
He groaned, his hand tightening in your hair. You took him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue. "mnmh."
His head fell back against the couch, his breath coming in harsh pants. "Fuck, that'sâfuck, you're good at that."
You hummed in response, taking him deeper. His hips rolled up to meet you, and you let him take control, let him use your mouth however he needed.
Through the haze of your own arousal, you were dimly aware of the sounds coming from the other couchâCastiel's broken moans, Dean's low growls of satisfaction. The music of four people chasing pleasure together.
Sam was gripping your hair now, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "I'm close," he warned with a whine. "Really close."
You didn't pull back. You pushed forward, taking him deeper, letting him feel the vibration of your moans.
"Fuck, fuck, I'mâ"
He came with a low moan, his body tensing beneath you, his hips jerking as he spilled into your mouth. You swallowed everything, lapping at him until he was spent and gasping.
"Holy shit," he breathed, his hand still tangled in your hair. "Holy shit..."
You pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Good?"
"Good doesn't even begin to cover it."
You grinned, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction. "Glad to be of service."
Dean's laugh rang out from the other couch, sharp and eager. "Sam's already done?" he called, his voice rough. "Damn, brother. Did you not pace yourself?"
Sam made a rude gesture that was very effective, considering his state of undress. "Shut up."
"Never." Dean was looking at you now, his eyes hungry. "But since you're done, I'm thinking it's my turn with the lady."
"Easy there cowboy." you cooed. "Cas first. He's waited so patiently."
Castiel made a sound of protest from beneath Dean. "I'm not- I don't needâ" His words died in his troath when the older brother started up his ministrations again, fingers finding his sweet spot.
"Nonsense." You denied. "You've been an absolute angel, Casie. You deserve to be worshipped."
Dean laughed, but it was good-natured. "She's got a point, hotstuff. You've been so good, taking everything I gave you."
"I- unghnn, you- that's not.."
"You know," Sam hummed, "you two are really cute together."
"Oh, I know." you said, looking up at him once again, hands still on his thighs. "Now, did you promise me something earlier, De?"
Dean's lips curved into a wicked grin. "I did, didn't I?"
"You did." You reached out, threading your fingers through his hair. "You said you'd take good care of him. Treat him like a prince."
"And I will." Dean's attention turned to Castiel, his eyes softening. "Look at you. All fucked-out and pretty."
Dean's words hung in the air like smoke, curling around Castiel's dazed expression. Your partner's eyes were glassy, his lips parted, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. The sight of him like this: so completely undone, so far removed from the rigid, controlled agent you'd spent three years working alongside, sent a thrill through you that had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with the man himself.
"I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good you forget your own name."
Castiel made a sound that might have been a whimper or might have been agreement. It was hard to tell at this point.
Sam's hands found your waist again, pulling you back against his chest. "You're something else, you know that?"
"I've been told." You tilted your head back to look at him, a lazy smile playing on your lips. "What can I say? I'm a woman of many talents."
"I'm starting to see that." His lips brushed your ear, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "But I'm not done with you yet."
"Oh, I know." You turned in his arms, pressing yourself against him. "But I'm thinking... maybe we should give him a show."
Sam's eyebrows shot up. "A show?"
"Mmhmm." You reached down, your fingers finding the waistband of his underwearâstill damp from your earlier ministrations. "You and me. Right here. While he watch."
"Fuck," Sam breathed, his eyes darkening. "You're gonna kill me."
"Not tonight." You pulled him down for a kiss, slow and deep. "Tonight, I'm going to make you feel very, very good."
From the other couch, Dean's voice cut through. "Hey, if you two are gonna fuck, at least make it interesting."
"Interesting?" you repeated, pulling back from Sam. "What did you have in mind?"
Dean's grin was sharp and wolfish. "I'm thinking... you ride him. Right there." He gestured to the space between the two couches. "Give him a show." He pointed to Castiel, who was looking at you with dazed eyes and parted lips.
You looked at Sam, who shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "I'm game if you are."
"Always."
"Condom?" you asked, your voice steady despite the heat pooling in your belly.
Sam reached for a small drawer in a nearby night-side-looking table, pulling out a foil packet. "Always prepared."
"I like a man who's prepared."
You took the packet from him, tearing it open with your teeth. His eyes tracked the movement, his breath catching as you rolled the condom down his length with practiced ease.
"Ready?" you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.
"Fuck yes."
You rose up from your knees, positioning yourself over him. Sam's hands found your hips, steadying you as you sank down onto him in one slow, smooth motion.
"Oh," you breathed, the sensation of him filling you making your eyes flutter closed. "Oh, that'sâ"
"Good, I hope?" Sam's voice was shaky, strained, his grip on your hips tightening.
"So good."
You began to move, finding a rhythm that was slow and deep and perfect. Sam's hands guided you, his breath coming in harsh pants as you rode him.
But your eyes weren't on Sam. They were over his shoulder, on the other couch, where Dean had positioned Castiel on his hands and knees, his body arched like an offering.
"You see that, sweetheart?" Dean's voice was low and rough. "You see how beautiful he looks?"
You nodded, your breath catching as you watched Dean position himself behind Castiel. "I see him."
"He's gonna take me so good," Dean continued, his voice dropping to something almost reverent. "Aren't you, hotstuff?"
Castiel's response was a broken moan, his head dropping forward as Dean pressed into him.
"Fuck, look at that." Sam's voice was a low growl in your ear. "Look how he takes it."
You watched, transfixed, as Dean began to move. His pace was rough, demanding, each thrust pulling a cry from Castiel's lips that was part pain and part pleasure.
"Tell me what you see," Sam murmured, his hands gripping your hips tighter. "Tell me everything."
"I seeâ" You gasped as Sam's hips bucked up into you, hitting a spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. âCastiel's face- God, his faceâ"
"What about his face?"
"He'sâ" You watched as Castiel's head came up, his eyes meeting yours across the room. "He's looking at me. He looks so fucked. So dumb. Like he doesn't know his own name."
Castiel's lips parted, a sound escaping him that was almost your name. Almost.
"Fuck," Dean growled, his pace quickening. "Look at him. Look at how good he takes it. You see that, sweetheart? You see how good he is for me?"
"He's so good," you breathed, your eyes locked on Castiel's. "So fucking good. He's taking everything you give him."
"Tell me what he does when I hit deep."
You watched, your breath catching, as Dean's hips pistoned forward. Castiel's eyes flew wide, his mouth falling open in a silent cry.
"His eyes roll back," you said, your voice hushed. "His mouth falls open. He looksâfuck, he looks like he's in heaven."
"Fuck, that's it." Dean's voice was ragged. "That's it, sweetheart. Take it. Take all of it."
You were still moving, still riding Sam, but your focus was entirely on the scene unfolding before you. Castiel's face was a study in abandonâhis brow furrowed, his lips swollen, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
"He's so hot," you murmured, almost to yourself. "So fucking hot when he lets go."
Your voice, sweet and soft, seemed to reach Castiel through the haze of his pleasure. His eyes found yours again, and something in his expression shiftedâa recognition, an acknowledgment of the intimacy of the moment.
"Look at you two," Dean was saying, his pace never faltering. "Fucking perfect. Both of you. Just perfect."
Sam's hands tightened on your hips, pulling your attention back to him (greedy thing) his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "I'm close," he warned. "Really close."
"Me too." You tore your gaze away from Castiel, focusing on Sam. "Come with me."
"Fuck, yes."
Sam's hips pistoned up into you, driving you toward the edge. Your eyes found Castiel's again, and you watched as Dean's pace became frantic, his own release clearly imminent.
"Casâ" you breathed, your voice a broken whisper. "Look at me. Look at me when you come."
Castiel's eyes locked on yours, and you watched as the tension in his body reached its breaking point. His mouth fell open, a sound escaping him that was almost your name, and then he was coming, his body shuddering with the force of it.
The sight of him, so completely undone, pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry that was half his name, half something else entirely, your body clenching around Sam as he followed you over.
"Fuck," Sam breathed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Fuck, that was.."
"Yeah." You were breathless, your body still trembling. "Yeah, it was."
On the other couch, Dean was pulling out of Castiel, his hand moving over himself. "Fuck, that's it," he was muttering, his eyes locked on Castiel's prone form. "That's it, sweetheart. Look at you. All fucked out and pretty."
Dean came with a low groan, his body shuddering as he spilled onto Castiel's back.
"Fuck," Dean breathed, collapsing onto the couch. "Fuck, I needed that."
"You always say that," Sam said, a low huff of laughter escaping him. He was still inside you, his hands gentle on your hips as he helped you off of him. "You always get dumb after the first round."
"Shut up." But there was no heat in Dean's voice. He was sprawled on the couch, his chest heaving, his eyes half-lidded.
