ARTFJKBVGXF family Cas WHAT HAPPENS ON THE ROOF??????
Tell Me What You Feel &
Tell Me What You Think
Socials | Masterlist | Intro | Rules
⛪︎ Older Family Friend!Castiel x Countryside College!Reader | plot, slowish burn, Fem!Reader, age gap, Preist!Castiel, thigh riding, fingering, PiV, nicknames, romantic roof sex, mild dacryphillia, reader’s nickname is ‘dove’ | [3.6k words ?!]
Note: This ended up so long for no reason and I’m HIGHKEY embarrassed. I think my writing insecurities are catching up to me. I actually never intended on writing a follow up to that piece knowing it would have to be 18+, but ykw, why not ! !
Growing up never meant you’d rid yourself of the habit that is sitting on the ground by your family.
You’re the only one who does it… mostly because the young ones are occupied with activities on the other side of the acre and don’t bother gathering by the fire pit. Picked up from the silly rule your cousins and older family decided when you were a kid that “lawn chairs are for grown-ups only.” But you never declared it void in your head even after you’d blown out the 18 candles— and you still wonder why you’re the stubborn one.
Your left hand is occupied with a s’more while your right toys with the loose ground beneath. People are chatting, per usual, and your thoughts begin to drift off. You don’t even hear the soft thud that comes with your cousin’s buddy, Castiel, taking a seat next to you.
“Evening.” He nods, head turning to look at you.
You jump in surprise. “Oh…! Hi Castiel.” You smile sheepishly in an attempt to cover the very obvious flinch.
He’s still partially dressed in his work outfit: his job being a priest at the church an hour drive away. A clean, dark suit sealed with a large belt buckle of an angel fits well to his form. He’s so meticulous and purposeful about everything he does that it’s hard to see him as anything other than impressive. So he sits unmoving, taking sips of the only brand of beer he’ll drink, giving his attention to you.
“Your day was good, I hope?” He waits again.
It makes you wonder if you can make his actions wander other places.
“Yeah. Good.” You nod. “There’s an empty chair behind you. You know you can sit.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he stares off into the fire. “In the years I’ve attending these gatherings, not once have I seen you sit in these chairs. I presume it’s because the ground is more palatable when seeking warmth from the fire.”
“Oh, no. It’s just a thing my family says about children not getting the pit chairs.” You force a laugh.
“But you’re not a child. Far from one. Unless child refers to your connection with god?” He sips his beer.
Castiel means well in his reference to the church as he’d gotten his doctorate in the subject, but preaching makes you a little uneasy and you quickly shake your head no. Castiel’s face contorts into one of confusion at you hurried denial, and you quickly backtrack.
“No- it’s- I’m just being a shithead. I’m used to the ground.”
“Apologies. I should’ve assumed the obvious— I never see you at church.” Castiel grunts in amusement. He really means it. He’s not moving. “Do you always prefer the ground?”
A wave of embarrassment washes over you, feeling like a loser in comparison to him. “I, uh, Sometimes I sit on the roof.” You gesture to your house across the way, barely visible except for the porch light keeping it present to the eyes. “You could come with me sometime.”
Without thinking, you wrap your arms around his bicep affectionately. He huffs with a small smile and you begin to let go.
“No need for that,” Castiel leans in your direction, preventing your arms from detaching from his. “It’s okay.”
It’s a wholesome moment given he’s insisted this in front of your family. Your stomach flips a little, and your face goes a bit pale in the glow of the fire pit. One of your cousins makes a comment about how clingy you tend to be, declaring it to be a “you thing.”
Before you can snap back at the quip, Castiel pats your knee with his free arm. “Whether it is or not proves no difference to me. But I will note it.” You notice by his barren fingers that he’s unmarried.
It’s been weeks since that incident and your confidence has started to show with how you act around Castiel. You’re in the same position as before, seated on the ground when Castiel joins to listen to conversation and occasionally preach the lord. You’ve developed a taste for leaning on him, hugging…
Touching.
You’ve been approaching it with caution every time and still the man accepts every advance with open arms. The family doesn’t seem to care either, still drawing it up to a you-ism for being an only child.
