Divorce so toxic the only options for couples counseling are some knowing remarks from the Queen of Hell and a hostage Leviathan in Purgatory forced to listen to all their baggage
Tags: Fluff, Smut, Flirting, Wing Kink, Use Of Grace In A Sexual Way, Unprotected P in V Sex, Kissing, Oral (Female Receiving), Explicit Language
Word Count: Around 1100
Written For: @fandom-free-bingo @fluffyjuly @julybreakbingo
Squares/Prompts Filled: Card B: B2 - "Actually, my pronouns are __." for Fandom Free Bingo: Virtues and Vices Edition | Fluffy July Day 28 - Borrowed Clothing | B3 - Kink: Wings for July Break Bingo
Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics
A/N: I'm not sure if it was ever said what Cas's wings look like. This is just how I imagine them :)
Dean pulled the Impala into a motel parking lot and cut the engine. The hunt was brutal, but all four of you were pretty much unharmed. Mostly, you just needed sleep.
Sam, Cas, and you grabbed the duffel bags from the trunk while Dean went inside to get the room keys. A few moments later, he returned and tossed you a keycard.
“You and Cas can take the left one,” he said casually. “Sam snores, so he’s bunking with me.”
You raised a brow. “You’re putting the angel and me in one room?”
Dean shrugged. “He’s the safest thing in a hundred-mile radius, and I know you won’t let him smite any delivery drivers unless they deserve it.”
You looked over at Castiel. He stood beside the Impala, trench coat dusty, shirt still faintly stained with ash, staring at you in that too-intense way that made your skin heat. You smirked. “Fine. But if he starts glowing in the dark, I’m out.”
The motel room was...barely livable. Faded floral wallpaper, creaky floorboards, and a bathroom door that didn’t close all the way. It had one double bed, one armchair, and a lot of tension.
You both stood there in silence for a moment.
“I can take the floor,” Cas said quietly.
You tilted your head. “Cas. You are a literal celestial being who’s fought Leviathans and Lucifer. You don’t need to sleep on motel carpet like a golden retriever.”
“I do not require sleep,” he replied.
“Great,” you teased. “Then you can keep watch while I drool on your pillow.”
He blinked slowly. “You...drool?”
You laughed, peeling your jacket off. “Joking, Cas. Sort of.”
The moment relaxed slightly. You wandered over to your duffel bag, pulling out your backup shirt, and grimaced. Torn. Bloodstained. Useless.
“Damn it,” you muttered. “This one’s shredded too.”
Cas was already removing his coat. He reached into his bag and pulled out one of his crisp, white button-up shirts, the ones he wore under his trench coat.
“Here,” he said, offering it to you without hesitation.
You raised a brow. “You’re lending me your angelic fashion?”
“I do not mind. You should be comfortable.”
You took it with a soft smile. “Thanks, Cas. You’re kind of a gentleman. Mostly.”
He tilted his head. “Mostly?”
“Well, sometimes you stare like you want to dissect me.”
“I do not wish to dissect you,” he said seriously. “I wish to understand you.”
Your cheeks warmed as you escaped into the bathroom to change, heart pounding slightly.
His shirt was oversized, falling to your thighs. You left a few buttons undone, your collarbone and bare legs peeking through with each movement. When you stepped out, Cas looked up from the armchair, and froze.
His gaze swept over you slowly, his mouth parting just slightly. You saw his eyes trail from the collar of his shirt, down your bare legs, then snap quickly back up.
“Better?” you asked casually, walking toward him.
“Yes,” he said, a little too fast.
You flopped onto the bed, propping yourself on your elbow. “So...Cas?”
He turned toward you, always attentive.
“I’ve always wondered...what pronouns do you prefer?”
He blinked at the question. Then his expression softened. “Actually, my pronouns are all of them. I do not possess a gender in the human sense. I have no true form. My vessel is male, but I have also existed in many other forms, some without shape, some beyond comprehension. You may refer to me however you feel most comfortable.”
You smiled, touched by the honesty. “That’s beautiful,” you said softly. “And really damn cool.”