"Pay him no mind," Sam murmured against your neck, his voice soft and amused. "He always gets like this."
You laughed, the sound bright and breathless. "I noticed."
Sam carefully disposed of the condom, his movements slow and deliberate. His hands found your waist again, pulling you against him. "You okay?"
"More than okay." You tilted your head back to look at him.Â
He pressed a kiss to your forehead.Â
From the couch, Dean's voice cut through the haze. "My turn."
You looked over at him, surprised. "What?"
"My turn." Dean was sitting up now, his eyes wild and hungry. "My turn, my turn, my turnâ"
"Dean." Sam's voice was exhasperated, almost annoyed. "Calm down."
"Not gonna." He singsonged back, his gaze fixed on you.
"Greedy." You smirked. Already moving toward him, your body responding to the raw need in his voice. "Okay, Dean. I'm here."
"Fuck, yes." Dean pulled you onto his lap, his hands gripping your hips with almost bruising force. "Wanna feel you. Wanna be inside you."
"Condom?"
"I don't give a fuck about a condom."
"Dean." Sam's voice cut through, firm and commanding. "Condom."
Dean made a sound of frustration, but he reached for thedrawer aswell, pulling out a foil packet. "Fine. But hurry."
You took the packet from him, tearing it open and rolling the condom down his length. He was still hard despite having just painted Castielâs back, his arousal evident in the way his hips bucked up into your touch.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, that's it. That's it, sweetheart."
You positioned yourself over him, sinking down onto him in one smooth motion. Dean's head fell back, a low moan escaping his lips.
"God, yes," he breathed. "Yes, yes, yes-"
You began to move, finding a rhythm that was slow and deep. But Dean's hands were on your hips, guiding you, his need palpable in every touch.
"Faster," he demanded. "Want more."
"Then take it." You leaned forward, your lips brushing his ear. "Show me what you need."
Dean's hands tightened on your hips, and suddenly you were on your back, the couch soft beneath you, Dean hovering over you.
"Fuck, yes," he breathed. "That's it. That's-"
"Fuck- ah, honey." Your voice was soft, almost teasing. "You talk too much."
"I know, but I can't help it, you're just so-" His hips thrust forward, a broken moan escaping him. "So- fuckâ"
You reached up, your fingers threading through his hair, and pulled. Dean's eyes rolled back, a sound escaping him that was half moan, half whimper.
"That's it," you murmured, your nails raking down his back. "That's it, baby. Take what you need."
Dean's pace quickened, his breaths coming in harsh pants.
"Too much?" You raked your nails down his back again, leaving red marks in their wake.
"Nah, no, not at all-" His hips stuttered, a low whine escaping him. "You feel so good- so fucking goo-â"
Your teeth found his neck, biting down just hard enough to make him gasp. Dean's hips jerked, a sob escaping him.
"Oh, you like that?" you murmured against his skin. "You like it when I bite you?"
"Yes, yes, yes-" His voice was broken, desperate. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Please-" He was trembling now, his pace erratic. "Please don't stop-"
"I won't." Your lips found his ear, your voice dropping to a whisper. "You're going to come for me, Dean. You're going to come inside me, and you're going to be so good for me."
"Fuck- yes, I am." His hips stuttered, a broken cry escaping him. "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm comingâ"
His body shuddered above you, his release spilling into the condom, his cries muffled against your neck.
"That's it," you murmured, your hand stroking through his hair. "That's it, baby. So good for me."
"Fuck..â he breathed, his body still trembling.Â
"Yeah, baby." You pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thatâs what we just did."
"More." he begged, his voice barely a whisper.
"Dean, you justâ"
"I know, but I need- pleaseâ"
Sam's voice cut through, low and amused. "He always gets like this. Needs two or three rounds before he's satisfied."
"Sam, shut the fuck up." But there was no heat in Dean's voice. His body was still pressed against yours, his need evident in the way he was already hardening inside you.
"More." he repeated, his voice desperate.Â
"Okay." You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. "Okay, Dean. But you're going to take what I give you. Understand?"
"Yes, yes, anythingâ"
"Good boy."
Dean's hips began to move again, his pace slower this time, more deliberate. Your nails found his back again, raking down the already-red marks.
"Fuck-" His head fell back, a low moan escaping him. "Yes, yes, like thatâ"
"Tell me how it feels," you murmured, your voice soft and coaxing. "Tell me what you need."
"It feels-" His breath caught as your teeth found his shoulder. "So good. You feel so good. Needâneed more-"
"More what?"
"More everything." His hips thrust forward, a broken cry escaping him. "I need you to take me apart. Need you to make me- I dunnoâ"
"Make you dumb?"
"Yes." The word was a desperate plea. "Make me dumb. Make me forget my own name. Pleaseâ"
You laughed, the sound bright and breathless. "I can do that."
From the corner of your eye, you saw Sam moving, positioning himself between Castiel's legs. Your partner was still dazed, his body limp and pliant, and Sam's hands on him were gentle, almost reverent.
"Look at that," you murmured, your eyes tracking the movement. "Look at how gentle he is with him."
Dean followed your gaze, his pace slowing. "Sam's always like that. Gentle. Careful."
"He's so sweet with him."
"He is." Dean's voice was soft, almost wistful. "He's always been the gentler one. The one who takes care of people."
"And you?"
Dean's eyes met yours, something raw and vulnerable flickering in their depths. "I'm the one who takes them apart."
"I know." Your nails raked down his back again, and Dean's eyes rolled back, a low moan escaping him. "That's what I like about you."
"Fuckâ" His hips thrust forward, his pace quickening. "You're going to kill me."
"Do I look like a murderer to you two, or something?" Your lips found his ear, your voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm just going to make you feel so good."
Sam was moving now, his body positioned between Castiel's spread thighs. He was slow, careful, each touch seeming to ask permission. Castiel's eyes were closed, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
"You okay?" Sam's voice was soft, concerned. "Tell me if it's too much."
"Just-" Castiel's breath caught as Sam's hand found his, their fingers intertwining. "I'm not used to.."
"To what?"
"Being touched like this." Castiel's voice was barely a whisper. "Like I'm something precious."
Sam's expression softened, something almost unbearably tender flickering in his eyes. "You are something precious."
Castiel made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "You don't even know me."
"don't need to." Sam's lips found his forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there. "I can see it. The way you hold yourself. The way you look at her. You're a good man, Castiel. I can tell."
"Samâ" Castiel's voice broke, his eyes squeezing shut.
"Shh. Just lemme take care of you."
You watched them, your heart clenching at the sight. Castiel, so rigid and controlled, being held so gently. It was beautiful, really. In a way that made your chest ache.
Dean's pace had slowed, his eyes also on the scene. "He's good at that," he murmured. "Making people feel safe."
"He is." You reached up, cupping Dean's face in your hands. "But you're good at other things."
"Yeah?"Â
âYea.âÂ
"Fuckâ" Dean's hips thrust forward, his body shuddering against yours. "I'm close again. I can'tâI can't stopâ"
"Don't stop." Your nails raked down his back, and Dean cried out, his body shuddering above you. "I want to feel you come."
"Fuckâ" His hips jerked, his release spilling into the condom, his cries muffled against your neck.
"That's it," you murmured, your hand stroking through his hair. "That's it, baby. So good for me."
"Jesus Christ," Dean breathed, his body still trembling. "I think you broke me."
"Good." You pressed a kiss to his forehead. "That was the goal."
A beat of stillness between you. He made no move to get off you.Â
âDean?âÂ
âmnmh?âÂ
âYouâre still inside me.âÂ
âYeah, I know.â HE smirked.Â
âYou wanna go for another round?âÂ
âFuck, yeah I do.âÂ
âGood, cause I'm wasnât done with you yet."
The next round was slower, more deliberate. Dean was clearly sensitive, his body trembling with each movement, but he was determined. His hips moved in a slow, deep rhythm, his eyes locked on yours.
"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice soft and reverent. "So fucking good."
"So do you." You arched up into him, a low moan escaping you. "Dean-"
"I know." His hand found yours, your fingers intertwining. "I've got you- I've got you-"
Sam was still between Castiel's legs, his movements gentle and unhurried. Castiel's eyes were closed, his body relaxed, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"Fuck," Dean breathed, his eyes tracking the scene. "Look at him. Look how beautiful he is."
"He is." You pulled him down for a kiss, soft and sweet. "But I wanna look at you."
Dean's breath caught. "Me?"
"You."Â
"Fuckâ" Dean's hips stuttered, his body shuddering above you. "I'm coming again. I can't-"
"Me too, fuck-" Your voice was high, reedy, you almost didnât recognise yourself from how desperate it sounded.
Dean came with a cry that was half-sob, his body trembling against yours. You held him through it, your hands stroking through his hair, your murmurs soft and soothing.
"That's it," you said breathlessly. "That's it, baby. So good for me."