“I heard you helped cook the food.” The fire crackles and Castiel lifts his beer to his lips to drink. You nod and give his arm a squeeze. “It was delicious.”
“Thanks. But you know, I help cook every week.” You shrug.
“Ah.” He nods. “So everything of yours tastes good?”
You choke on your own spit and aggressively cough at the comment. A million questions run through your head: Did he mean to say that? Was he hitting on you? Did he want something from you?—
“—Apologies. My phrasing was…inadequate.” He pats your back as you continue to cough. “Here. Drink.” He presses his beer to your hands and guides it to your mouth. You take a sip in between coughs, choking out an “it’s okay” on repeat while you gather yourself.
He wipes the dribble of beer from your lips and holds your face up to stop the cough. You shake your head to tell him you’re fine, but stop so he doesn’t take his hands away. He does anyway, only temporarily to drape his trenchcoat over your shoulders.
“I am sorry. It was in poor taste, to say that.”
“No, no. It’s fine.”
God you wish he’d say it again, or that you’d answered yes.
The fire gets put out and family starts leaving, but he doesn’t. His hand rests on your knee while he checks your expression. “Is there anything you need?”
“Not really,” You finally sigh out the last cough, back to normal. He’s so patient, and it’s clear he cares. Even in the dark you can see the glimmer in his eyes. “I think I’m just going to sit on the roof when everyone leaves. It’s been a while since I’ve gone up there if…you want to join.” Your hands nervously toy with the empty beer bottle, waiting for his answer.
“I suppose I can.”
The air is still and the sky Is bright with stars. The glow of the moon shines delicately on Castiel’s belt and it gets harder to relax. Owls and crickets get louder the later it gets, filling the air with distant buzz. Both of you sit back on the rooftop, hands behind you to brace yourself up.
“I can see why you enjoy being up here,” Castiel murmurs. “I appreciate the view.”
“It’s nicer when you’re not alone.” Your arms reach out again to grab him and he doesn’t move.
“I understand. I can’t be alone when I’m committed to God, but for those who may be skeptics, the human touch is ideal.” Castiel gently flexes, his muscle tensing under your palms. He’s so…okay with it all. Pure intentions which are eradicated by your need for him like a corruption.— “I’ve noticed you’re quite affectionate.”
-Yet you don’t feel like stopping.
“I get lonely.” You respond, toying with the buckle like it’s the normal thing to do. There’s only so much family can provide: You love them to pieces, but this is a kind of love that needs searching for. “I don’t wear God on my belt like you do.”
Castiel laughs softly. A dry, sarcastic sounding laugh you’ve heard only once or twice in the years you’ve known him. The shiny metal reflects beautifully in your grasp, highlighting every detail from the individual feathers to the curls on the angel’s head. He taps his belt buckle, moving it to show you. “It’s not God on my belt. It’s the archangel Gabriel. Mischievous bastard— fitting for a buckle.”
Your other hand leaves his arm and travel to touch the buckle, leaning over into all of his personal space. “Why him?”
“Because of what’s beneath the buckle. I believe he would find it funny, being the one to decorate one’s…barrier to adultery.”
Your head is so close to his. You’ve practically climbed into his lap knowing he’d say nothing about it. You reach out to gently palm him, cheeks heating up.
“Is this still your affectionate tendencies in practice?” Castiel moves to caress your face, one strong hand pulling you away from the view of his belt and towards his face. His skin is rougher than you’ve given thought of them being. It makes you stop in your tracks, still holding the buckle.
“Does it have to be?” You say it like you’re still the shy little cousin of Castiel’s college roommate, and not the woman you are. From his expression, he likes it.
“No.” You feel something grow against your fingertips.
“Would it be bad if it was?” The whole situation feels like a tightrope you dance on not so elegantly. You press down on the buckle, feeling the tent forming in your friend’s jeans.
Oh. He really likes it.
