Hiii I was wondering if you would be ok writing a smut oneshot of Castiel? I have read all of them out there and I can’t find any more 😭 if you don’t feel comfortable writing that that ok and I love your work!!!
⋆˚꩜｡ holy blow,
summary. you give castiel his first blowjob.
pairing. castiel x reader ( gn )
wordcount. 913 genre. soft soft smut
warnings. explicit sexual content, oral sex (blowjob), first-time sexual experience, mild swearing, intimate physical descriptions, vocal expressions of pleasure
The motel room hums with the soft churn of a ceiling fan, stirring warm air. Moonlight filters through thin curtains, casting silver across his frame as he stands by the window, trench coat shed, white shirt slightly unbuttoned. His blue eyes meet yours, wide and searching, swirling with curiosity and quiet nerves that tug at your heart.
“You sure?” you ask, voice gentle, warm, your fingers brushing his wrist. His pulse races beneath your touch, quick and human despite his angelic nature. You want him to feel safe, to know this moment is his to choose.
He nods, swallowing hard, throat bobbing. “I want this. With you.” His voice, low and rough, trembles with sincerity that wraps your heart tightly.
You stand, stepping closer, hands finding his chest, warm through thin fabric.
He inhales sharply.
You smile, soft and reassuring.
“Okay, Cas,” you murmur, fingers lingering at his collar. “We’ll take it slow.”
He follows as you guide him to the bed, movements hesitant yet trusting.
He sits, mattress dipping under his weight, hands resting awkwardly on his knees. You kneel between his legs, fingers careful as they undo his shirt, revealing smooth skin and faint muscle lines. His breath quickens, shallow and uneven. You glance up, meeting his gaze—intense, vulnerable eyes that steal your breath.
“I’ve never…” he starts, voice barely a whisper, cheeks faintly flushed. “This is new.”
Your heart softens. You brush a thumb across his jaw, feeling slight stubble. “That’s okay,” you say, voice low, soothing. “I’m here.” Your hands move to his belt, metal clinking softly as you undo it, deliberate and slow. He watches, eyes wide, memorizing every motion.
You pause, looking up. “Tell me if you want to stop, okay?”
He nods, a shy smile breaking through, and warmth floods you. You ease his slacks down, just enough, breath catching at the sight of him—hard, ready, heat radiating through his boxers. He’s thick, warm.
He gasps when you free him, a sharp, broken sound that sends a shiver down your spine.
You stroke gently, and he moans, loud and unguarded, head tipping back. The sound, raw and pure, speaks of a world felt for the first time.
“Oh—” he breathes, voice cracking, hands gripping the quilt. “That’s…” Words fail him.
You smile, leaning forward, lips brushing the tip, tasting salt and heat.
He cries out, a desperate “Oh, God—” echoing in the quiet room. His hips twitch, instinctive.
You hum, taking him deeper, tongue tracing slow patterns.
“Tell me how it feels,” you say, pulling back just enough, hand still moving, steady and warm. Your voice invites, encourages, wanting him to let go.
“It’s… overwhelming,” he gasps, eyes fluttering shut. “Warm. Soft. Everywhere.” His hand reaches for you, hesitant, fingers brushing your hair, trembling with need. “Please… don’t stop.”
You take him back into your mouth, slow and deliberate, lips stretching around him. He moans again, louder, a sound so raw it feels sacred. His fingers tighten in your hair, not pushing, just holding, needing to feel you. “It’s—fuck,” he mutters, the curse clumsy but earnest. Your hands grip his thighs, feeling muscles tense, quivering under your touch.
You glance up, seeing his face—brows furrowed, lips parted, sweat beading on his forehead. He’s vocal, every sound spilling freely—gasps, moans, your name in broken syllables.
“You’re… incredible,” he breathes, voice wrecked. Your heart stutters at the reverence in his tone.
You set a rhythm, slow and deep, tongue swirling, sucking gently.
His moans grow louder, filling the room with unashamed fervor.
“Oh—please,” he gasps, hips rocking slightly, cautious yet needy.
You match his movements, letting him guide just a little, hands steady on his thighs, feeling the heat of his skin, the way he shakes.
“It’s so good,” he murmurs, voice trembling, eyes locking on yours when not squeezed shut. “I didn’t know… didn’t know it could feel this way.” His honesty, his raw emotion, tightens your core, warmth spreading through you.
You pull back, breath hot against him. “You’re doing so well, Cas,” you murmur, stroking him, slick and steady. You lick the tip, slow and teasing. He whimpers, a high, desperate sound that quickens your pulse. “Let go for me.”
He’s unraveling, moans spilling over, loud and unashamed. His hand in your hair tightens, desperate but not forceful, while the other clutches the quilt, knuckles white. “I—I can’t—” he gasps, voice breaking. “It’s too much, I’m—”
You hum around him, taking him deep, and he breaks. His moan becomes a shout, raw and reverent, as he spills into your mouth, hot and pulsing. You swallow, savoring the taste, the way his body shudders under your hands, every sound a testament to his pleasure. He’s panting, eyes glazed, gazing at you as if you’ve remade his world.
You ease back, wiping your mouth with a soft smile, and climb into his lap, straddling him. His hands find your hips, shaky but warm, pulling you close. His forehead presses to yours, breath still uneven. “That was…” He laughs, soft, disbelieving. “I didn’t know.”
You kiss him, slow and tender. “First times are special,” you say, voice warm, fingers brushing his cheek. “You okay?”
He nods, eyes shining with trust, perhaps love. “More than okay,” he murmurs, thumb tracing your jaw, tentative yet sure. “With you, I’m… whole.”