Dean collapsed on top of you, his body heavy and warm. "I think I need a minute." he mumbled against your neck.
"Take as long as you need."
"Give him a few minutes." Sam called out, his voice warm with amusement.Â
You laughed, the sound bright and breathless. "Will do."
Dean stirred against you, his voice muffled against your neck. "I think I'm ready for round four."
"Dean." Sam's voice was sharp, warning. "Let her breathe."
"I'm fine." You laughed, the sound bright and breathless. "Let him have his round four."
"You're going to kill him."
"That's the goal."
Dean's laughter was a low, warm rumble against your skin. "I love this woman. I want to keep her."
"Get in line."
Sam helped Castiel into a sitting position, his hands gentle on his shoulders. "You okay?"
Castiel nodded, his eyes soft. "I'm good. Really good."
"Good." Sam pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Because weâre not done with you yet."
Your eyes met Castiel's, and something passed between yous. You'd been partners for three years, had shared late nights and close calls and moments of vulnerability.Â
"Cas," you said, your voice soft. "Come here."
Castiel's eyes widened slightly, but he moved toward you, his body still loose and pliant from his time with Sam. He settled beside you on the couch, his shoulder brushing yours.
"Hi," you said, a soft smile playing on your lips.
"Hi." His voice was hoarse, but there was something in his eyesâa warmth, a openness that you'd rarely seen from him.
"I wanna ride you." you said, the words simple and direct. "Is that okay, baby?"
Castiel's breath caught, a blush spreading across his cheeks. "Iâ" He swallowed hard. "Yes. Yes, that's okay."
"Good." You reached for him, your hand cupping his face. "I'm going to take care of you. Okay?"
You got off Dean, ignoring his little protesting whine as he tried to hold on for a beat longer. You just cooed at the poor pouty boy as you positioned yourself over Castiel. His hands found your hips, his grip gentle, almost hesitant.
"That's it," you murmured, your voice soft and reassuring. "Just relax, baby"
"Fuck-" Castiel's breath caught, his eyes fluttering closed as he slid inside inch by inch. "You feel so good."
"So do you." You began to move, your pace slow and rhythmic. "So fucking good."
From behind you, Sam's hands found Castiel's shoulders, his chest pressing against his back. "Look at her," he murmured, his lips brushing Castiel's ear. "Look at how beautiful she is."
Castiel's eyes opened, finding yours. "Beautiful," he breathed. "So beautiful."
"Kiss her," Sam urged, his voice low and coaxing. "Kiss her, baby, come on."
Castiel leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft and sweet and perfect. Your hands found his hair, threading through the dark strands as you deepened the kiss.
"Fuck," Dean breathed, his voice reverent. "That's the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
You pulled back, laughing breathlessly. "You're just saying that."
"I'm not." Dean was jerking off now, his hand moving slowly over his length. "I'm really, really not."
Sam's lips found the back of Castiel's neck, pressing gentle kisses along his spine. Castiel moaned, his hips bucking up into you, his eyes fluttering closed.
"That's it," you murmured, your voice soft and soothing. "That's it, baby. Let go for me."
Castiel's hands tightened on your hips, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "close- ah," he warned. "nghh, mâclose- close."
"Come for me." Your pace quickened, your own release building. "Come for me, baby."
"Fuck-" Castiel's body shuddered, his release spilling into you. "Yes, god-" You followed him over the edge, your own climax washing over you like a wave.
"That's it," Sam murmured, his lips still pressed to Castiel's neck. "That's it, sweetheart. So good."
Dean's pace quickened, his eyes locked on the two of you. "Fuck, that's so sexy."
"Go on Dean," you said, your voice soft and coaxing. "make a show."
Dean's body shuddered, his release spilling over his hand. "Fuckiiing hell"
The four of you collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. The dim lights of the booth cast everything in a warm, intimate glow.
"That was.." Castiel started, then stopped, clearly unable to find the words.
"Really good," you agreed, your voice soft. "like amazing good."
Sam's arm was around Castiel, pulling him close, back to his chest. "You okay, baby?"
Castiel nodded, his eyes soft. "mâgood. Really good."
"Good." Sam pressed a kiss to his forehead.
You watched them, something warm and tender blooming in your chest. This wasn't how you'd expected the night to go, not at all you'd come here for surveillance, for information on a drug lord. To oogle pretty men, take a good look at them, maybe get a lapdance. Instead, you'd gotten this.
"We should probably.." you trailed off softly.Â
"Don't say it," Dean interrupted, his voice rough. "Don't say that you should go."
"I wasn't going to." You laughed, the sound bright and surprised. "I was going to say we should probably take a break. Get some water. Maybe find some food."
"Oh." Dean's expression shifted, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "That's actually a really good idea."
"I have my moments."
Sam's laugh was a low, warm rumble. "She's a keeper, Dean."
"I told you." Dean's eyes met yours, something soft and genuine flickering in their depths. "I want to keep her."
"You can't keep me," you said, but there was no heat in your voice. "I'm not a possession."
"I know." Dean's hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours. "But maybe we can keep you around. If you want."
"Maybe." You squeezed his hand. "Let me think about it."
From the opposite side of the cuddle sandwich, Sam's voice was warm with amusement. "Are we going to get food, or are we going to sit here and have a moment?"
"We can do both," Dean said, already climbing to his feet. "I know a place. Best burgers in town."
"Burgers," you repeated, a smile spreading across your face. "That sounds perfect."
The club was quiet as you made your way to the back exitâthe VIP entrance, as Dean called it. The main floor was still thrumming with music, but you were all past the point of caring. The night had been long, and you were hungry.
The alley behind the club was dark, lit only by a single flickering streetlamp. Dean led the way, his steps confident and sure.
"It's just around the corner," he said, gesturing toward the street. "Best burgers you'll ever have. Trust me."
"I'll trust you," you said, a smile playing on your lips. "But if they're not the best, I'm holding you personally responsible."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
The diner was a small, hole-in-the-wall place, the kind that looked like it hadn't been updated since the 1970s. The vinyl booths were cracked and faded, but the smell coming from the kitchen was mouthwatering.
"Told you," Dean said, sliding into a booth. "Best burgers in town."
Sam and Castiel slid into the booth opposite him, leaving you to decide where to sit. You chose the seat next to Dean, your shoulder brushing his.
"So," you said, picking up a menu. "What's good?"
"Everything." Dean's grin was infectious. "But the double cheeseburger with bacon is a religious experience."
"High praise."
"High praise that's well-earned."
Sam leaned forward, his voice conspiratorial. "He's not wrong. They put this special sauce on it, and we don't know what's in it, but heâs been coming here for five years and still can't figure it out."
"Itâs like the secret formula of the Crabby Patty from Spongebob." Dean said, his voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. "They got me here playing guest starr as Plancton."
You couldnât help the loud laugh that boomed out of you, hand immediately going to cover your lips to silence it, shoulders shaking with it. Castiel just admired you, struggling not to break into a chuckle himself.
"Good thing we're FBI agents, then." Castiel's voice was soft, but there was a hint of humor in it. "We're very good at finding out things."
The waitress came, a no-nonsense woman in her fifties who clearly knew Dean and Sam well. "The usual, boys?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.
"Double cheeseburgers all around," Dean said. "And a round of milkshakes."
"Chocolate?" she asked.
"What else?"
She laughed, writing down the order. "Coming right up."
When she left, you turned to Dean. "You're a regular here?"
"Something like that." Dean's grin was sheepish. "We come here after... work."
"Work," you repeated, a knowing smile playing on your lips. "Right."
"We're not going to talk about work tonight," Sam said, his voice gentle but firm. "Tonight, we're just... people. Four people who had a good time together."
"Is that what we are?" you asked, the question soft and genuine.
Sam's eyes met yours, something warm and tender flickering in their depths. "Thatâs what I'd like us to be."
Castiel's hand found yours over the table, his fingers squeezing gently. "I'd like that too."
Dean's hand landed on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the fabric of your dress. "What he said."
You laughed, the sound bright and surprised. "I think we're going to be okay."
The milkshakes arrived first: thick, creamy, and topped with whipped cream. Dean took a long sip of his, his eyes fluttering closed.
"Fuck," he breathed. "That's good."
"Told you," Sam said, his voice warm with amusement. "Best milkshakes in town."
Castiel took a tentative sip of his, his eyes widening. "That'sâokay, that's really good."
"Told you, hostuff." Dean's grin was triumphant. "I have excellent taste."
"In milkshakes?" you teased. "Or everything?"
"Everything. Obviously." He said, giving you and Castiel a pointed look that had you rolling your eyes.
The burgers arrived, and they were everything Dean had promised: juicy and flavorful, the special sauce adding just the right amount of tang. You ate in comfortable silence, the four of you sharing fries and picking off each other's plates.