He lets go of your face and you continue on. “No. But we may call it that. A you thing. And you’re a curious one.” Castiel suddenly extends a leg out, pushing you off his lap and onto his thigh with ease. His knee settles between your legs like an unholy saddle— the audacity to pull this in his work clothes— he’s not as uptight as he comes off as. Cas is not letting you have him yet. As if years of knowing him don’t count for the buildup to this moment. “You’re affectionate. Show me.”
What? Your legs squeeze together against his thigh. Thank God you live on a large property— you couldn’t imagine this with neighbors around.
“What if someone sees?” You whimper. “Or I fall off the roof?”
“You had no difficulty touching my body at the fire pit, in front of everybody. You knew what you were doing. Right now only stars are watching. You’re not coy.”
He bends his leg a bit and his kneecap butts up against the sweet spot of your jeans, the stitching forced against your core and sending a wave of delicious new feelings. “As for falling off the roof…” your forearms quickly get pulled to brace yourself on him, palms resting firmly against his collarbones.
“Isn’t God watching you?” You swallow your happy groan to ask.
“You get used to it.” He shakes his leg and it feels like you’re riding an animal, the jeans’ stitching now up against your folds and forcing a moan out of you. “Once you’ve watched and been watched, not much intimidates you out of the act. Now go on, if it really is a you thing. You’ll get your treats.”
You nestle your face into his shoulder with a shudder. Does he know you hardly do this? Someone who barely gets action, being told to ride the leg of the only Preist for miles; A friend of the family, The man you’d spent your teenage years secretly gawking over and hoping for a moment like this. The ordeal sounds impossible. It makes you feel like a slut.
Your hips glide gently along his muscular thigh, the fabric of your jeans rubbing roughly against his.
God, he’s in uniform.
Would it be bad? Wanting to grab the white collar that rests so neatly against his shirt? To tug on it and remind him that he preaches daily to a God that he’s cucked more than once?
“F-feels good…” you press yourself against his knee again to feel the sweet pressure.
“Keep going.” He coos. “It’s a you thing, right? Girls like you don’t stop at pushing their buttons.” He urges, tapping your nose. It’s condescending, to say the least, but coming from him it’s a compliment.
Your knees hurt a bit from the tile on the roof, all of your weight shifted onto them in between the motion you’ve outed yourself as being new to. Cas lays back to eye sky above— he’s not doing a single thing, like always, and it’s beginning to frustrate you.
But it’s that which causes the air to fill with your angry panting, little grunts you can’t control to drown out the mundane rustle of denim rubbing against itself.
“Attagirl.”
He hasn’t even kissed you: that holy bastard that accepts your every move, doesn’t complain, the one who gave you the opportunity to taste merely pieces of him which rimmed the beer you drank from.
“Why are you doing this to me?” You finally sigh out, stopping before the good can grace you. It leaves a sickly warm feeling in your belly, not getting any better as your eyes take in the shine of the buckle which protects the one thing you need from him.
His eyes finally dart to yours, expression still refusing to give away anything. He cocks his head to the side to process the sudden change in emotion.
Then it clicks. Castiel should’ve known you aren’t stupid.
“I wanted to see if I was ready.” He utters. “You forget I’m an outsider here— a visitor. It would be a shame to cause an end to our moments by the fire. And your family would have every right to be upset with me.”
“Cas…please tell me you’re ready now.”
Castiel’s fingers creep up to yours, peeling them from where they rest on his hip and guiding them to his belt before rubbing your head like a puppy. There’s a pouting look on your face that wants to reject the affection, but it’s all too much. You just humped him like a bitch in heat all because he asked you to and fuck it all you’d do it again.
Small massages to your scalp and pushing your hair aside, Cas consoles you. “Is that why you asked about my belt?” He whispers.
You nod, fumbling with the buckle but keeping your eyes on his. The desperation is palpable.
“I figured you were a clever girl.” Castiel’s voice relaxes into something informal, the same gravely, casual tone he uses to explain how evening service donations weren’t as plentiful as last morning’s.
You pull his belt away and cast it aside, moving up to brace on the slant of the roof before working at his jeans. It’s messy, and you’re grossly underqualified for something as risky as this.