You smile, nuzzling his neck, feeling his pulse steady under your lips. The night remains young, the promise of more lingering, soft and unspoken, a secret shared in the dark.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; support my work .ᐟ
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Castiel is struck by his devotion to you. He's heard his name whispered in prayers for eons, but having it fall from your lips brings him to his knees.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He follows you everywhere like a personal shoulder angel. When you're out of sight, he gets restless. He knows you need space but decides, "thirty minutes should be enough time alone," and then you'll hear the flutter of wings.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He steals kisses all the time, and they're always impromptu. The Winchesters will be detailing your next hunt, and Cas will pull you close and plant one on you.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You pulled him by the tie once, and he's still not over it. He felt so attracted to you afterward. He hopes you'll do it again.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Cas loves when the smell of your perfume lingers on his coat. He'll lift the lapel to his nose and breathe in, smiling softly. He scrunches his brow afterward, perplexed by his own behavior.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Ask Cas for anything, and it's yours. Literally, anything. He cannot fight the impulse to please you.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ The Winchesters walked in on Cas holding your hand while you slept. Sam shook his head and muttered, “Whipped.” Dean snorted. “Absolutely whipped.”
hii lovely! since you asked for requests I was wondering if you could do a castiel x winchester!reader, maybe where dean is excited to learn that cas is seeing a mystery woman, before he finds out it's his baby sister and gets all protective big brother on him?
hiii nivs!! sorry if this is kinda rushed, i hope i did u justice🙂↕️🫡
IN-LAWS
wordcount: 891
summary: Dean can sniff lady trouble from a mile away, when Castiel’s been acting weirdly happy, he takes it upon himself to find out who has his feathery friend acting all giddy.
warnings: cursing, meddling older brothers, hopeless romantic cas, fem!reader, fluff!!
Castiel was always odd, quirky if you may. Though lately, he’d been different, not his usual kind of different– different, different. Instead of that permanent, confused scowl on his face, he finds himself smiling for no apparent reason. The angel of Thursday, shield of God, fierce warrior and leader of garrisons– was giddy.
Your brother’s noticed, of course they did. Well, mainly it was Dean who took an interest in this sudden change of behavior– he’s always been the messier one– the guy thrives on chaos, part of his older brother persona. Being the talented hunter that he is, he took it upon himself to find out what had his celestial pal all mushy and happy. Your brothers have always been smart, more so when they join forces, so the moment they decided to investigate Castiel– whatever the poor angel was keeping secret was doomed.
Upon very little investigation, Dean decided it was most definitely something female related. Though to be fair, when it came to your older brother, everything was somehow female related.
Castiel spent his free time browsing thrift stores, skimming through old books and CDs with all the care and grace he could muster. Today was one of those quiet evenings in which he browsed the local stores for anything you might like. His nimble fingers carefully flick over the albums, pausing every couple seconds to weigh out whether you’d enjoy it or not. The angel is too focused on grabbing trinkets to notice the overgrown men trailing behind him (Sam was awkwardly hiding behind a bookshelf and Dean had gotten distracted by the rock vinyl collection)
It doesn’t take long for Cas to check out and step back into the street, his blue eyes roaming over every detail around him. (He always appreciates Earth in these quiet moments) He’s got a worn down tote bag hanging from his shoulder– you’d lectured him about reusable materials instead of plastic bags or carrying everything in his arms– the straps slipping on the fabric of his trenchcoat, even if he doesn’t seem to mind it. Your brothers had stopped bickering just enough to follow him, walking on the opposite sidewalk while absolutely not ‘playing it cool’ like they’d promised each other.
“Who the Hell would Cas even be dating?” Dean whisper-shouts to his brother, to which the younger one simply shrugs. “I mean– don’t get me wrong– M’ proud of the lil guy for finally gettin’ some but still…”
“I dunno, Dean– Maybe they find his quirkiness endearing, girls do that sometimes” Sam replies, waving his hands in that overly emphasizing way he always does before pausing briefly with that crease to his brows he gets when thinking. “Or guys… Never really though what Cas would be into, I guess”
“Gotta be a chick” Your eldest brother nods solemnly. “Only chicks buy second hand books” He adds with way too much conviction given the amount of bullshit he was spewing.
“Hey” Sam protests, shoving halfheartedly at Dean. “I buy second hand books” The eldest brother simply scoffs, pointing at him as if that only reinforced his point.
Meanwhile, Castiel is calmly walking down his path, briefly stopping to let a ladybug cross in front of him– he even nodded courtly at the little creature and everything. He also uses the opportunity to crouch down and pluck some wildflowers from the cracks on the pavement, pocketing them to later add to his gift haul. The brothers are so busy fighting that they don’t realize how the path they were walking was all too deja-vu-ish, turns and stops leading them right back to the motel they’d been staying at all week.
You're lying on the bed, some old western playing on the TV, Clint Eastwood filling the screen until a gentle knock brings your me-time to an end. You hop off the mattress, padding over to the door– being met with a familiar pair of blue eyes and warm smile.
“Hello” Castiel speaks up in a gravelly murmur, holding up the bag like an offering. You can’t help the fond, amused chuckle that escapes your lips at his usual straightforwardness as you grab the bag and set it down by the door.
“Hey” You reply softly, gently reaching out to cup his face between your hands– just enough to bring him down into a brief kiss, comforting and casual– like you’d done it a hundred times before. (Kinda had)
The moment is broken by the sound of a dumbfounded “Sonuvabitch” barked from the parking lot. You look over the angel’s shoulder, only to find your eldest brother marching over– your other brother trying (and failing) to hold him back. “Of all the people–” Wide gesture. “ –angels or whatever the Hell you’re into” Another wide, dramatic gesture. “You had to screw my sister?!”
Castiel opens his mouth to reply, but before he can do so, you put a hand on his shoulder and whisper a ‘it’s a manner of speech’ –You’d spent enough time with the angel to know two things: he absolutely did not understand why Dean seemed frustrated & he most definitely was about to say something like “How could I possible screw your sister? She is not a screw and I am in no way or shape a screwdriver” with that endearing little tilt to his head and wide puppy-like gaze.
summary: castiel receives his first valentine’s gift ever and he isn’t sure how to act, but tries his best because it’s from you
cw: cutesy fluff.ᐟ awkward angel behaviour.ᐟ crushing/pining.ᐟ pun alert.ᐟ bunker era.ᐟ special guests [dean, jack].ᐟ gender neutral reader.ᐟ
word count: 814
masterlist | taglist | valentines masterlist
“hey cas, you’re back!” you exclaimed with a smile, going up to a shelf and reaching for something specific.
“i’ve got a little somethin for you.” you grinned, walking up to him with an envelope and a small gift box that fit in your hand.