"This is nice," you said finally, leaning back in your seat. "Really nice."
"It is," Sam agreed, his hand finding Castiel's on the tabletop. "We should do this more often."
"I'd like that." Castiel's voice was soft, almost shy. "If you're notâif we're not just-" He stopped, clearly unsure how to finish the sentence.
"We're not just anything," Dean said, his voice firm. "We're people. People who had a really good time together. People who might want to have more really good times."
Castiel's breath caught, his eyes glistening. "You mean that?"
"I mean it. I don't say things I don't mean."
"I know you don't." Castiel's eyes found Dean's, their gazes locking as he smiled. "I got that feeling about you."
"Good." Dean's grin was warm, genuine. "Then we're on the same page."
The night wound down, and you found yourselves back in the alley behind the club, the streetlamp casting long shadows across the pavement. The air was cool, a welcome relief from the heat of the booth.
"I guess this is goodnight." you said, the words feeling strange on your tongue.
"Goodnight," Sam said, his voice soft. "But not goodbye."
"Definetely not goodbye," you agreed. "I'd like to see you again. Both of you."
"Both of us?" Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Not just one?"
"I've got excellent taste." Your grin was sharp, teasing. "Why settle for one when I can have both? Plus that way Castiel and I can get it on at the same time so.."
Dean's laugh was bright and surprised. "I like her. I really like her."
"I noticed." Sam's voice was dry, but there was warmth in his eyes.
Castiel stepped forward, his hand finding yours. "Thank you," he said softly. "For tonight."
"You don't have to thank me." You squeezed his hand. "That's what partners are for."
"Partners." His voice was soft, almost wondering. "I like that."
"Good." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
Dean's hand landed on your shoulder, and when you turned, he was smiling down at you. "We're not going anywhere either. Just... in case you were wondering."
"I was," you admitted. "A little."
"Well, now you know."
Sam stepped forward, his hand cupping your face. "Take care of yourself," he said, his voice soft. "And take care of him." He nodded toward Castiel.
"I will." You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing briefly. "I promise."
"Good." Sam pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Then I'll see you soon."
You exchanged numbers, shared a few goodbye kisses and went back to your life as FBI agents.
The walk to your car was quiet, Castiel's hand in yours. The night air was cool, the sky above dotted with stars that seemed brighter than they had any right to be.
"Tonight was..." Castiel started, then stopped, clearly unable to find the words.
"Perfect?" you suggested.
"I was going to say unexpected." He laughed, the sound soft and surprised. "But perfect does it too."
"Good." You squeezed his hand. "Because that's exactly what it was."
and like why is there even still gender segregated tennis in the first place. it's hitting shit with a racket. anyone can do that against anyone. like I feel like we've had pretty significant proof that women can and do whup any man's ass at tennis for uuuuuuh however long the Williams sisters have been doing it. what on earth is the point of "sex testing" the players. let them all just hit the fucking balls at whoever they want who gives a fuck.
My spouse and I were talking last night and the jeans problem came up so I want to talk about it with tumblr here.
The jeans problem was the favorite lecture one of my philosophy professors in college gave about the history of jeans and how it ties into capitalism/mainstream culture absorbing and monetizing any counterculture it encounters. So prior to the 1950s jeans were mostly an item of work-wear that you wore on the job as a farmer or factory worker or miner because they were cheap, durable, and hard-wearing. If you were off the job you'd wear what we'd call now dress pants or slacks. This changes in the 1950s when youth culture start wearing jeans as regular clothing, again because they're cheap, durable, and hard-wearing. But then jeans get absorbed by the culture and we start getting designer jeans, acid-washed jeans, pre-ripped jeans, and now we got people shelling out hundreds of dollars for "povertycore" aesthetic. And now jeans aren't even cheap, durable, and hard-wearing.
This came up because my spouse was talking about thrifting and spooky things (two of her favorite things) and how there was this trend of buying a landscape painting from a thrift store which was probably going to end up in a garbage dump and painting a sheet ghost on it to make it art millennials would like. But now you can go to Michael's or Home Goods or wherever and just buy a landscape painting with a sheet ghost on it, mass-manufactured by a corporation. The counter-culture once again being monetized and absorbed by the culture. It's the jeans problem again.
the puppetry in phm is just so fucking good dude. think abt how much improv there was. the dancing/mimicking scene when rocky and grace first met? that was improvised. that means that 5 people were so in sync with each other on this puppet that they were able to mimic ryan gosling in real time with no plan. bro. BRO. ouugghhhhh rocky puppeteers i love u
I know we talk a lot about the literacy crisis and the horrible anti-intellectualism happening rn but I think we need to talk more about how much of an entitlement complex the stupidest among us have developed
Not the distant, fleeting warmth of a sunbeam through a window, but something all-encompassing. A solid, radiating heat that seeps into your very bones. It's the kind of warmth that makes you want to burrow deeper, to press yourself closer to its source and never move again.
The second thing you become aware of is that you can't move.
Not in a panicked, trapped sort of way, no, this is something else entirely. Your limbs feel like they've been filled with lead, heavy and unresponsive, and there's a fog in your brain that makes the simple act of thinking feel like wading through honey. Your eyelids are impossibly heavy, and the world beyond them is dark and soft and quiet.
But you're warm. And you're safe.
Because you're in someone's arms.
You can feel them around you. Strong, solid arms wrapped around your body, holding you close with a gentleness that borders on reverence. There's a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek, a rhythmic heartbeat that you can feel through the fabric of someone's shirt. Your head is tucked into the curve of someone's neck, your body cradled against someone's chest like you're the most precious thing in the world.
And you are so, so comfortable.
Some distant part of your brain tries to piece together how you ended up here. The last thing you remember is⌠nothing. There's a void where your memories should be, a black hole that swallows up any attempt to reach back and grasp at what came before this moment. It should probably scare you, the emptiness, the not-knowing.. but it doesn't. Not when you're this warm. Not when you're this safe.
A voice rumbles through the chest beneath your cheek, low and rough and achingly familiar.
"âŚand when you wake up, I'm gonna take you to that diner you like. The one with the pie that's almost as good as mine." A pause, and you feel the arms around you tighten just slightly, as if the speaker is trying to pull you impossibly closer. "Almost. Not quite. But close. And I'm gonna let you order whatever you want. Whatever you want, sweetheart. Even if it's the whole damn menu."
The voice is Dean's. You'd recognize it anywhere that gravelly rasp, that particular cadence that's become as familiar to you as your own heartbeat. But there's something different about it now. Something softer. Quieter. Like he's trying not to wake you, even as he speaks to you.
"Maybe we could even get Sam to come," Dean continues, and you can feel the vibration of his words in his chest, can feel the way his throat moves against your hair. "He'd bitch about the calories, but we could make him. It's good for him to get out. We could make it a thing. A whole thing. You, me, and Sammy. Like old times, except⌠except we've got you now, don't we?"
You feel a hand in your hair, stroking, petting, gentle fingers carding through the tangles with infinite patience.
"And when you wake up, I'm gonna teach you how to change the oil in the Impala. You've been asking me for months, and I keep putting it off. I know I do. That's on me. That's my bad. But I promise, sweetheart, soon as you open those eyes, we'll get you out there. Get your hands dirty. You'll love it. It's good, honest work. And it's a skill you should have."
A pause. The hand in your hair stills for a moment before resuming its gentle motion.
"Or maybe we'll do something else. Something you want. You tell me what you want, and we'll do it. We'll do anything. Anything you want, sweet girl. Just⌠just wake up. Please. Please, justâŚ"
His voice breaks on the last word, and you feel a shudder run through his body, a tremor that he tries to hide by pulling you even closer.
"I'm sorry." he whispers, and his voice is so raw, so broken, that something in your chest aches. "I'm so sorry I never said it. I was gonna say it. I was gonna tell you how much you mean to me, how much you matter, how you're-" He chokes on the words, swallows hard. "How you're the best thing that's happened to us in a long damn time. But I kept putting it off. I kept thinking we had time. I kept thinking tomorrow, next week, next month. I was gonna tell you, I swear I was gonna tell you."
His hand moves from your hair to your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles.
"And when you wake up, I'm gonna tell you. Every single day. I'm gonna tell you until you're sick of hearing it, until you're rolling your eyes at me and telling me to shut up already. I don't care. I don't care if you think it's stupid or embarrassing or whatever. I'm gonna say it. I'm gonna say it because you need to know. You need to know that you're- that you're ours. That you're family. That you're mine."
Another pause. His breathing is uneven, shaky.
"And when you wake up, I'm gonnaâ" He stops, and you feel him press his lips to the top of your head, a kiss so tender it makes your heart flutter. "I'm gonna hold you just like this. For as long as you'll let me. And I'm not gonna let go. I'm never gonna let go again."