Castiel brings your hips gently forward, and soon enough your jeans pool at your ankles. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that it isn’t his first rodeo— nor his twentieth. While Castiel’s pants button refuses to let up to your sloppy attempts at unclasping, his hands are working their way under your panties. That same warm feeling tears a desperate noise out of you, and he hushes it.
“Shh…Sh…. Don’t worry. I can stop if needed. Just say the word, Yes?” He lies back against the tile when you finally free him from the prison of his own jeans. The sight is borderline pornographic, you think, but you’ve never had anything to compare. You grasp his base with your left and push his hair aside with your right; the moonlight does a good job highlighting the silver that streaks his jet black hair, and you’re reminded of his age.— Of his experience. “Sit up for me, dove.”
“O…kay…” you whine. One hand grasps the end of your shirt and the other dips low. Two cold fingers push past the thin cotton wrapping your hips and land against the heat between, begging to feel you. You continue to straddle his legs— the firm, muscular parts of him tensing against the insides of your thighs.
“Wait—“
“Hm?” Castiel keeps his hands where they are, but doesn’t move any further. He bears a look of indifference yet his free hand tugs at your shirt impatiently.
You muster up the strength to make what feels like a pathetic complaint, something your teenaged self would’ve whined and cried about ages ago had they been in this position:
—“You need to kiss me first.”
“…So needy.”
It takes no second reminder for Castiel’s lips to connect with yours, quickly shooting up from where he once rested against the rooftop tile.
Finally you push yourself onto his fingers, the blissful sensation rushing to your chest and up Castiel’s knuckles. His eyes never tear away, not for a second. Stared down by baby blues your hand slides up his shaft and coats your fingertips in precum.
Castiel pulls his fingers out and you nestle yourself onto the tip. He likes the noise you’re making. Stupid, pathetic puppy sounds pumped lazily into his ears at the rhythm of his stimulation.
“Happy now?” He questions.
You nod with a cry.
“Do your knees hurt?”
You nod again, brushing off the pain to dive in for a second kiss.
“Ah-ah.“ he tuts. “Gentle.”
He sheds his trenchcoat first, then his shirt. You lift your arms up and Castiel expertly takes yours off with one hand, revealing your mismatched underwear set. It’s old stuff that still fits. You would’ve dressed sexier if you knew this was going to happen.
“Sorry, I—“
“Cute…” Cas whispers. His fingers curl inside you, forcing a hand to clasp over your mouth to stop a sudden moan. It clicks that what you had on never mattered. He’s a real man: So long as you were wearing it, it was the sexiest set on earth.
He gently pulls his fingers out, embracing you right after. You whimper again and he presses a slow, intimate kiss to your lips. Your breath heaves against his shallow huffs, not bothering to wipe away the trail of spit that follows as he pulls away. “Go on, dove.”
You line yourself up and push down with his assistance. You’ve loosened up from earlier but it’s still something you have to work for. He’s big. Thick. Two veins run on either side of his shaft with the intention of imprinting you from the inside. Being slick with your own juices barely seems to help while you pathetically wiggle your hips against him.
Cas pulls your head against his shoulder to hug you tight like he’s consoling you through the whole thing. Falling back against the rooftop, the angle works perfectly in your favor and gets you to fit him. You collectively huff, the embrace holding you upright and away from the roof’s edge.
“Shh…so good…you’re doing wonderful, dove.” Skin on skin, your belly is against his. He can feel himself buried in you through your stomach. “Feel good?”
You wiggle your hips, picking up any motion you can. “Feel like I’m not doing enough.”
“Focus on you, hm?” He urges with an encouraging pat. “Don’t concern yourself with anything else.”
“This was a mistake…I don’t think I can do it…” you cry into his neck.
“Oh, dove.” Cas searches your face for tears, kissing away whatever may be there. You hiccup, attempting to cover yourself despite your exposure to the elements. It’s getting late. Colder. And Castiel runs cold. You hug his neck and he lets go, guiding your hips gently to ease your fears. “I’m going to assist you. Shh…relax…..don’t be tense.”