‘castiel’
his name written on the white envelope in your pretty handwriting, almost cursive.
not in the millions of years of his existence has he witnessed his name written down on anything, and with such care and precision.
his face was stoic, but inside? his angel heart was doing this weird thing, doing a little boom-boom but faster. odd, he thought to himself.
“for me?” his eyes darted away from the stuff in your hands, up into your eyes. noticing how excited you were.
“well of course dummy, go on open it.” you extended your arms out, gesturing for him to take the things from you.
“i hope you like it, i had to figure out something that’s not your cliche box of chocolates. after all angel’s don’t eat.” you giggled as you confessed.
both of you stood there in the middle of the silent library, books being the only witnesses of your sweet but awkward interaction.
castiel put the envelope down on the wooden table to attend to the gift first, his big angel hands slowly opened the small box to find an enamel pin of a bumblebee holding a red love heart.
a pure and honest smile formed on castiel’s face, you knew he absolutely adored bees, so you went with the theme in the hopes to win his heart over.
“i.. love this.” he spoke in his low raspy voice before delicately taking it out the cushion and pinning it onto the inside of his trench coat, patting it gently with pride. “albert is safe with me now.”
“albert? you named it already?” he giggled.
castiel nodded then carefully picked the envelope up like it was some sacred piece of relic.
his fingers gently opening the seal flap to reveal a homemade valentine’s card in the shape of a love heart – with two little bumblebees holding hands, in the middle of it and a message in cut-out magazine letters spelling out ‘bee my valentine?’ a pun you hoped he would appreciate.
cas’ ocean blue eyes lit up at how adorable and thoughtful the card was, he’s never gotten anything like this, not to mention on valentine’s day, which he wasn’t accustomed to.
“this is.. stunning, you did this yourself?” cas smiled, looking up from the card to meet your gaze.
you nodded with a shy smile.
“so this word play- which is very clever i must admit.. you uh- actually want me to.. be your valentine..?” he asked, very unsure if he understood the human word play, let alone the whole valentine’s tradition.
yes, cupids are up in the angel category, but he’s never really had a proper chat with any of them about the human valentine experience.
your eyes softened, your heart beat quickening, oh my chuck, you were nervous – how adorable.
you gave him another nod, this time having trouble looking up into his eyes, by god they were gorgeous and so blue. you couldn’t help but get shyer and shyer by the second.
castiel found your shyness endearing, i mean a human got shy? because of him..?
his plump lips formed a smile that no one got to see very often.
“yes.” was his answer. short but honest and full of confidence.
his answer made you smile like an idiot, your head shot up, sparkling eyes gazing back into his. “really?!”
cas nodded with sureness.
sudden happiness overtook your entire body and made you jump into his arms with a small squeak, your arms wrapping around his neck as you gave him a big ol’ kiss on the cheek, his stubble brushing against your chin.
he wasn’t sure what to do in this situation so he simply wrapped his arms around your smaller form, hugging you back.
“cas? s’that you?” the soft thudding of biker boots echoed from behind him, the voice belonging to none other than dean winchester himself.
“oh–“ dean noticed the romantic exchange between you and castiel and backed out the library quietly, giving you two some privacy.
“castiel’s back?” jack asked from behind dean, excited to reunite with his angel dad. jack caught a sight of you and cas hugging, thinking you were welcoming him back, and wanted to join in.
“group hug?” jack suggested, trying to move past the older hunter but getting stopped in his tracks, he looked at dean with confusion, why was he shaking his head? he thought.
“let’s go kid, we’ll make some waffles.. let them have a moment alone.” dean propositioned before turning jack the other way, his hands on his shoulders, leading him down the hallway and into the kitchen.
thank you my lovely for taking ur time to check out my work, it means the world to me <3
could you please do something with cas, like reader having always felt weird/out of place and now that castiel is here (even weirder/more out of place than them) they do everything to make him feel good & understood? love your writing!!😪💕
♡⸝⸝ 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇,
summary,, you've always felt like you don't fit in with anyone. and now that castiel has joined your group, you feel the need to show him what it's like to feel loved and understood.
word count,, 826
pairing,, castiel x reader
tags,, loneliness, feeling out of place, cas being a sweetheart, teaching someangel how to feel comfortable with themselves
You've always been a little... off.
You just miss the beat of conversations by a second too long. Laugh when no one else does. Say the wrong thing, or the right thing at the wrong time.
You learned early how to smooth it over. Smile when you’re supposed to. Stay quiet when you’re not sure. Blend in, even when it feels like you’re made of something slightly different to everyone else.
It’s easier that way.
Less questions. Less looks and distance.
Then Castiel shows up. And suddenly, you’re not the strangest person in the room anymore.
He stands too still. Talks too formally. Looks at people like he’s trying to solve them instead of understand them. He doesn’t laugh at jokes—not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t always get them.
And the others notice.
Dean teases. Sam tries to help, gently correcting, explaining. Neither of them are cruel, not really—but there’s still that quiet gap, that invisible line Castiel never quite manages to cross.
You recognize it instantly.
It’s the same line you’ve been standing behind your whole life. So you sit with him.
You explain things without making it sound like he’s wrong. You answer his questions like they matter—because they do. You don’t laugh when he says something “strange.” You just… respond.
Like it’s normal. He starts seeking you out after that.
Not in an obvious way. Castiel isn’t obvious about anything. But you’ll notice him lingering near doorways when you’re in a room, or choosing the chair beside you instead of across from you.
Like proximity to you makes things quieter in his head.
Safer.
“Why do you do that?” he asks one night.
You glance up from your book. “Do what?”
“Stay,” he says simply.
You blink at him. “I live here, Cas.”
“That is not what I meant.”
Of course it isn’t.
You close your book slowly, studying him. He’s sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch, hands folded like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible.
Like he’s afraid of doing it wrong.
“I stay because I want to,” you say carefully.
He tilts his head, considering that. “Others… do not. Not in the same way.”
There’s no accusation in it. Maybe observation. Or truth.
You huff a quiet breath, leaning back into the cushions. “People don’t like feeling confused,” you admit. “Or uncomfortable. And you make them both.”
His brow furrows slightly. “That is… not my intention.”
“I know.” You offer him a small smile. “It’s not mine either.”
Something shifts in his expression then. Subtle. But there.
Understanding.
