Summary: something something about you noticing the two winchesters are somewhat “protected” by their beings with wings makes you wonder.
Pairing: basically team free will x reader, + gabriel x reader
Warnings: fluff, teasing (mostly from dean)
Word count: 1.5k
Finally a part 2!! Sorry this took so long
Cas tilts his head like usual, trying to find a proper answer for you without wanting to hurt your feelings, while Dean gawks at you, trying to figure out your intent behind this sudden realisation, and Sam glances uneasily between everyone else, silently asking if anyone knew what to say.
Leaning back on the chair you continue, “I mean I've been on enough jobs and hunts with you guys,” gesturing towards them again “I think I deserve a little more credit you know”
Dean raises an eyebrow, Sam furrows his eyebrows closer in confusion
“Like my own personal protective angel.”
The one to finally crack is dean, he releases a short snort which develops into a deep laugh.
“..What?” you chuckle, your grin starting to falter. “I’m serious y’know” now standing from your seat, “you two are blessed with celestial beings so naturally it made me wonder where my one is”
The only response you start to get is the growing laugh coming from Dean, as if he just finished watching a Chris Rock special, they’re not even that funny anyways. Sam, like the lost deer he is, waits for anyone in the room to explain the joke, though there is none.
“I don’t see what’s so funny” you mutter
“Your own protective angel?,” Dean laughs “Seriously sweetheart? never expected you to be so demanding about heavens winged creatures”
“Dean” Castiel warns slightly
You scoff and cross your arms “Well excuse me for wanting some hard-earned recognition for my successful hunter labour,” Walking around the table you get closer to where the rest of the group is, in hopes they’ll see this as the serious issue it is. Not that serious but you deserve some type of compensation for very honourable work towards the brothers and dedicating most of your life towards the hunting business, is that too much to ask?! More eyes stare, wanting a more justifiable reason “Yes, seriously.”
“You gonna put in a request?” Dean adds-on
“Maybe.”
He snorts again.
“So what type are you looking for? Are we talking peter-pan sweet and naive or someone a bit more macho man guard dog?” Dean’s teasing smirk spreads on his face as he drags on his mocking.
Sam softly chuckles.
You squint your eyes at him, “you know all this mockery is just gonna make me drag this longer than it should”
“We could always leave this for another time” Sam tries.
You gasp dramatically “Sam! you're really going to back your brother on this? I thought you enjoyed my company more than that!” while bringing your fists towards your chest, clutching your heart like he just smashed it in half.
“Wait hold on-” Before dean can start his rebuttal, Sam interrupts.
“Just saying we can continue this on a clearer head”
“Good for you Sammy but my head has never been clearer than it is after this discovery”
He makes a small acknowledging sound before turning back to his laptop. Dean's expression softens for a moment before hiding it behind another scoff.
"Fine, we'll get you an angel."
"Really?" Your eyes light up briefly before smiling innocently
"No"
Your smile drops "Jerk"
"Had to make sure you weren't getting your hopes up," he grins “I mean come on, you don't actually want one of those"
Castiel's brows furrow.
"Why not?" Raising an eyebrow at him
"Because he'd follow you around everywhere"
"I already do that." Cas casually replies
Dean pauses "ok, bad example” Sam lets out a laugh, shaking his head.
There's a small silence in the room before Gabriel announces his presence.
“Alright then,” Gabriel claps his hand, finally deciding to join in the conversation “since your gonna pre-order yourself an angel might as well make a list”
Everyone turns to him, realising he was watching from afar. This is his forte anyways, being part of the audience, watching the chaos unfold until the opportunity to make things more entertaining is simply too good to pass up.
You raise one of your eyebrows “A list?”
He moves away from where he was standing, behind Sam’s back, and slowly makes his way towards you “Yeah I mean, since I am one of the more powerful angels in the room I gotta know what I’m working with” He finishes with a smirk. Castiel shoots him a look after his statement.
You squint your eyes at him, always been a bit skeptical about him, who wouldn't be? when the brothers thought they were hunting the trickster turned out to be one of the archangels.