Cas grabs the fat of your backside and gently pushes you into a rhythm. It feels good. Really good. Each thrust forces out another barrage of moans as he takes control. He let you be curious, have your fun, but it’s his turn now.
“See? Not difficult.” He lifts you with ease up and down, pulling out and pushing back in tauntingly slow. “Talk to me.”
“I feel…I think I’m getting close…not sure.” You groan, mouth open from the ethereal feeling of his cock taunting you. Drool pools and drips out of your mouth and down Castiel’s back as you try not to bite down on your own tongue.
“Has anyone ever made it happen?” He asks like he’s lecturing. It would make a preaching session sound imminent if he didn’t simultaneously pull back to kiss your sternum and the curve of your breasts.
“N-No…”
“That’s not good, dove.” The pace picks up, hot hot hot. Your breath heaves, practically gagging from the full feeling you suddenly have. A little snicker escapes Castiel’s lips. You’re the most adorable thing in the world
Finally, one loud, desperate cry erupts from your throat and you finish. The orgasm hits like a truck and you collapse limply onto Castiel. He lies back and holds you close into a cuddle, still warming his cock. A hand strokes your hair and the other gives you a pat on your rear. You tremble from the cold and drool, unsure if you should grasp him or the roof tile.
“D-doesn’t your back hurt?” You hiccup, remembering is bare back against the roughness of the roof.
“It’s no bother. I’m an old man, there’s far worse to be concerned about.” He teases.
“You’re like thirty-something…” you laugh back.
“Closer to forty.” He replies. Castiel grabs your chin and pulls you up to look at him. You’re greeted with a gentle smile to your messily fucked-out look. “There’s that smile. I was beginning to believe only the fire pit could conjure it.” Ignoring the drool, he plants a kiss on your lips.
“Can we stay here?” You beg. “I want you to stay inside me…l-long as you’ll let me.”
“I have work tomorrow, dove.”
“Oh.”
“But I suppose I can call in ill.”
Castiel looks at his trench coat that he’d cast aside earlier, covering your bare skin with it and tugging you on top of him.
“Your back…”
“What did I say?” He chides. “Focus your energy on looking up.”
Both of you glance at the glittering above you. The stars are so bright you want to squint, illuminating your yard: the trees, the dead grass on the unmaintained corner of the acre..the fire pit.
“Is it so bad that all of this was watching you?” Cas asks. You don’t even answer. Because it isn’t. And whatever’s out there will have to see every moment your lips seek his until the sun comes up.
Can you by any chance point me in the direction of some Dean and/or Castiel x reader fics featuring puppy play? Bonus points if it's a male reader.
I'm not sure if it was you or another fanfic author who I've seen fics like that from. And I'm having trouble finding it again.
Tysm!
Hmm I can’t think of any authors who’ve written puppy play fics, but I do have a good number of male!reader fics.
If I can suggest some of my works, Dean gets called a puppy in this fic, and is very doggy like. I unfortunately don’t have any puppy Cas stuff, but I do have male reader x Cas.
If you can’t find what you’re looking for, come back and I’ll write you a little something :)
Can you by any chance point me in the direction of some Dean and/or Castiel x reader fics featuring puppy play? Bonus points if it's a male reader.
I'm not sure if it was you or another fanfic author who I've seen fics like that from. And I'm having trouble finding it again.
Tysm!
Hmm I can’t think of any authors who’ve written puppy play fics, but I do have a good number of male!reader fics.
If I can suggest some of my works, Dean gets called a puppy in this fic, and is very doggy like. I unfortunately don’t have any puppy Cas stuff, but I do have male reader x Cas.
If you can’t find what you’re looking for, come back and I’ll write you a little something :)
Sharp as a tack…with even sharper teeth. How dangerous.
Inspired by the requests of @s-kellie-z
What a flirt. Male Demon!Reader is, in fact, as tough as he looks. He’ll hold up a good fight with an angel, whatever type of fight it may be, and come out with some kind of win. He’s got the charisma and a knack for tempting angels to assist in his bidding, as if he isn’t willing to do something exciting in return. It’s only fair, right?