He looked thoughtful. “Many humans find it...confusing.”
“Not me.” You sat up straighter. “It actually makes you more you. Not less.”
His eyes met yours, intense and lingering. “You see me in a way others do not.”
Your stomach flipped.
You rose from the bed, walking over to stand in front of him. The shirt swayed with your steps, brushing against your thighs. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something else.”
“Yes?” His voice was quiet now, like he already knew you were about to ask him something personal.
“What do your wings look like?”
He inhaled slowly.
“They’re not physical. They exist between planes. Most humans can’t perceive them. If they do, it...damages the mind.”
“I’m not most humans.”
He studied you for a long moment.
Then, softly, he said, “Would you like to see them?”
You stepped closer, your breath shallow. “Please.”
He stood, gaze locked to yours, and slowly removed his shirt. The moment his bare chest was exposed, the air in the room shifted. The lights dimmed. The shadows pulled in like they were watching.
Then...whoosh.
A soft crack of air, like thunder in the distance.
His wings unfurled behind him, vast, iridescent black, shifting like oil-slick shadows in moonlight. They shimmered with hints of sapphire and violet, feathers laced with something that wasn’t of this world. They stretched wall to wall, arching high toward the ceiling.
You gasped.
They were the most beautiful, otherworldly things you’d ever seen.
“Cas…” you whispered. “They’re gorgeous.”
He stood still, almost shy under your gaze. “You truly see them.”
“Can I…” You lifted your hand, barely able to breathe. “May I touch them?”
His chest rose with a slow inhale. “Yes, but be gentle. They are...sensitive.”
Your fingers hovered near the base of one of his wings, the feathered arch shimmering like obsidian under the flickering motel lamplight. The moment you touched him, just a whisper of skin against plume, a visible shiver ran down Castiel’s spine.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth.
“Did I hurt you?” you whispered, fingers freezing.
“No,” he said, voice rougher now, something low and trembling beneath it. “Quite the opposite.”
You looked up at him, brushing your fingers down the feathered curve again, delicate strokes, reverent, amazed.
The wing twitched under your touch, then arched toward your hand like it wanted more.
“You weren’t kidding,” you whispered with a little smirk. “They’re sensitive.”
“They are connected to my grace,” he murmured. “To my...essence. No one has touched them before. Not like this.”
The way he looked at you made your knees weak. His eyes were heavy, darkened, struggling to contain everything brimming inside him.
You stepped closer, pressing your hand fully to the base where feathers met skin. His breath stuttered.
“Do you like it?” you asked, voice low and teasing.
He growled.
The next second, you were backed against the motel wall, breath stolen from your lungs.
His hand braced beside your head, the other at your waist, holding you still, but his wings...they curved around you both like a protective cocoon, blocking out the rest of the room, the world, everything but him.
They shivered against your bare legs, brushed against the open collar of your shirt, stirred the air with heat and electric tension.
“I warned you,” he rasped, forehead resting against yours. “They’re not just decoration.”
Your lips parted, heartbeat thundering. “Then show me what else they can do.”
He kissed you, like he’d been holding himself back for centuries.
Your hands tangled in his hair, your body arching into his, the soft brush of his wings dragging up your sides, feathers tracing your skin with unbearable gentleness.
They moved on their own, shifting lower, brushing against your thighs, lifting the hem of his oversized shirt. When one feather traced the inside of your thigh, high, near the edge of your panties, you gasped, legs trembling.
“Cas…”
“I feel everything they touch,” he whispered, lips moving down your neck. “Everything you do to them...I feel here.” He guided your hand to his chest, where his heartbeat was racing.
You slid your fingers along the inside edge of one wing, near the base, where the feathers met something warmer, more alive. Cas groaned, and his wings jerked, slamming into the wall behind you with a heavy thud. The light above flickered.
He growled again, pulling the shirt higher as he pressed his hips flush against yours. The friction made you whimper.
“I shouldn’t...” he panted, voice raw. “But I want to. I need to.”