You start shifting on your toes and sigh dramatically, “Fine. Someone nice” Dean shakes his head and firmly crosses his arm “Too vague”
“Patient”
“Unrealistic” he takes a seat next to Sam, because for him this conversation calls for sitting down. You continue “Funny”
“Definitely unrealistic.”
You glare at him.
He raises his arms up, “hey I'm trying to help”
“You're making fun of me”
“I'm multitasking.”
You pause for a second “Anyways.. someone who's protective"
Dean nods seriously “Ok, protective. Got it.”
“And that can actually listen, you know,” Dean makes a small agreeing sound, “someone who's not completely emotionally constipated.”
He pauses for a moment as a small grin appears on his lips “well it seems like we are reaching for the stars now” he smiles so wide someone might mistake it for genuine interest
Your glare just hardens with every one of his little comments while Castiel looks genuinely confused. “What does emotionally constipated mean?”
“Don't worry about it, Cas” Sam chuckles.
Dean points at you, “Hey, keep going, what else?”
You think for a moment, “Someone who's dependable.”
“Boring”
“Dean”
“What? You're describing a golden retriever.”
“Sorry didn’t know that was too much to ask” You scoff at him, deciding to take a seat opposite the brothers after they, mostly dean, worked you down to the gods about a very simple request. Leaning back on the chair you think about all the qualities your angel should have, hopefully. Patient, funny, protective, dependable.. for anyone this makes it seem like the bare minimum when people talk about what they would want their future partner to have, but that's not what you seek for, not the label at least, there's a bright line between partner and guardian angel. Before you can let your thoughts spiral deeper, Gabriel pipes up.
“Don’t you think you're missing something?”
You furrow your eyebrows “What do you mean?”
“Personally, I think you should get one with a decent sense of fashion”
You look over at him “That's not important”
“It absolutely is”
“Why?”
“Because if you're gonna have a celestial body follow you around, you might as well have something pretty to look at”
Dean groans. “Oh, God”
“You asked!” Gabriel throws his hands up.
“I thought you were gonna give some actual useful advice” You deadpan and turn back to Dean.
“Lastly, someone who can keep up with me.”
Dean looks you up and down “Now that might be asking too much.”
“Shut up.” muttering at him
He lets out a small laugh “so, let me get this straight.” He starts counting on his fingers. “Nice, patient, funny, protective, listens, emotionally available, dependable, doesn't baby you, can keep up with you-”
“And handsome.”
Dean stops
“Ah.”
You grin
“There it is”
“What?”
“You just had to throw handsome in there” He points at you as if he finally got to the whole point of your celestial body inquiry.
You lean closer towards him and rest your arms on the table. “Well, if I'm getting an angel, I'm allowed to have preferences.”
Sam looks between the two of you with an amused expression before covering his mouth with his hand to laugh as his shoulders start to shake.
Dean shakes his head, smiling widely.
“Anything else? Six-foot-tall? Blue eyes? Wings? Maybe a deep, gravelly voice?” He mimics Castiel’s tone before finishing his last sentence
You narrow your eyes at him while raising one your eyebrows “Are you making fun of me or filling out the application?”
“A little bit of both.”
Sam finally barks out his laugh quickly trying to disguise it as a cough, which he does terribly while Gabriel looks far too entertained.
“Alright I’m going to run through this again you want a hot, emotionally available angel who's gonna follow you around, protect you, listen to your problems, never tell you what to do, and somehow tolerate your attitude.”
You gasp at him dramatically while sitting up better in your chair “Wow good job dean it seems like you're finally starting to get it now!” Finishing with a sweet smile plastered on your face. Dean nods slowly before turning to Gabriel "Yeah well..good luck finding that in Heaven or whatever you make.”
Castiel, who's been listening intently since your create-your-own angel checklist, comments “I do believe there may be several angels who fit that description”
You huff out a laugh as Sam and Dean stare at him, subconsciously telling to not drag this any longer than it already is. Castiel just furrows his brows back at them.
The room quietly takes in the moment before Dean, of course him, decides to add his last two cents to it.