You've been trying to process his words through the fog in your brain, but they're not making sense. Nothing is making sense. Why is Dean crying? Why does he sound so broken? Why is he talking about you waking up like it's not an inevitability, like it's something he's desperately hoping for?
But the warmth is so nice, and his voice is so soothing, and you're so comfortable.
So you snuggle closer to him.
It's an involuntary movement, one you don't even think about. Just the natural response of your body seeking more comfort, more warmth, more of this incredible feeling of being held and safe and loved. You burrow your face deeper into his neck, your nose pressing against his skin, and you let out a tiny sigh of contentment.
The arms around you freeze.
For a moment, nothing happens. Dean's body goes completely still, his breath catching in his throat. The hand on your back stops moving. The heart beneath your cheek stutters, skips a beat.
Then his grip tightensâso suddenly, so fiercely, that it almost hurts. His arms crush you against his chest, and you feel his whole body start to tremble.
"Sweetheart?" His voice cracks on the word, so high and desperate that you barely recognize it. "Sweetheart, are you- can you hear me? Are youâ"
His arms relax a fraction, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you, you suppose. You can feel his gaze on your face, can sense the intensity of it even through your closed eyes.
"Hey," he says, and his voice is shaking. "Hey, sweet girl. Are you awake? Can you hear me? Give me something, baby. Please. Please give me something."
You want to answer him. You want to open your eyes, to tell him that you're here, that you're okay, that everything is fine. But your eyelids are so heavy, and your body is so heavy, and you can't seem to find the words. Your throat feels like sandpaper, your tongue like a dead weight in your mouth.
But you can do this much: you can hum.
It's barely a sound, a tiny vibration in your throat that you're not even sure he can hear. But you try, and you try, and eventually, a tiny "mm" escapes your lips.
Dean makes a sound like he's been gutted.
"Sam.." His voice is ragged, desperate. "Sam! SAM! SAMMY!"
There's a crash somewhere in the distance, the sound of something falling, and then the pounding of footsteps. They're rushing, frantic, and they're getting closer.
"DEAN?!" Sam's voice is panicked, breathless. "Dean, what's wrong?! Is she-"
"She's awake!" Dean's shouting now, his voice cracking on every other word. "She's conscious! SAMMY, SHE'S AWAKE! SHE HUMMED! I HEARD HER!"
New hands touch you. Larger hands, gentler hands. They brush your hair back from your forehead, and you feel a palm cup your cheek, tilting your face up slightly.
"Hey," Sam says, and his voice is so soft, so careful. "Hey, sweetheart. Can you open your eyes for me? Can you try?"
His thumb strokes your cheekbone, and you lean into the touch without thinking. It's instinctive: the way you tilt your head, the way you press your cheek more firmly into his palm, the way you let out another tiny hum of contentment.
Dean makes a sound that's almost a sob.
"You saw that. You saw that, right?" He's babbling now, the words tumbling out in a rush. "She leaned into your handâSam. SAM. Did you see that?!"
"Dean." Sam's voice is strained, trying to be calm even as his hand trembles against your cheek. "Dean, I need you to breathe. You're gonna scare her."
"I'm not- I'm not trying to-" Dean's voice falters. "I justâshe's awake. She's actually awake. After three days. After.."
Three days? The words echoes in your foggy brain, but you can't make sense of it. Three days of what? Why have you been asleep for three days?
But it's hard to focus on that, because Dean is moving again. He's pulling you back against his chest, and then there are hands in your hair and lips pressed to your forehead and a voice whispering, "She's awake. She's awake. Oh god, she's awake."
And then there are kisses. So many kisses. Pressed to your forehead, your temples, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. Dean's lips are warm and soft and trembling, and he's making sounds that are almost coos, almost baby talk, his voice dropping into that low, purring rumble that he only ever uses when you're sick or upset or having a nightmare.
"Open your eyes," he murmurs against your skin. "Come on, sweet girl. Open those pretty eyes for me. Let me see them. Let me see those beautiful eyes."
His hand strokes your hair, gentle and soothing. "You can do it, baby. I know you can. Just a little bit. Just open them for me. Show me those eyes. Let me see you. Come on, sweetheart. Come on."
You want to. You want to so badly. Because Dean's voice is like honey, dripping into your brain and melting through the fog, and you can feel how much he needs this, how badly he needs you to respond.
So you try.
It takes everything you have. Your eyelids feel like they're weighted down with lead, like someone has glued them shut. Every muscle in your face protests the effort. But you push through it, ignoring the resistance, forcing your eyes open.
The world swims into focus in pieces. First, blurred shapes and indistinct colors. Then, gradually, sharpening into something recognizable.
Dean's face is the first thing you see.
He's beautiful like thisâeven with his eyes red and swollen, even with tears streaming down his cheeks, even with his nose running and his lips swollen from crying. He's beautiful because he's looking at you like you're a miracle, like you're the most precious thing he's ever seen, like you've just saved his life by opening your eyes.
"There you are," he breathes, and his voice cracks on the words. "There you are, sweet girl. There you are."
His grip on you tightens to the point of almost-pain, and you feel him start to shake.
"Sam-" His voice is strangled, broken. "SammyâSammy she's opening her eyes. Sam, look- oh my god, look at her- Sam."
"Dean." Sam's voice is a warning, a plea. "Dean, you're going to scare her. Take a breath."
"I don't care!" Dean's voice rises, cracking and breaking. "I don't care! She's awake! She's actually awake! She came back to me!"
And then he's crying.
Not just tearing up, not just a few tears slipping down his cheeks. No. Dean is crying. Ugly, messy, wrenching sobs that shake his entire body. His face crumples, his breath hitching and stuttering, and he buries his teary and snotty face in your hair and holds you so tightly that you can barely breathe.
But you don't want to breathe. You want to stay right here, in his arms, with his tears soaking into your hair and his heart pounding against your cheek and his voice whispering broken, desperate things.
"I thought you were gone-" he chokes out. "I thought you were never gonna wake up. I thoughtâI thought I'd never get to see you again. I thought-"
"Dean-" Sam's voice is thick, and when you turn your head slightly, you can see that he's crying too, silent tears streaming down his cheeks, his jaw tight with the effort of holding himself together. "Dean, c'mon, you're gonnaa suffocate her."
"don't care." Dean sputters weakly, but he loosens his grip just a fraction, enough for you to take a deep breath. "don't care. m'never letting her go again. Never. She's not going anywhere."
You're so confused. You don't understand why they're crying. You don't understand why Dean is holding you like you're going to disappear. You don't understand what happened, what could have happened to make them so upset.
But you understand this: they're upset, and you want to make it better.
So you smile.
It's a tiny smile, barely there, just a slight upturn of your lips. But it's enough. It's enough to make Dean freeze, to make him pull back and look at you with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Did you just-" He swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Did you just smile at me?"
You try to speak, but your throat is too dry, and all that comes out is another tiny hum. But you keep smiling. You keep looking up at him with all the love you can muster, with all the adoration and affection and gratitude you feel for this broken, beautiful man who took you in and made you family.
And Dean breaks all over again.
"Oh, baby." he whimpers, and it's the most broken sound you've ever heard. "Baby, I love you so much. I love you so fucking much."
The words hit you like a physical blow, taking your breath away. Dean has never said that to you before. He's never said those words to anyone, as far as you know. He's been so careful to keep his heart guarded, to keep his feelings locked away where no one can hurt them.
But he's saying them now. He's saying them to you.
"I should have told you," he continues, the words spilling out like a dam has broken. "I should have told you every single day. But I was scared. I was so scared. I thought if I said it, if I made it real, I'd jinx it. I'd lose you. And I couldn'tâI can't lose you. You're everything. You're everything to me, sweetheart."
Your eyes are getting heavy again, the weight of consciousness pressing down on you. But you fight it, forcing them to stay open, because every time you blink, Dean's face crumples a little more, and you can't bear to see him cry again.
Sam must sense your struggle, because he moves closer, his hand coming up to stroke your hair. "It's okay, honey." he says softly, tearyly. "You can rest. We're here. We're not going anywhere."
"No." Dean says quickly, his voice sharp with panic. "No, nono, she can'tâshe just woke up. She can't go back to sleep. She can't-"
"Dean..." Sam's voice is firm but gentle. "She's exhausted. She needs to rest. Her body needs to heal."
"But what if she doesn't wake up again?" Dean's voice breaks on the question, and you feel his grip on you tighten. "What if she-"
"She will." Sam's hand moves from your hair to Dean's shoulder, squeezing. "She's strong. She's a fighter. And she knows we're here waiting for her. So she'll come back."
Dean shakes his head, burying his face in your hair again. "I can't lose her, Sam. I can't. She's all- she's everything. She's the only good thing I've ever- the only good thing that's come outta me is her-"
"Don't," Sam cuts him off, his voice sharp. "Don't do that. Don't talk about yourself like that. You know she doesn't want you to."