After that, he asks more questions. You answer anyway.
He never wants to judge,
It happens on a quiet evening.
The bunker is dim, Sam and Dean out on a supply run, leaving the two of you alone in the kind of silence that usually feels too big.
But not tonight.
Tonight, it feels… okay.
You’re sitting side by side, not touching, just existing in the same space.
“I have been observing you,” Castiel says suddenly.
You snort lightly. “That sounds ominous.”
“It is not meant to be.”
“Good,” you mutter. “Was about to say, that’s a terrible opener.”
He ignores that. Or maybe he doesn’t get it. “I believe,” he continues, voice steady, “that you experience the same dissonance that I do.”
Your chest tightens. “Dissonance,” you repeat.
“Yes.” He turns to look at you fully. “A sense of being… out of place. Incorrectly formed for your environment.”
You stare at him.
Because that's exactly it. You’ve just never had the words for it before.
“Yeah,” you admit quietly. “Something like that.”
He nods, like it confirms something important. “Then it is logical that you would understand me.”
A small, fragile laugh slips out of you. “Guess so.”
“And that is why you treat me differently.” It’s not a question. You shrug, suddenly unsure. “I don’t think I treat you differently.”
“You do.”
Your stomach dips. “In a bad way?”
“No.” The answer is immediate. Certain. “In a way that minimizes confusion. You do not require me to perform in ways I do not understand.”
Your throat feels tight.
“I just… don’t want you to feel like you don’t belong,” you say, softer now.
Castiel watches you for a long moment.
“You are the only one who has made an effort to ensure that,” he says.
You swallow, looking away. “I know what it’s like.”
“I am aware,” he replies.
There’s a pause. Then, carefully—like it’s something he’s still learning—
“I do not feel out of place when I am with you.”
Your breath catches. You glance back at him, searching his face for anything resembling uncertainty.
There’s none.
“I feel… understood.”
Something in your chest softens, like a knot you didn’t realize you’d been carrying finally loosens. “Yeah?” you murmur.
“Yes.”
Your smile doesn't fade.
“Good,” you say. “Me too.”
The silence that follows doesn’t feel empty. It feels like belonging.
castiel + discovering how much he loves the reverence of sex (he’s been cast out and frowned upon by the other angels, this dude needs some praise)
✶ match box 08 — 3k follower event.ᐟ
✦. ─ cw: castiel x fem!reader, 1.9k wc, smut | 18+, praise [both ways], unprotected sex education.
— mixed with this other request, they both wanted praise w/ cas so why not 1 fic where both cas + reader get praised both deserve it!
Everything Castiel knew about sexual relations came from Dean or porn. Neither are all that reliable of sources, God doesn’t exactly give his angels a sex ed class. Therefore to him the act of sex seemed to be a theatrical messy thing humans did for the fun of it, and well he’s half right. He learns with the direction yours and his relationship was progressing, the next natural step was sex (according to dean, why is he listening to him again? he forgets)
So when Cas appears in your bedroom with a “Hello” that scares you shitless, and he’s dressed in a pizza man costume—you are a little beyond confused. “Uh hi my love, why-” you can’t hold back a chuckle, “Why are you all dressed up?” you question. “So we can have sex” your face grows hot at his words and you have to put down your phone to give him your full attention. “Do you want that?”
“Dean says it’s the next step to our bond” he states it like it’s a fact, “Cas, I don't care what Dean says” you sigh softly, grabbing his hand to pull him to sit down on your bed. “Do you want to have sex?” you ask again. He tilts his head in that endearing way he does when he doesn’t seem to comprehend something, you continue on. “Just because Dean told you our relationship should be at that step, doesn’t mean we have to have sex” you explain further, intertwining your fingers with his.
He’s always liked just holding your hand, feeling the warmth of your skin in his palm. “I think I want to, it looks to be fun” he states plainly, looking down at your hands together. “My love, it’s okay if you don’t nothing bad will happen” “And i want you to know you want it not just think it” now he’s confused again, “How do i know?” he asks.
“You know how sometimes when we kiss, it goes on for a while and I occasionally climb in your lap?” “Yes, I like when that happens” you swear your thermostat isn’t set that high so why is your room so hot all of a sudden. “And does anything ever feel-” you pause to think of how to explain arousal to an angel, what is your life. “Tingly? Or like it’s getting hard?”
The way his brows furrow show you he doesn’t completely understand you. “Like between your legs” you add on, he recalls in porn how they sometimes show the thing between the human males legs gets bigger and stiff. He replays in his head, the last time the two of you were kissing and when your hips kept rubbing in his lap, his body seemed to like that a lot.
“Yes” he nods, that weird buzzing feeling runs under his skin now, he doesn’t know what exactly causes it. “That’s being aroused, and do you ever feel like you want something more when that happens?” he’s already nodding before you really finish the sentence.
slick settled in your core at his answer, “Then yeah- yeah we can have sex my angel” you coo a bit out of breath, “Just…one last question?” he’s quiet in loo of waiting for it. “Why the costume?”
“Is a pizza man uniform not a customary part of sex? all the males in those pornographic videos have one” “But I would like to not be as rough as they are, that part does not seem fun” you laugh softly and shake your head side to side, “The costume is just for porn, actual sex is usually different—no, no uniforms necessary and we can go at your pace”
He feels a tad silly now but your laugh makes him body heat up in that odd feeling you talked about “How do we begin?” you let go of his hand and he feels himself pout a bit at the loss of contact to you. It is quickly remedied however when you climb into his lap, his hand instinctively grabbing onto your hips. “We start with foreplay” “Getting the other person worked up, it can be a bunch of different things but how about we stick to what you like? Kissing” you prompt and all Cas does is nod his head. You smile softly in return and place your arms over his shoulder, the silly outfit is still making you want to giggle but you can focus.
Leaning in as you close your eyes as your lips meet his, he responds immediately by doing the same, the kiss quickly heating up with passion, yeah the angel has this down. He rather thinks he’s good at this part. “There we gooo” you giggle a little in praise dragging the vowel to the last word as it morphs into a content hum.