He’s snippy. He’s not special in the sense that his attitude is like any other demon. Male Demon!Reader laughs out short, snappy lines that’ll get anyone to shut up about wanting to exorcise him. He’s a nuisance to hunters who think they can trick him into giving away precious information about his brothers and sisters. Instead, getting him to “talk” results in a mouthful of nonsense and a sarcastic compliment.
He’s not picky. Anyone that’ll entertain Male Demon!Reader is qualified for special treatment. That is, basic respect (and an exciting rendezvous if you so allow it). It’s often the only route one can take when interacting. Even seasoned hunters have difficulty toying around with him, and would rather play around with whatever he pitches than put up a fight. He unfortunately has a knack for roleplay.
He takes great pride in how he looks. It’s well known that demons are vain at the best and egotistical at the worst. Male Demon!Reader is no different. Except he doesn’t need to put in the work to find a hot vessel. The possession itself is one he finds greatly attractive, and can turn any regular human into a proper Casanova.
“Maybe if I had raised you... I could have made you better”— but it’s Single Dad!Soldier Boy who knows nothing about parenting and his defunct Daughter born from a test tube who finally gets introduced to society as an awkward young adult years later.
Omg the moodboards were wayyy more popular than I thought they’d be, and for the first time ever— I have to close requests (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝”) ! !
General writing requests are still open and greatly encouraged, but moodboard requests will be open to mutuals only until I can get through them all. As always, HC status can be found here.
(I post all of my artwork early to Instagram so if you’re here for the drawings, consider checking out the insta) @soealt @malfunctioning-froog @saltnburnbaby @samiwinchester444
Castiel who thinks you’re more of an angel than he is.
Castiel who always accidentally looks above your head expecting a halo instead of looking at your eyes. He can see them on other angels, and it takes a minute for him to register why yours are missing. Even when he does look at your eyes it’s like he’s still searching for that bright light of grace inside you. Sometimes he gets frustrated that he can’t see it so he puts his head on your chest to hear your deeply human heartbeat.
Castiel who makes room for you to stretch your wings in bed but forgets you have none. He rests next to you on couches, beds, and in the back of Baby, always leaning a bit forward expecting big feathery wings tangling with his. He huffs with slight embarrassment at his posture when you softly correct him, and settles on getting tangled in each other’s arms instead.
Castiel who murmurs to you lovingly in Enochian thinking you know every language like the rest of the angels. When you questioningly hum after his words, he clears his throat with a “Oh, right. Humans.” He is quite set on teaching you a romantic thing or two when you have a free moment.
Castiel who is shocked when you tell him you don’t have an angel blade. He thought you’d lost yours in a fight, or that one of the boys borrowed it for a hunt. You were more of a shotgun user anyway.
Castiel who scrunches his nose in confusion when he sees you eating with the boys because angels don’t eat. He’d roam around you during mealtimes, watching the steam of your food or eyeing your lips as you eat. He started associating the taste of diner cheesecake with your kisses. He does appreciate your preference for jelly over jam, he can sense the ‘better’ particles in the air.
Castiel who tells stories from thousands of years ago like they were yesterday, thinking you’d recall living through them too. He’d have on a thousand yard squint, nose scrunched, asking if you remember watching dodo birds get hunted to extinction. You tell him again the year you were born, that you couldn’t have seen them. It prompts a brief trip to his lap, where you sit with your arms around his neck while he reads you Wikipedia articles about dodo birds (while he’s also correcting the information on the site).
I’m writing an older family friend!Cas fic and it’s a lot longer than my usual works (it’ll probably end up being 3k+ minimum). I don’t usually write long fics so I’m worried it’s going to be boring with how much setup I’m doing :’)
My requests are lowkey dried up and I can’t think of anything good to write so my motivation is tanked
you’re not sure how you ended up here– okay, you are sure, but you never had this in mind.
the last thing you’d expected whilst at some random bar on a random tuesday was to be picked up by two incredibly good-looking guys, the more vocal one claiming that they “like your vibe”. and so, you smiled and laughed politely, let them buy you drink after drink, until the more stoic one confessed that they wanted to have sex with you. both of them.