Dean doesn't respond, just holds you tighter and cries into your hair.
The fog is getting thicker, pulling you down into its depths. You want to stay awake, want to be here with them, but your body is so heavy and your eyes are so tired and the warmth is so encompassing.
But before you let yourself drift off, you manage one more thing. One more tiny gesture.
You lift your hand, it takes so much effort, so much concentration, and you reach up. Your fingers find Dean's cheek, trembling and clumsy, and you pat him softly.
It's the best you can do. A tiny pat, a gesture of comfort, as if to say I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. It's okay.
Dean's breath hitches. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your palm more firmly against his cheek.
"Oh, sweetheart.." he whispers, and his voice is so full of love that it makes your heart ache. "Oh, my sweet, sweet girl..."
And then the world goes dark.
You wake up again sometime later.
You don't know how long it's been. The fog is still there, but it's thinner now, less suffocating. Your eyelids are still heavy, but they're not as impossible to open as they were before.
And you're still in Dean's arms.
He's lying down now, you realize. Stretched out on what feels like a bed, with you cradled against his chest. His arms are wrapped around you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other resting on your back. And he's asleep, his breathing deep and even, his heart a steady rhythm beneath your ear.
You can see Sam, too, if you turn your head slightly. He's sitting in a chair next to the bed, his head tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed. But he's not asleep. You can tell by the way his fingers are twitching, the way his brow is furrowed.
He must sense you watching, because his eyes snap open, and when they meet yours, his face breaks into a smile so bright it nearly rivals the sun.
"Hey, sweetheart." he says softly, and his voice is warm and gentle and full of love. "Welcome back."
You try to smile at him, but you're so tired, and it comes out as more of a grimace. But Sam seems to understand, because he reaches out and brushes your hair back from your forehead.
"Take it slow," he murmurs. "There's no rush. Just rest. Dean's got you, and I'm right here. We're not going anywhere."
You want to ask what happened. You want to know why you're here, why Dean and Sam are so upset, why everything feels so strange and off.
But you're so tired. And you're so warm. And Dean's arms are so secure around you.
So you let your eyes drift closed, let yourself sink back into the fog. And you feel Sam's hand on your cheek, and Dean's heart beneath your ear, and you know, you know, that everything is going to be okay.
Because you're home.
You don't remember the hunt. You don't remember the monster that attacked you, or the wounds that nearly killed you, or the two hours that Dean and Sam spent fighting to keep you alive until the doctor could arrive.
You don't remember the three days you spent unconscious, your body fighting to heal itself while Dean refused to leave your side.
You don't remember the doctor's grim prognosis, the words "there's really no way to know if she'll wake up" echoing through the bunker like a death sentence.
You don't remember the way Dean held you for the first two days, his fingers constantly checking your pulse, his ear pressed to your chest to make sure you were still breathing.
You don't remember the way he broke down on the third day, crying into your hair and begging you to come back to him.
But you remember this.
You remember the warmth of his arms around you. You remember the sound of his voice, low and soft and so full of love. You remember the feel of his lips on your forehead, the gentle touch of his hand in your hair.
And you remember the words he said.
"I love you so much. I love you so fucking much."
You're not sure when Dean Winchester became your family. You're not sure when this gruff, broken hunter softened around you, when his harsh words grew gentler and his volume dropped to a purry rumble. You're not sure when you became the sugar in his bitter coffee, the light in his dark world.
But you're grateful for it. You're grateful for every moment of it.
And as you drift in and out of consciousness, wrapped in Dean's arms with Sam close by, you realize something.
This is what family feels like. This is what it means to be loved.
And you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
The next time you fully wake up, Dean is already awake.
He's looking down at you with red-rimmed eyes, his face haggard and drawn, but there's a smile on his lips. A real smile, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners.
"Hey, sweet girl.." he says softly. "There you are."
You try to speak, and this time, your throat isn't quite as dry. "Dean-" you croak. "Whu⌠what happened?"
His face flickers, something dark and painful passing through his eyes before he masks it. "You don't remember?"
You shake your head weakly.
He exhales slowly, his hand coming up to stroke your hair. "That's okay. You don't need to remember. All that matters is that you're okay. You're here. You're alive."
"I'm- I'm sorry.." you whisper, because you can see how much this has affected him, can see the shadows under his eyes and the tremor in his hands. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"Hey." His voice is firm, but not harsh. "Don't you dare apologize. Don't you ever apologize for this. You didn't do anything wrong. You got hurt, and we couldn't get you to a hospital, and we had to fight like hell to keep you alive. That's not your fault. None of this is your fault."
"But you were crying.." you say, and your voice cracks on the words. "You were crying because of me."
Dean's face softens. "Yeah, sweetheart. I was crying. Because I thought I was gonna lose you. And that's⌠that's terrifying. You're so important to me. To us. You have no idea."
"I love you too." you say, because you need him to know. Because he said it first, and you need to say it back. "I love you. Both of you. You're my family."
Dean makes a sound like he's been punched. His face crumples, and he pulls you close, burying his face in your hair.
"I love you too, sweetheart," he chokes out. "I love you too. So much. Don't ever forget that. Don't ever forget how much you mean to me."
You feel Sam's hand on your shoulder, warm and solid. When you look up, he's crying again, silent tears tracking down his cheeks.
"We love you." he says softly. "You're our family. And we're never going to let anything happen to you again."
You reach up and take Sam's hand, squeezing weakly. You reach up with your other hand and touch Dean's cheek, patting him softly.
And you smile.
"I'm okay," you say. "I'm okay. You don't have to worry anymore."
Dean laughsâa broken, wet laugh that's half-sob. "Yeah, sweetheart. I'm always gonna worry. That's what family does."
He presses a kiss to your forehead, and Sam squeezes your hand, and you realize that this is it. This is what it feels like to be loved.
⧽ CUDDLE PILE, PART III: MOVIE NIGHT. ⚠࣪ Ë ę
đ read part I & part II
RAIN PATTERED ON THE WINDOWS OF BOBBYâS HOUSE WHILE the distant bangs of popcorn popping in the microwave could be heard from the kitchen. dean was tapping his foot in front of it, eyeing the bag in the microwave like this was a hunt. he always claims he makes the perfect bag of popcorn and everyone else makes it wrongâbut you and sam will soon be the judge of that.
samâs walking to the couch, sitting with his long legs stretched out over bobbyâs old weapons chest, which is doubling as an ottoman tonight. the DVD menu for the princess bride repeats for the third time as you and sam wait for dean to be done in the kitchen. thereâs two 6-packs of beer, enough candy to put a small child in a coma, and a batch of brownies youâd made for this occasion.
because you guys had a night off.
and a night off means movie night.
sam rolls his eyes as dean brings the big bowl of popcorn with him out of the kitchen, sighing as dean flourishes it to you both like heâs a magician. âbehold,â he grins. âthe best goddamn popcorn youâll ever have in your life.â
âyou say that every time, yâknow,â you remind dean with raised brows.
âand is it the best popcorn?â dean inquires, but doesnât wait for your response before answering for you. âthe answer is yes. yes, it is. hit play, sammy.â
ânono, i gotta turn on the closed captioninâ first,â sam snatches the remote from the makeshift ottoman, to which dean says âaw, naw, you couldntâve done that the whole time i was makinâ the freakinâ popcorn?!â
you just laugh, shaking your head as the brothers snap at each other, then finally calm down. dean sits on the other side of you, shoving the popcorn at sam before he hits play for real this time. itâs almost like youâre the middle of a sandwichâsam and dean being the bread as youâre squished between them. and you donât mind.
dean makes a comment every once in a while as the movie playsâbut you know deep down, he loves this movie just as much as he loves raiders or a cheesy slasher flick. you see it in his eyes when he thinks no oneâs watching him, completely absorbed in the film.
the movieâs just a hair over 90 minutes, but halfway through, you start to feel your eyes droop a little. theyâre burning slightly from being awake for so long. youâd been tired all day, fresh off the last hunt, but now, it was really starting to hit you, despite it not even being that late.
you glance over down at sam, whoâd put his head on your shoulder a while ago. you didnât think anything of itâbut now heâs fast asleep on you already, mouth half open as he leans against you, hand on your thigh as if to keep you here with him. biting down a grin, you shake your head to yourself. you glance over to dean on your right, and heâs not faring much better, either. you can tell heâs fighting sleep hardâyou wonder if he got even less hours of zâs than you did. itâs highly probable.
âyâknow if youâre tired, you can fall asleep,â you point out quietly, wary of the sleeping sam winchester on your shoulder. dean glances over at you.
âoh, yeah, like snoozinâ sasquatch over there?â he snorts softly, shaking his head, too.