“Then take me,” you whispered, eyes wide and wrecked for him. “Please, Cas. I want all of you. Your grace, your wings, your everything.”
His lips crashed into yours again, rougher this time, needier. He carried you to the bed and sat you down on it.
You lay back on the bed, heart pounding in your chest as Castiel hovered over you, angelic and human all at once. His pupils were blown wide, jaw tight, the thin sheen of sweat across his chest catching in the glow of his wings.
They pulsed with life around you, iridescent black, vast and sheltering, brushing your skin in soft, deliberate passes. The air between you shimmered, heavy with grace and raw, tangible hunger.
Cas's hand cupped your cheek first, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “You are…” he whispered, eyes searching yours, “the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.”
Then he kissed you again.
Not rushed. Not desperate. But deep and slow, like he wanted to learn the shape of your soul through the taste of your lips. His tongue teased yours, coaxed moans from your throat as his other hand slid down the curve of your waist, over the rise of your hip, fingers splaying against bare skin.
You were wearing nothing but his shirt, and the moment he unfastened the last button and spread it open across your body, his breath caught. His gaze roamed, wild and wrecked.
“You are beauty itself,” he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, your chest, between your breasts. His wings moved too, they reacted to your pleasure, tracing soft, feathery strokes along your thighs, your stomach, between your legs in careful, teasing brushes that made you shudder.
Your fingers buried themselves in his hair, tugging gently. “Cas…I need you.”
“I’m here,” he whispered. “You have me.”
One of his wings curled underneath you, lifting your hips ever so slightly, while the other swept along your inner thigh, spreading your legs in a way so gentle, so commanding, your breath caught in your throat.
His mouth trailed lower, licking, tasting, until he reached your dripping cunt. When his lips finally met your heat, you cried out, fingers tightening in his hair.
He groaned in response, like your pleasure fed him. Like it was sacred.
He licked slow, flat strokes at first, easing you into it, then used his tongue with devastating precision, his grace humming around your skin, making your nerve endings sing. His wing curved tighter around your thigh, holding you steady as you writhed against his mouth.
“Cas-” you gasped, shaking, undone. “Please! I’m close-”
And then he stopped.
You blinked down at him, confused, panting. He climbed up over you, kissing your lips again with the taste of you still fresh on his tongue.
“I want to feel you around me when you fall apart,” he said, voice low. “I need to be inside you when you break.”
You whimpered, your body already trembling as he lined himself up and slowly, so slowly, pushed into you.
The stretch was perfect, slow and smooth, his body fitting against yours like it had been designed for this. His forehead dropped to yours as he groaned, deep and full of restraint, like even now he was holding back for your sake.
“You feel…like nothing I have ever experienced,” he whispered, thrusting in fully. “I didn’t know this kind of pleasure existed.”
You clung to him, your thighs around his hips, his wings enclosing you both like a cathedral. With each movement, his feathers ghosted across your skin, your nipples, your throat, your sides, and it was like being touched from every direction at once. Warm, shivery pulses of grace followed every drag of his hips.
It was overwhelming. Consuming.
Sacred.
He was worshipping you. Every thrust was slow, deep, and purposeful. Every kiss on your jaw, your lips, your neck full of awe. His hands held your waist, but it was his wings, shifting, trembling, wrapping around your wrists, your ribs, your heart, that made it feel like something more than human.
Like you weren’t just being touched.
You were being claimed.
“Say you’re mine,” he begged, voice rough as he began to lose rhythm. “Please...say it.”
“I’m yours,” you whispered. “I’ve always been yours.”
He groaned, body pressing harder to yours, and as your orgasm built again, slow, blinding, divine, he whispered something in Enochian against your skin.
The moment you shattered beneath him, crying out his name, he came too, gasping your name like a prayer and spilling into you, his wings shuddering around you like an earthquake in the sky.
When it was over, he collapsed gently on top of you, his wings draped over your bare bodies like a blanket of shadow and starlight. You felt his grace still buzzing beneath your skin, like he had marked you, inside and out.
He kissed your shoulder.
“I will never leave you,” he whispered. “Not in this world or the next.”
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