and that’s how you ended up here, completely naked in the bed of their bunker (okay, maybe their cult members, yeah, that sounds plausible), never once looking away from them as they discard their own clothes. they’re both relatively attractive, definitely older than you, and look like they can devour you.
they are hunters, after all. the mouthy one, dean, wasted no time in telling you that.
dean’s on the edge of the bed, eyeing you up and down like he can’t quite decide what to do with you, and it makes your stomach twist– you can’t remember anyone ever doing that to you, let alone an older guy. the other one, cas as dean calls him, takes his time, is more reserved, but he’s just as intense.
you can’t help but to shift, feeling more nervous than ever. hell, you didn’t even feel this way when your ex asked you to call him “mommy” during sex, and that had felt weird enough for you. no, this is different, new, but something tells you that this is fine. this is fine.
“you good?” he asks, a boyish, slightly smarmy grin spread across his face. his hands are warm against your skin, brushing further and further up your thigh. “maybe we picked the wrong one, cas..”
cas merely stands over you, like a guardian angel on your shoulder, even though his stoic presence would be typically questionable, you think nothing of it. his hand tilts your chin up to look at him, the piss-yellow light above his head crowning him like a halo. “no, she’s good,” he replies calmly. “she’s here, willingly, and ready for us. it’s perfect.”
blood rushes to your head. “this isn’t real.. is it?”
dean laughs, and it’s so cocky, so eager and wanting, that you feel like an idiot for questioning reality. and whilst his grin softens a little, his touch doesn’t; his hand grazes over your cunt, fingers ghosting your clit, and you take in a sharp inhale. “this is real, sweetheart,” he tells you, lips missing yours by mere inches. “we’re gonna prove it to you.”
cas sits behind you on the bed, his presence as cold as his hands, and kisses your shoulder with slight hesitancy. “you will be fine,” he only pulls away to consider something for a moment; you see it in the way he frowns lightly. “unless you were to try and kill us– or a demon–”
“uh, let’s not scare her off.. ‘kay, cas?” and then dean laughs uneasily, but before you can answer, he’s straddling your chest. he runs a rough hand down the side of your face, cupping your cheek. “i think you deserve a taste..”
meanwhile, cas is sliding a hand between your thigh, replacing his boyfriend’s warm hand with his own cold one, and yet it does nothing to relieve your flushing skin. he teases your cunt with deliberately slow strokes, almost as if he’s afraid to hurt you. you quickly realise that he’ll never give you what you need– not entirely. “she’s quite wet. must’ve been waiting eagerly for this. for us.”
“well, ‘course she has,” dean answers, rolling his eyes as you whimper underneath him. he rolls his hips just enough for you to feel the heat of his cock against your chest. it’s dangerously close to your mouth as well, and you feel your jaw go slack. “look at how much she enjoys this, cas.”
the angel– because that’s all you can see him as; he’s that angelic– finally pushes two fingers into you. he’s controlled, much like everything else he does, and he’s quick to find all those sweet spots inside you. you moan, and in response, he gently bites your thigh. “i think she should say it, though,” he pants softly against your thigh, soothing it with a kitten-like kiss. “say how much she wants us.”
and you can’t stop your voice from breaking as you finally confess, “i do. i want you two– please.”
dean lets out an exaggerated, dramatic groan, as he leans down to kiss you. he cradles your face in both his hands, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, all hot and depraved, whilst cas continues to finger you. “huh,” dean mutters as he pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “dibs on her mouth. it’s pretty damn good.”
you hear cas from behind him, sighing as he removes his fingers from your cunt. you can’t help but to exhale softly as he wipes his arousal-slick fingers against your bare thigh. “you’re greedy tonight,” he says it like it’s both an observation and a confession. like they’ve been here before. “well, i guess it’s alright as long as we can share–”
“obviously, cas,” dean calls over his shoulder. but, as he’s shifting closer and closer to your mouth, gripping his cock between his hand with a wicked grin plastered to his face, he leans down and whispers into your ear, “but don’t worry– we can have our own fun later.”
you can’t deny the heat that rushes to your cunt as he says that. however, you can’t say anything as he pushes his cock into your mouth, groaning the second that your tongue touches the tip. he braces both hands either side of your head on the pillow, rolling his hips against your mouth. cas is busy tending to you– mouth placing delicate kisses down your abdomen, all until he reaches your cunt. his tongue replaces where his fingers once were, licking a fat stripe up your cunt before lapping at you like a dog in need of water. needless to say, it all has you arching off the bed.