âi mean it,â you say quietly, not delving into the deflection this time. âiâll still be here when you wake up.â
dean takes a second, absorbs your words. for a brief moment, you expect him to snap shut at you like a clam, like he sometimes does. instead, all he says is:
ââŚyâdonât know that.â
and while itâs technically true, itâs a little insane to think that something would take you from here, of all places. yet you know itâs always on deanâs mind, losing the people he holds so dear. bobbyâs is one of the places you feel the most safeâbut with dean and sam is where you feel safest. so being here, with them, it gives you enough breathing room to feel comfortable. you reach up with your free hand not trapped under sam, touch deanâs shoulder. he tenses up a little before relaxing again, melting in your touch.
âpromise i will,â you murmur, fingers still brushing his shirt. âwell, unless, of course, some strong-armed older brother decides to move me.â
that breaks deanâs barreling train of thought, the corners of his lips pulling up. youâre always able to do that: take dean out of his spiraling thoughts before he gets in too deep. he sighs, shakes his head before he moves to grab your hand on his shoulder, takes it in his own and holds it.
youâd always liked deanâs hands. samâs, too. deanâs were big, rough, callousedâbut his palms were soft. samâs were longer, more slender, but still bigâand both their hands were always so warm. your thumb brushes over deanâs knuckles, not pushing him any further to do something. dean appreciates the fact that you let him lead in moments like theseâwhere the airâs too fragile to say anything or make a sudden move.
eventually, he relaxes a little more, shoulders slumping. not completelyâbut youâre still considering it a win. he sighs again, then admits defeat: he lets go of your hand and scooches further back against the couch, putting his own head on your other shoulder, mirroring his brother. with the close proximity, you smell both dean and samâs scents mixed together. it makes you feel a little highâunless youâre just still fighting sleep.
âthank you,â you feel the soft rumble of deanâs sleepy whisper on your chest, his arm resting around youâcareful not to disturb his brother. you almost didnât hear it, had it not been for his face pressed into your shirt. ââŚfor beinâ there. for me ân him.â
your heart hurts with how vulnerable dean sounds. like he was a burden to you, like sam was a burden to you. it made your throat tight, knowing dean thinks that way.
you donât say anything right away. instead, you bury your face into deanâs hair and inhale, tightening your own arm around him. his breathingâs already slowerâand without looking at him, you can tell heâs already fallen asleep. but you respond anyways, whispering into his hair.
âalways.â
đ¨ hmmm maybe if i write about this enough sam and dean will materialize in my bed so i can cuddle them until their brains are all fuzzy. universe⌠can you hear me universe⌠please⌠anyways thank you once AGAIN to @aseafullofstars for keeping me sane and giving me this amazing idea for a part three, ily <3
The bunker had become your sanctuary over the past few months. Its cold, metal walls and endless corridors had slowly transformed into something resembling a home, mostly because of the three men who occupied it with you. Sam, Dean, and Castiel had taken you in without hesitation, despite the obvious complications of harboring a newly born nephilim in their midst.
You were sitting on the floor of the library, your hair seemed to catch light that wasn't there, shimmering with an ethereal quality that made Sam pause every single time he walked past you. It had been months since they'd found youânaked, newborn, and inexplicably already teenage-sizedâsitting on the floor of your dead mother's bedroom, looking at them with eyes that held the wisdom of ages and the innocence of an infant simultaneously.
Today, however, something was different.
You felt it in your bones, in the very fiber of your being. Your wings, those tiny, precious white wings that Castiel had cooed over the moment he'd seen them: were itching. Not a simple, scratchable itch, but a deep, bone-deep irritation that made you want to squirm and shift constantly. Your skin felt too tight, your grace flickered uncomfortably beneath the surface, and you couldn't seem to focus on anything for more than a few seconds.
Dean was in the middle of explaining something about a potential hunt, something about a werewolf in Nebraska, you thought, though you couldn't be certain, but his words seemed to wash over you like water over stones. You shifted on the floor, pulling your knees up to your chest, your hair cascading around you in a protective curtain.
"and I'm telling you, Sam, the signs are all there. We should leave tomorrow morning."
"Dean, we can't just-" Sam's voice cut off mid-sentence as he finally noticed you. "Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?"
You blinked at him, your eyes glassy and unfocused. "What?"
Sweetheart. That was Sam's nickname for you. Dean called you 'kiddo' or 'little one' when he was feeling particularly soft (which was more often than he'd ever admit), and Castiel called you something different every day. Little one, child, precious thing, starling, fledgling, sweet girl. He'd cycled through more pet names in the past few months than you could count.
"You lookâŚ" Sam trailed off, exchanging a glance with his brother. "Are you feeling alright?"
You tried to nod, but the motion felt wrong. Your skin prickled. Your wings, oh, your wings, they ached. They burned. They itched so badly you could barely think straight. Your lower lip jutted out in an unconscious pout, your eyes growing even more glassy.
"don't feel good." you whispered, and your voice cracked on the last word, sounding so young and fragile that both Sam and Dean immediately straightened.
"What's wrong?" Dean was on his feet now, crossing the space between you with quick, efficient strides. "Is it your grace? Do you feel it weakened? flickering? Is it your physical body? Did something happen?"
But before either of them could get too close, there was a flutter of wings and a rush of displaced air. Castiel appeared between you and the Winchesters, his blue eyes sharp and intense as they scanned you from head to toe.
"Move away," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "She's in a delicate state."
"Delicate state?" Dean sputtered. "Cas, she's a nephilim. She's literally as powerful as you are-"
"That has nothing to do with this." Castiel was already kneeling in front of you, his large hands gentle as they cupped your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "Little one, look at me. Can you tell me what you are feeling?"
You leaned into his touch instinctively, your eyes fluttering closed. His grace hummed against yours, a soothing balm against the irritation that had been building all day. "Itchy." you mumbled. "Everything itches. My skin. My⌠my feathers. I don't like it."
"Your feathers?" Sam had ignored Castiel's earlier command, moving closer despite the angel's warning. "What about your feathers?"
"Her wings." Castiel explained, never taking his eyes off you. "She's molting."
"Molting?" Dean's voice pitched higher in confusion. "Like⌠like a bird?"
"A bird is a crude comparison, but yes, essentially." Castiel's thumbs stroked gentle arcs across your cheekbones, and you practically melted into his touch. "Nephilim, like angels, shed their feathers periodically. It's a natural process. But for fledglings, especially newborn fledglings, it can be⌠uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable?" Sam's voice was soft with concern. "Cas, she looks like she's in pain."
"Not pain. Discomfort. That I can assure you." Castiel's brow furrowed as he studied you. "Her wings are new. They've never gone through this process before. The feathers are loose, ready to shed, but she doesn't understand what's happening. She's confused and distressed."
Your lower lip wobbled. "I don't like it, Cas. Make it stop."
"Sweetheart, I don't think he can just.." Sam started.
"Castiel." you whimpered, and the sound was so plaintive, so utterly childlike, that Dean actually made a choked sound in the back of his throat.
"I've got you, little one." Castiel's voice dropped to a soothing murmur. "I'm going to help you. But I need you to trust me, alright? Can you do that?"
You nodded frantically, your glassy eyes wide and trusting. "Yes. Yes, I trust you."
"Good girl." Castiel pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you leaned into the affection like a flower turning toward the sun. "I will need you to lay down for me. Will you be able to do that?"
"On the floor?"
"No, child. On your bed. It'll be more comfortable."
"I can carry her," Dean offered, stepping forward. "She's light as a feather, no pun intended, and-"
"No." Castiel's voice was firm, brooking no argument. "She's in a delicate state. I will be the one to carry her."
Dean held up his hands in surrender, but he was smiling. That soft, fond smile that he only ever wore around you. "Alright, alright. You're the wing expert, I guess."
Castiel ignored him, turning back to you with a tenderness that made Sam's heart ache. "Come here, little one. I've got you."
He scooped you up as if you weighed nothing: which, to be fair, you almost didn't. You burrowed into his chest immediately, seeking comfort, and Castiel's arms tightened around you protectively.
"Sam, Dean, I'll need your assistance."
"With what?" Sam asked, following closely as Castiel carried you toward your room.
"The molting process requires⌠maintenance. I'll need a bowl of warm water, soft cloths.. clean, preferably made of natural fibers, andâŚ" He paused, considering. "And one of the treats Dean gave her last week. The ones with the chocolate chips."
"Those cookies?" Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You want me to bring cookies to a molting angel?"
"She's distressed, Dean. Comfort food is a human tradition that I've found to be remarkably effective. Mostly thanks to the data provided by your reactions to it." Castiel's voice was matter-of-fact, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Now, please. I need to tend to her."
Your room was small by the bunker's standards, but it was cozy. Sam had insisted on the softest bedding he could find, Dean had scavenged fairy lights from somewhere, and Castiel had added a small, angelic sigil above the door that you couldn't quite understand but somehow found deeply comforting.