“I like when we do this” he states again even if it doesn’t need to be reiterated, he’s a bit breathless as he says it against your mouth, your hips grind down a little on their own accord. “I can tell, you’re already hard my love” you moan out softly, the noise being the most beautiful sound Cas thinks he’s ever heard in his millions of years. “What- mm what is that next step?” he questions, not wanting to pull away so his words are mumbled into the kiss still.
You however do, nipping at his bottom lip, making a shudder run down his spine as eager blue eyes watch your face—taking in your swollen spit coated lips and lidded eyes. “The next part is where clothes come off” you explain as you hook your fingers under his silly uniform shirt, waiting on his go ahead to continue.
“Please” is all that leaves his lips. You nod softly and tug his t-shirt up and off his upper body, fingers quickly working at undoing his belt and the buttons to his khaki pants. “Aren’t you gonna get undressed too?” he asks once you have him beneath you clad in nothing, his cock twitching in interest, pre-cum already leaking from the reddened tip. “Thought you’d like to be the one to do that angel, if not-” his hands are already grabbing at your shirt, mimicking your motions and stripping it from your body. Your jeans soon join the growing pile of clothing on your bedroom floor, Cas hovering over your body as you laid back on your comforter. “Such a quick learner baby” you coo, raking your fingers through his hair. He strips you of your panties no issue but stalls at your bra, “How-” "There's a clasp at the back, hold on” you aid him by undoing it behind your back, letting the straps fall down your shoulders a bit but allowing him to pull it off completely.
Moving your body a bit, you spread your legs revealing everything to Cas, his eyes can’t help but trace over every part of your naked body. Your bare breasts that rise and fall with each breath you take, the line of your waist down to your hips, and your sex nestled between your thighs that aches at his attention.
Before you can prompt him on the next step, he says your name, making you look up at his face, “Yes love?” "God took his time with you" your heart damn near skips a beat, the way Cas states it as a fact makes you lose your breath a bit. “As he did with you” you state matter of factly, even if Cas doesn’t completely believe you. He moves on his own between your parted legs, his cock pressed to the mound of your pussy, making your hips buck up a bit. “I’ve seen this next part but I want you to do it” shaking your head in understanding you wrap your fingers around the base of him, making him pant out. Dragging him through your soaked folds til your slick collects at the tip, stroking your hand up and down his shaft to coat him in it as lubrication. “A- Ahh” he moans out softly at the small stimulation, “Feels good or bad?” you prompt as you can’t completely with his scrunched up expression.
“Feels new- but good” he huffs out, eyes tracking each stroke of your hand. “Want to be inside” he mumbles out, his thumb coming down to push through your folds aimlessly. You whine a bit at his action, as he manages to somehow brush over your clit with each drag of his thumb.
Grabbing a hold of his hip to pull him closer you line his cock up with your entrance fully prepared to push him in on your own but once his tip pushes at your hole Cas takes over, getting the hang of things by jutting his hips forward fully, til his cock is inside you to the base.
“Oh fuck!” you cry out, “Did i hurt you?” Cas assesses with worried eyes over your body, watching the way your thighs spasm a bit either side of him. “No, no s’ okay just was a lot all at once”
He leans down to kiss at your shoulders and over your face “M’ sorry” he whispered against your skin “Feels so good, like i can feel your heart beat, i like how close we are” he mumbled before lifting back up, holding onto your hips. “Can- Can we continue?” you feel so full and your head already so fuzzy all you can do is use your hand on his hip to push away his body. He pouts for a second thinking you don’t want to until you push him forward again and by the second time you do it, he picks it up. Pulling his own hips back again before thrusting forward at the steady pace you set.
Your head tips back and a moan falls from your mouth when he manages to hit your g-spot dead on by his fourth thrust. “Right- Right there don’t stop please angel feels so good” you cry out. he listens intently and keeps his thrusts aimed at that spongy spot deep inside you.
“You’re doing s’ well my love” you praise, nails raking down his chest, the other leaving his hip to grip at your sheets as your body arches off your bed.
“You’re making me feel so good” “Feel so close to you and s’ loved” he whimpers out, watching the way your sex engulfs his cock with each thrust inside as praise falls from his lips. “Look so pretty under me, wanna do this again can we please do this again?” he blabbed out his hips speeding up the tighter the pit of his stomach feels, he thinks that's a good feeling he’s supposed to chase he’s not sure. Either way he now understands why humans do this and get addicted, it feels like the purest form of love. “Yes we can love, shit, yes. God yes” “Gonna make me cum baby” you whimper out, pussy clenching down on him.
“Is that good?” he inquires, not stopping his deep and hard thrusts. “Yes!” you damn near scream out not in frustration but pleasure. Your orgasm hits you head on and you clench down hard around his cock, making him release a strangled moan as your pussy milks his own orgasm out of him.
With little unrhythmic ruts of his hips, he spills ropes of cum inside you “Good boy” you coo once your breathing evens out, rubbing circles on his waist. “I- Think I also came…was i supposed to?” he pants out after regaining his own breath, you giggle a bit. “Yes love, means it felt good for you too, s’ a good thing” he nods along to your words.
— i’ve never written cas til now + i rushed this near the end so to me this sucks but i hope i did your request justice, so very sorry if not. I also didn’t really proofread this.
summary: what castiel gets up to on a night where he's patiently waiting for you to come back home to him
pairing: castiel x reader (gn) | genre: fluff | word count: 2.8k
warnings: none methinks, just a slightly lovesick cas who misses you very very much and is very very happy when you return
notes: requested !! apologies for the wait but i got it done !!! this was super super cute i love this :] i may keep making little installments of this over time because this as a concept is actually kind of adorable !! also !! happy 600+ followers to us :]
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Castiel does not have a routine most nights. Nighttime when you are here is for him to follow you around, to let himself indulge in the aspects of your life that you so kindly share with him. Sometimes, you will suggest a movie and he will watch, enthralled by the human fascination with storytelling. Angels have no need for stories, not when they remember all of it; and those who are cast down to Earth do not deserve to remember the legends of Heaven. He tells you these stories, though, because you are as close to an angel as a human can be, and that alone should allow him to tell you all he knows about where you should have been born.