“fuck,” dean hisses, grabbing a fitsful of your hair in one hand, guiding your mouth up to his cock. “even better than i thought she’d be. maybe we should keep her around.”
you feel cas lean forward, breath hot against your skin. “maybe we should,” he echoes. “she actually tastes quite good.”
“well, thank fuck– wouldn’t want anythin’ else.”
meanwhile, you’re shivering, every inch of your body feeling like it’s been lit on fire and then dipped immediately into ice. you feel nothing; you feel everything. with cas’ mouth eating you out like there’s no tomorrow, dean’s cock seems to fill every single part of your mouth. their hands claim you as their own– gripping, pulling, pinching.
you’re a mess. you whimper around dean, and it comes out more as a muffled hum, but he takes no notice. he merely laughs, hand still entangled in your hair. “oh, poor baby already fallin’ apart?” he asks, eyes dark.
and you can’t answer him– not with your mouth full of his cock– so you silently tug on the crumpled bedsheets, rolling your hips into his face. cas is still eating you out, tongue circling your clit, with two fingers now working inside of your cunt.
you mumble something around dean, something that sounds like how you’re about to cum and that you can’t take it, this, anymore, unable to ignore that itch inside of you that’s become insatiably unbearable, only for both of them to pin you down in place. it’s like they share a mind.
“c’mon, baby,” he urges, that low and teasing voice cutting you to the core. “cas will eat it all up.” and he bucks into your mouth faster, harder, as his tongue works against your clit. the angel’s fingers curl inside of you, hitting your sweet spots with such precision that you swear you see stars. meanwhile, you’re left to claw at anything– the sheets, his thighs, anything– as you’re simply devoured.
dean’s drunk on his own depravity as he fucks into your mouth with feverish, insatiable intent. “fuck, cas, she’s– she’s fuckin’ perfect,” he groans, hands now gripping each side of your temple to keep you still. he’s merely using you for his own gain, his own personal pleasure– right where he needs you. “and don’t you dare fuckin’ stop.”
you mumble some incoherent nonsense around his cock, an attempt to try and beg, but he’s relentless. now, you’ve got cas pushing a third finger into you, stretching you out until your cries reverberate against his cock. this does nothing, except push them on; like it’s all a game to them.
“yeah, that’s it,” dean’s hips grounding harder against your face. “want you drippin’ all over his face, yeah? have you tastin’ me when you kiss him.”
and all you can do is whimper, gagging on him. “i can’t– i–”
“you can,” cas interjects calmly from beyond, before pressing his mouth to your clit. “be good for us, and it won’t hurt as much.”
through your blurring vision, you can see dean’s predatory smirk. “yeah, listen to him, baby. gotta make a mess for us–” however, he’s cut off as you cry loudly, finally broken by your impending orgasm.
you convulse, vision going completely as your orgasm overtakes you and leaves you slack. it’s strong, wet, and nothing short of overwhelming. dean’s groaning with pride as he cums into your mouth, the hot taste of salt hitting your tongue. “fuck, baby, that’s it..” he coos, thighs tightening around your head as he shudders.
meanwhile, cas is still lapping up your arousal, fingers fucking you trhough your violent orgasm. he seems unfazed as to what’s going on, teeth grazing your overly sensitive clit.
you go limp, aching and sore, and it’s only then does cas pull back. you hear him panting, before he’s standing up and away from your cunt, catching dean in a heated, sloppy kiss. they’re sharing the taste of you. and when they finally come away from one another, they share a look before looking down at you. you’re still writhing, numb and left to rot beneath them. judging by the suggestive, slightly predatory looks on their faces, you know that this is not the end.
i pray i got cas right. omg. destiel fans do not come for my ass!