Castiel laid you down on the bed with excruciating care, his movements so gentle that you barely felt the mattress shift beneath you. He'd directed you to lie on your stomach, your face turned to the side, your glorious hair spread out around you like a halo.
"Alright, little one," he murmured, settling beside you on the bed. "I'm going to help you with your wings now. You might feel some⌠discomfort. But I promise you, it will feel better once we're done."
"Discomfort?" you echoed, your voice small.
"Your feathers have grown in quickly because of how you aged yourself. But they're not⌠settled yet. They're ready to shed, but they need encouragement." His hand found your back, and you felt the warmth of his grace through the thin cotton of your shirt. "I'm going to ask you to manifest your wings for me. Can you do that?"
You nodded, and with a flicker of grace, your wings materialized.
They were small. Impossibly small for a being of your power, but once again: you were nothing but a newborn fledging of a few months old. Tiny white feathers, soft and downy, no bigger than a child's costume wings. They looked almost fragile, delicate, and as you shifted nervously, a few loose feathers drifted down to rest on the duvet.
"Oh, sweetheart." Castiel's voice was soft, almost reverent. "Your poor wings. They're so uncomfortable, aren't they?"
"Cas," you whined, wiggling slightly. "It hurts."
"I know, child. I know." His hand settled on the base of your wings, and you shuddered at the touch. "I'm going to help you now. Just relax for me, alright?"
From the doorway, Sam and Dean watched with expressions that were a mix of amusement, concern, and overwhelming fondness.
"I've never seen him like this," Sam whispered, his voice low so as not to disturb you. "He's so⌠gentle with her."
"He's always been soft with her," Dean replied, equally quiet. "From the moment we found her. You remember how he wrapped her in his coat? How he wouldn't let us near her for the first hour?"
"I remember." Sam smiled, shaking his head. "I remember he almost smote you when you tried to touch her hair."
"Hey, it was an accident! I just wanted to see if it was as soft as it looked." Dean's voice was defensive, but his eyes were soft as they watched Castiel work. "It was, by the way. Her hair is stupidly soft."
"She's a celestial being, Dean. Her hair is probably made of starlight or something."
"Starlight. Right. Of course."
Inside the room, Castiel had begun the careful process of helping you shed your loose feathers. His movements were impossibly gentle, his large fingers combing through the soft, downy fluff with such tenderness that you felt tears prick at your eyes.
"It's okay, little one," he murmured, catching a loose feather as it drifted away from your wing. "I've got you. You're safe."
You whimpered softly, burying your face in the pillow. "It itches.."
"I know. But it'll feel better soon." Castiel's fingers worked methodically, carefully removing the loose, molted feathers and smoothing down the new growth beneath. "There. Just a few more. You're doing so well, little one. So brave."
Dean, unable to help himself, crept closer. "Cas, what are you doing exactly?"
"I'm helping her shed her molted feathers. They're loose and uncomfortable. Removing them will ease her distress."
"And you know how to do this because�"
Castiel paused, looking up at Dean with an expression that was almost sheepish. "I⌠may have done some research."
"Research?" Sam's voice was incredulous. "You did research? On molting?"
"I wanted to be prepared." Castiel's tone was defensive. "She's a nephilim. A very young, very inexperienced nephilim. She needed someone who understood what she was going through."
"So you⌠what, looked up angel molting on Wikipedia?"
"There are sources available, Dean." Castiel said primly, returning his attention to your wings. "I utilized them."
Dean snorted, but he couldn't quite hide his smile. "You're really going full dad mode on this, aren't you?"
Castiel's brow furrowed. "I'm not her father. Her father was executed for his transgression."
"Yeah, but you're the one who's been taking care of her. Teaching her about the world. Fussing over her." Dean's voice softened. "You're her dad, Cas. In every way that matters."
Castiel went very still. His hands hovered over your wings, his blue eyes flickering with something that might have been emotion. Then, slowly, he resumed his careful work.
"I⌠I suppose I am." he said quietly. "I don't⌠I never expected- but yes. I suppose I am."
You, lost in the blissful sensation of Castiel's careful attention, hummed contentedly. Your wings shivered slightly, shedding a few more feathers, and Castiel caught them all with gentle hands.
"Cas," you mumbled, your voice drowsy. "Feels good."
"Good." he murmured back, his voice full of warmth. "That's good, little one."
Sam stepped forward, his hand finding your hair and stroking it gently. "She's falling asleep." he observed softly.
"Good. The molting process is taxing." Castiel's fingers continued their gentle work, soothing and smoothing. "She needs rest."
"We'll watch over her," Dean offered. "You can take a break, man. You've been at this for like an hour."
Castiel looked reluctant to leave your side, but eventually, he nodded. "I'll be in the library. Call if she needs me."
As he stood to leave, you shifted, your hand reaching out blindly. "Cas?" Your voice was small, sleepy. "Don't go?"
He froze, his heart clenching in his chest. "I'm just in the other room, little one."
"Stay," you insisted, your glassy eyes finding his. "Please? I need you."
The words hit him like a physical blow. Sam and Dean watched as Castiel's stern facade crumbled entirely, his expression softening into something almost vulnerable.
"Of course," he said, his voice rough. "I'll stay."
He settled back onto the bed, careful not to jostle you, and you immediately burrowed into his chest. Your tiny wings fluttered against his side, loose feathers drifting through the air, and Castiel wrapped his arms around you with an almost painful tenderness.
Dean cleared his throat roughly, turning away. "I'm gonna⌠I'll get those cookies," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "And maybe some coffee. Strong coffee."
As he left the room, Sam lingered in the doorway, watching Castiel hold you close. The angel's eyes were closed, his expression peaceful, and his hand was stroking your hair with infinite care.
"You know," Sam said quietly, "I think you're doing a good job. With her, I mean."
Castiel's eyes opened, and there was something raw and vulnerable in their depths. "I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted. "I'm just⌠doing what feels right. Trying to protect her."
"That's what being a parent is," Sam replied. "Just trying your best."
Castiel looked down at you, your face peaceful in sleep, your tiny wings fluttering occasionally as you dreamed. Loose feathers were scattered across the pillow, soft and white, and Castiel caught one in his hand, examining it with wonder.
"She's so small," he whispered. "So fragile. And yet she's so powerful. She could destroy everything around her without meaning to."
"But she won't," Sam said firmly. "Because she has us. Because she has you."
Castiel didn't respond, but his arms tightened around you, holding you close.
When Dean returned with a warm chocolate chip cookie and three mugs of coffee, he found Sam and Castiel sitting on either side of your sleeping form. You were curled up against the angel's chest, your hair spread around you like a blanket, and your wings were half-folded, a few loose feathers drifting down to the bed with every soft exhale.
"How long is she going to be out?" Dean asked, setting the cookie on the nightstand for when you woke.
"The molting process takes a few hours. She'll likely sleep through most of it." Castiel's voice was low, so as not to wake you. "I'll stay with her. Just in case."
Dean nodded, settling into a nearby armchair. "We'll stay too. Team effort."
Sam smiled, leaning back against the headboard. "Yeah. Team effort."
Castiel looked between them, and for a moment, his guard seemed to lower entirely. There was gratitude in his eyes, deep, profound gratitude.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For helping me. For helping her. I don't⌠I don't know what I would do without you."
"That's what family's for, Cas." Dean said, his voice rough with emotion. "That's what family's for.
BONUS !!!!
When you woke hours later, your wings were soft and smooth, the irritation completely gone. Castiel was still there, his arms wrapped protectively around you, and Dean had fallen asleep in the armchair while Sam dozed against the headboard.
You smiled, small and sleepy, and snuggled deeper into Castiel's embrace.
"Better?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
You nodded, your cheek rubbing against his chest like a contented kitten. "Better. Thank you, Cas."
"You're welcome, little one." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "You did so well. I'm proud of you."
Your heart swelled with warmth. "Really?"
"Really." His fingers stroked through your hair, catching a stray feather that had fallen loose. "Now. You need to eat something. Your grace needs replenishment after the molt."
You perked up slightly. "Cookies?"
Castiel's lips twitched into a small smile. "Cookies first. Then something with nutritional value."
"Deal." you agreed happily, already reaching for the treat Dean had left on the nightstand.
Dean stirred in his chair, blinking sleepily. "Did someone say cookies?"
"In your dreams, Dean." Sam muttered without opening his eyes. "Those're for her."
"I wasn't gonna take it! I was just asking!"
You giggled, the sound light and musical, and all three of them looked at you with expressions of pure adoration.
This, Castiel thought, watching you happily munch on your cookie, this is worth everything.
And for the first time since you'd entered their lives, he felt like he was exactly where he belonged.