Some nights, he reads to you, from a book of your choosing. He settles on the bed or the couch and gives you room to curl against his chest. You’ve told him you like the vibrations of his voice in his chest; perhaps it is the same reason why humans enjoy the purring of cats. He always makes sure he has your favourite blanket ready to set over your shoulders, because you’ve told him the bunker gets colder at night. Castiel doesn’t notice, because he has no reason to, but if he listens closely, he can hear the bunker settling in its foundations, curling in on itself as though falling asleep. Temperature is not a necessity for a building at rest, although its occupants desire it.
Tonight, however, is not like most nights. You’re coming home tonight, having sent him a prayer earlier about being on your way. He estimates you’re maybe three hours out, although those three hours feel like an eternity when you’re not at his side. For someone who’s lived so long, there’s nothing more excruciating than the time it takes for you to be reunited. And yet, he still finds himself thinking he would wait for you for thousands of years if he must, because nothing really matters if you are not there to experience it with him.
On these nights, Cas has a routine that he sticks to without wavering. One alteration feels as though he’s made the biggest mistake of his existence, and he will never be caught letting you down in such a way. He has a checklist in his mind for these nights, for the ones where he’s certain he can read exactly what you feel and know exactly what you’ll do next, even without divine intuition. It’s the same dance each time, the same steps and patterns and the same soundless music that fills the space as though it has learned to live in the shape of your love.
He glances at the clock on the wall of the library to catch the time. He knows the time without it, because his very soul and existence is tied to the movement of the cosmos, and he can’t help but know the alignment of the stars. But he checks the clock anyway, because you’ve taught him the human joy of reading it, and he’s fascinated by how time moves in circles everywhere; all the way from the orbits of space to the hands of a clock on the wall. It’s late; not late enough to make him worry about your tiredness or health, but still enough that the sky’s been dark for an hour already and the stars are making an appearance. The bunker is relaxing too, the faint humming and creaking like a cat stretching out in a patch of sunlight, a mechanical yawn as it prepares to sleep.
Standing from the library chair, Cas rolls his shoulders in an imitation of a stretch, relieving the tension that builds up in his wings from prolonged disuse. It’s an unfortunate part of being confined to a human vessel; the wings cannot manifest as they should, yet they still take up space. His footsteps take him into the bedroom to begin the first of his tasks, light steps that leave a faint echo behind like the air remembers he was there. He speaks as he walks, narrating his day to the bunker.
He knows the bunker cannot understand words, and he knows that it cannot respond in words either, yet the sentiment remains. The words mean nothing, but the emotions are where objects thrive. The energies of a space, the divine iterations of speech that hum through every word of English Cas speaks; these are what the bunker picks up on, and these are what the bunker returns to him as an answer. A question makes the pipes hum louder, a compliment makes the furnace warmer, a simple observation makes the lights flicker in an imitation of a blink. He is most fluent in the language of between.
He knows these trials far too well. Inanimate objects have the unfortunate consequence of only being spoken to when used or needed. The words are appreciated and kept close to heart each time, yet they mean nothing than the act of casual conversation when nothing is required. Cas knows this, because he too has spent eons abiding only to the beck and call of prayer; it was only once he met you that he understood the value of simple conversation. Now, he is determined to let the ancient soul of the bunker understand what it means to be loved through chatter.
Once in the bedroom, he strips the sheets off the bed, balling them up in his arms. The pillowcases come too, and your sleep clothes that are nestled on the floor find their way into his arms. While he could fly to the laundry room and save time, he doesn’t. You wouldn’t. And so, as is custom of his sacred routine, he walks. He can’t speak to the bunker as he flies either, and he would never miss out on their conversations. The bundle of laundry gets thrown into the washer, timer set for the transfer to the dryer, your laundry detergent put in as well.
While he waits for the timer to sound, he wanders around the bunker, helping it to drift off into sleep. He starts in the most forgotten rooms, walking through them with a hand along the wall as if petting the back of a dog. Cas’s fingers traces the dips and grooves in the stone, and he finds himself wondering where these stones originated, or if those features were simply marks of the bunker’s existence. Perhaps there are stories there if he has time to listen, or perhaps they’re simple facts of the life of rocks. He should ask your opinion on this tomorrow, when you’ll be awake enough to give him an appropriate answer. He moves his way along, shutting off the lights in unused rooms as he goes, a slight flex of his grace clearing dust from unloved corners.
He stops in the kitchen, preparing a snack for you to have when you return. You may not end up eating it, but whether you do or not isn’t the point. The point is that he makes the same thing every time, because it’s simple and comforting and it gives you the chance to enjoy something made of love rather than need. Crackers go to a plate, some dried fruit from a cupboard follows. He leaves the frozen grapes and vegetables for later, because he’s worried that leaving them out for too long will make them inedible. He doesn’t have as good a grasp on this as you, because food left out wouldn’t harm him, but he can appreciate the disgust that comes with discovering a grape is too soft or a carrot too bitter.
The laundry is changed to the dryer when the timer goes, signaling your return on the horizon. With the timer set a second time, he enters the library to search for a story for tonight. He doesn’t want to find anything heavy, yet he still feels something new may be interesting to you. He grabs a new novel from the shelf, rescued by you from a charity event a week ago, tucking it safety under his arm after running his fingers along the glossy cover. Something in the bunker behind him shifts, and he turns to find a book sticking a few inches out from its usual place, the spine almost glowing. Cas examines it, finding it to be your favourite that had gone missing. Upon whispering a thank you to the bunker, it hums in content, air surrounding himself in a hug.
The air buzzes with the incessant hum of your attempts at contact, and Castiel opens his mind to you, letting you take the space you need for your thoughts.
Hey, Cas. I’m maybe twenty minutes out, Dean’s really sending it so…I hope I’m not intruding on anything by being early. If you haven’t already, could you make me some tea? The one in the yellow bag, please, it’s my good chamomile that Sam doesn’t know about. I missed you and…uh…yeah, I’ll be back soon. Love you.
Cas’s heart warms at your request. He hadn’t thought to make tea, but he’s more than happy to indulge in it for you; a deviation from his ritual might be helpful tonight. The soothing process of brewing tea is one delight of humanity he’s recently learned to enjoy, now that he understands the art of the kettle and the leaves. He knows exactly how many seconds must pass for the kettle to boil, the exact amount of breaths it takes to steep to your liking. Even the amount of honey put in is down to a science he’s spent months perfecting, because nothing means more to him than you experiencing joy from something he did.
The leaves fall into the mug gracefully, dancing in the air like the oncoming of fall within a mug. Cas watches their patterns, admiring how nature imitates the angels; they, too, fall in these patterns, spiraling and swirling until they meet the ground. He doesn’t dwell long on this, because he doesn’t want to have such an integral part to your humanity be destroyed by his celestial pain. Pouring the water over the leaves, he hears the timer go for the final time of the night, ears tuned to the sound as though he’s been waiting for it.
While the tea steeps, the sheets are returned to the bed, tucked around the mattress until they’re snug, just the way you like them to be. Your sleep clothes are folded neatly for you and laid on top of your pillow, with your novels stacked on the bedside table. He almost leaves your fluffy blanket in the dryer for a while longer, intending to take it out when you come home, until the bunker appears to tap his shoulder and whisper a promise of keeping it warm for you in his ear. Cas can’t help the smile that splits his face at the way the building is so intent on loving you the way he does as he spreads the blanket out on the bed.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, and the building hums in reply. “Actually…I have a request for you, if you are willing to accommodate it.”
There’s a pause in the air, like the holding of breath, a sign for Castiel to continue with his ask.
“The floor in this room is frequently loud. Perhaps you could…soften it?”
Another pause follows, a warm puff of air drifting through. Experimentally, Castiel touches the creaky floorboards with his shoe, finding, to his delight, that no sound is made.
“Thank you, again,” he whispers, voice gravelly.
Your tea eventually finds its way into the room too, resting on the side table underneath the golden halo of the lamp, making pretty reflections in the surface of the drink. Soft ripples as the liquid moves within the mug, filling space it takes up as it changes, the surface tension holding the shape of movement. Your snack appears too, all parts resting on the plate. He finds himself staring into it for long enough that he loses track of what time it is, only startled back into awareness by the sound of heavy boots on the stairs and the loud voices of the Winchesters.
When the sounds of their conversation have faded down the hall and the place has returned to the comfortable silence it usually inhabits, Castiel hears the bedroom door creak open. Looking up, he sees your tired face in his view, still gorgeous despite the weight of sleeplessness under your eyes and the shadows of a ghost hunt in your soul.
“Hello,” he breathes, standing.
“Hey, Cas,” you reply, stepping into his open arms.
You rest your head on his shoulder, and his arms tighten around you, palms flat against your back. He doesn’t rub circles, doesn’t murmur words or ask you questions; he knows you will ask for those in your own time. Instead, he offers stability, comfort, a love where you crave it the most. It ricochets off the deepest parts of your soul, illuminating them in the kind of care an angel could only give.
“I made your tea,” he says when you break apart.
“Thanks, angel,” you reply, already drifting toward the bed.
“Would you like to shower?”
You pause, clearly torn. “I showered at the motel before we left…tomorrow morning?”
Castiel nods, taking this in stride. “Tomorrow morning. I will wash your hair.”
You press a faint kiss to his cheek, and Castiel feels his entire body warm at the feeling of your lips on his skin. He’s missed how you feel, how you sound and smell, how you take up space. He doesn’t realize how lonely he is without your presence, how lost and untethered his mind is when you aren’t there to bring him back to reality and ground him.
“Cas?” you ask.
He blinks once, twice, eyes refocusing.
“Hey. Where’d you go?”
He clears his throat, seeing you already in your sleep clothes and under the warm blankets, mug of tea in hand nibbling on a carrot stick.
“I have been here the whole time. Perhaps you should rest,” he says.
You smile softly. “It’s an expression. You looked very lost in thought.”
“Oh.” Cas nods. “Yes, I suppose I was. I have returned, if that’s what you were asking.”
“Come sit down with me.”
You pat the bed beside you, gentle expression on your face. You look relaxed, possibly for the first time in a few days, and it makes Cas melt all over again. As long as you look like that, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. He sheds his trenchcoat and tie, sliding his shoes off and neatly placing the laces inside them. Stiffly, as if still not accustomed to sharing a bed with you, he pulls back the covers and slides in at your side.
He takes a book from the bedside table, turning out the light in the process. He doesn’t need the light to read, his angelic eyes granting him the ability to see in the dark. Turning it off will help you too, leading you easier into the arms of sleep, cradled in the crook of Cas’s neck and the bunker’s ambience. He clears his throat as you settle against his chest, head resting over his heart. It may not beat, because he has no need for blood, but he allows the sound to exist, nevertheless. A symphony to your comfort, a backtrack to what lets you sleep at night without interruptions of ghosts long dead.
Cas doesn’t know how long he reads for, nor at what point the words on the page sounded like background noise to you rather than a story. He’s only aware of your grip on the half-empty mug loosening slightly as it rests on your thigh, your breathing evening out against his chest and drifting warm over him. Setting the book down with a bookmark on the page, he takes your mug without protest, resting it back in its spot on the table where it returns to the ring of condensation it left behind before.
“Sleep well,” Cas murmurs under his breath, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head when he’s settled.
You don’t acknowledge it verbally, but you snuggle closer to him in your sleep, one arm wrapping securely around his waist and pulling him tighter against you. Castiel smiles softly at your actions, brushing your hair from your face with the back of his hand and the tips of his fingers, slow so as not to wake you. He shuffles down the bed with you in tow, letting himself lay back with his head on the pillows, closing his eyes in the darkness. He won’t sleep, not really, but he’ll let himself drift into semi-consciousness like he always does with you.
These nights are few, yet special nonetheless. A night in the life of Cas, spent tending to the one he loves dearest; you, his darling.
You watched him from your place on the couch. He had his back to you, checking your items on top of the dresser. You could see his face in the reflection of the mirror in front of him, focused. Sam and Dean had left you alone with him, something about “having backup” in case something happened, but you knew it was to keep you safe and have the angel on your shoulder watch over you (although he wasn’t small enough to be on your shoulder and was not behind you, but in front). You were supposed to be reading a book, but there was something about him that intrigued you (beyond the fact that he was an angel), a question that kept running through your head. He must have felt your gaze, because he looked at you out of the corner of his eye while holding your comb.
“I think there is something you want to tell me.”
You took a deep breath and settled into place, putting your book aside without even marking the page you were on.
That shows how interested you really were in what you were reading.
“Have a question.” You finally spoke.
He turned around this time, leaving the object on the wood, facing you with his hands behind him.
“If I can answer it I will.”
You looked him up and down, studying him. You don’t really know what you could conclude. How much can the appearance of an angel tell you? Since it’s not even his true appearance.
“When Sam tried to contact you,” you began, “You didn’t respond to his call,” he tilted his head with interest, listening attentively. “And then Dean prayed for you, and you showed up.”
He nodded his head as he watched you from his still place. You have to admit that while you knew you weren’t in danger, his aura let you know that that didn’t mean he were vulnerable.
“You said you were connected to him.” It was your moment to tilt your head. “And then you said you were connected to me too.”
“That’s right.” He said simply.
“Well, I understand why you have a connection with Dean, you were the one who took him out of hell and he has your mark on his shoulder.” You frowned slightly, your next question probably already expected. “But why do you have a connection with me?”
He slowly looked away, probably he already expected that kind of questioning.
“Castiel?” You softly said his name to get his attention, which you did. “I just want to understand.”
His gaze traveled over your body, thoughtful, before turning around, his eyes staring at the furniture in front of him before grabbing one of your necklaces.
You thought that was it, that he wouldn’t answer your question. It’s not like you want to pressure an angel, so you moved to grab your book again, cursing inwardly for not marking the page.
“The first time I saw you, you were sleeping.” He said suddenly, causing your attention to fall on him. “I had to talk to Dean, and there you were… Sleeping peacefully in the hotel bed, your face on one side and your hair over it, covering your features.”
You listened to him, intrigued.
“There was something that caught my attention, something in me that wanted to run your hair to get a good look at your face.” He continued running his fingers over your necklace, but his mind was on his memories. “And then, when we spoke formally, I knew…”
You stood up from the spot and approached him slowly.
“What did you notice?”
He didn’t even turn to look at you, he simply placed the necklace back where he had found it and looked up at his reflection in the mirror.
“About a thousand years ago, I was doing my duty when I heard a voice. A voice that teleported me to a large garden,” you slowly approached from behind, one step in front of the other. “And that voice spoke to me to ask me a question.”
His gaze locked onto yours in the reflection. He showed no emotion, or rather, he didn’t seem to want to, you noticed.
“He asked me what a perfect human would be like in my eyes,” he murmured, “And I answered…”
He turned to look at you and took a step forward, making you go on alert, again not out of danger, but out of curiosity.
“I responded that I could never describe a perfect human in my eyes, since perfection is inexplicable.”
He took another step forward and in response you took a step back. He watched you, understanding your action and not trying to make another attempt to be close to you.
“But I told him I could describe something close.”
You took note of his eyes traveling all over your face, taking in every feature, every part that made you physically yourself.
“I described their hair, their legs and arms, their ferocity… Even their look.”
You let out a sigh, something about his words making your mind spin.
“Their skin had to be soft, even when it was rough.” He continued, taking another step forward, this time not getting a step back from you. “I imagined their fingers were magical. Any living being touched by them would find complete peace.”
He held your hand gently, causing you to jump slightly, not expecting it. But you didn’t move your hand away either, a magnetic feeling didn’t leave you. You let him lift your hand and run his own fingers through it, looking at it as if it were a work of art, the best seen by him.
“But their eyes…” He slowly moved his hand up your wrist, following the veins down your arm and causing your hairs to rise at his touch until he reached your shoulder. “I proclaimed that all their power would be in their eyes.” He looked deep into your eyes, feeling a shiver crawl up your spine, his hand continuing its journey along the side of your neck until it reached your cheek. “Their gaze would hypnotize and make strong and firm walls fall…”
He took another step forward, his gaze slowly falling to your lips.
“And their lips…” He gently caressed your lips with his thumb. “Oh, my Father, their lips would be magnificent, attracting the attention of everyone who looked at them, no matter how strong they think they are, they would fall at their feet.”
His gaze stayed on your lips, parting his slightly. As for you… You couldn’t even describe it. You couldn’t move, or rather you didn’t want to. You had a feeling of fear that if you did, this would end, whatever it was.
But he seemed to force himself out of the bubble, shifting his gaze to your eyes and lowering his hand, seeing his throat move as he swallowed accumulated saliva.
“After giving my answer, I returned to where I was. I spent years wondering about the purpose of His question and it was finally answered.”
“Yeah?” Your voice barely came out and you cleared your throat.
“Yes.” He returned his gaze to you. “As soon as we spoke, I understood that the answer to His question was in front of me,” he looked at you slowly from bottom to top, analyzing you. “Both physically and emotionally, everything was there.” He cocked his head, “A few words turned into a single work of art of flesh and blood.” He placed his gaze on your eyes, his own half-closed. “And I can’t stand not being attracted to your person in some way…” He murmured, bringing his face closer to yours.
A wave of heat ran through your body, your gaze on his before resting on his lips, from which you felt his breath. You even closed your eyes, ready to receive what he gives you.
Just when you thought he couldn’t get any closer to you, the door to the motel room opened and Sam and Dean walked in, looking curiously at their closeness.
“All good?” Dean asked, looking between the two of you with a raised eyebrow.
You hesitated and Castiel stood up straight, looking at them seriously, very different from the look he had given you earlier. No words left his mouth before he walked back to the dresser and went through the items there again.
The boys returned their gaze to you, waiting for a response. You nodded your head.
“Everything is in order.” You cleared your throat and scratched the back of your neck. “What did you find out?” You asked as you returned to your position on the couch and grabbed the book again, not even bothering that you didn’t remember what blessed page you were on.
You felt Sam and Dean’s gaze on you for a few seconds before they started walking around the room, talking about their discoveries in the case. But you couldn’t concentrate on a single word of what they were saying.
Your gaze hesitantly rose from the book and ended up at Cas’s reflection in the mirror. You didn’t really know if he felt a connection to you, if your relationship was based on something God had created, but his gaze also rose to yours in the reflection.
Nobody said anything. Hell, you’re even sure none of them expressed any emotion, but somehow… Somehow there was something there…
An invisible thread that did not allow neither of you to maintain your concentration on anything other than the other.