“Well, kid, sounds like you're asking for a miracle”
You smile softly at him as you tilt your head, teasing him one last time.
Watching and consensually recording himbo!castiel slut himself out to other people at the party you’re invited to because you like watching his usually confident self get all squirmy and flustered at the thought of you going back to video to get off, wondering what it would look like
Watching You ΔΨΟ ~🪽
Socials | Masterlist | Intro | Rules
Himbo!Castiel x Reader | More plot, Exhibitionism (Cas), voyeurism (Reader), videoing, Castiel gets teased & loves it, consent is Cas’s best friend, au takes place in 2000s-2010s
[IThis one’s not that explicit but it’s a little saucy 17+]
Note: Whoever asked for this, I love you. If there’s a demand for it I wanna rewrite this as a Drabble where it’s just the good stuff bc I think I can do better….so yea lemme know if anyone’s interested >_< | [ΔΨΟ Series Menu]
Castiel doesn’t bring people to parties. He just doesn’t. He meets people there and asks those who know Jimmy to keep that name under lock and key. His face, however, is a different story.
Cas doesn’t have problems with the recordings— girls with their cutesy flip phones shoving them up his shirt or guys with their kodaks taking snapshots of his face after taking a mouthful of the guy on top of him. His barrage of questionable desires outweigh a little bit of exhibitionism, ignoring the obvious fact that he finds the thought of a camera hot. It makes him feel like a celebrity or someone important, like a local camboy who does it purely for the love of the game.
You are no exception to the local camera crew. You’ve been to St. Delta a few times to understand how things tend to go, and maybe you felt kind enough to torment the local toy with a flashing red light.
And there he is.
Castiel’s not busy, surprisingly. His head is poking out of the bathroom door, hair a soaked mess, eyes red from a very strong smoke. Balthazar has Castiel by the hair, yanking him back against the bathroom sink trying to calm him down.
“You can go play in a minute! You’re filthy, Castiel, it’s a bad look even for you.”
“Calm down baby boy…” Gabriel says mockingly, almost like a stern parent. He’s got a camera in his hand too, and it’s crammed directly in Castiel’s flushed face. He gives Castiel an encouraging pat on the back. Castiel laughs at the camera, a little dazed.
“What’s the word?” Balthazar takes a towel to Castiel’s face and wipes him off.
“Hm…”
“I don’t hear words.” Balthazar snaps his fingers in front of Castiel’s face. It’s common to see them go back and forth about these things, but it’s only out of concern for Castiel’s reckless behavior. He can’t stop his behavior, but he can make sure nobody’s out to hurt him.
“Honeybee…”
“Are you using it?”
“No…”
He gives Castiel’s shoulders a squeeze and a once over to make sure he’s not on the verge of passing out. “You gonna let the locals tape you like this? You look like you offer services behind dumpsters…but I suppose you’re not above that.”
“Yeah.”
Gabriel takes another picture of Castiel before kicking him out of the bathroom.
It doesn’t matter what led up to it, but you’re in it now. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, Castiel’s head in your lap, looking up at the camcorder in your hand. He blinks in tandem with the red light flashing in the corner— being so close to it hurts his tired eyes now that he’s sobered up a bit. Someone’s busy kissing and biting Cas’s neck for him to really care about what you’re doing though.
“Do I look good…?” Castiel murmurs, tilting his head up to look at you better, and to allow the stranger better access to his body. He waves at the camera with his pointer finger as if he knows who you are.
“So pretty.” You smile.
“What’re you going to do with it?”
You set the camera down next to his face, head dipping beside his ear. He smells like weed. Strong. It does well to cover up the smell of Castiel’s stench of sweat and sex. “Home video. For when you’re too busy getting passed around like a 2$ slut to give the paparazzi some attention.”
Castiel’s eyes widen. He realizes that he’s never actually thought about what people do with the videos of him. He thinks about playing up the filth, making it gross and unbearable so you’d rather vomit at the sight than go home and cum to it.
“You have me now.” He quickly offers himself up, adjusting his head on your lap like he’s ready for your next command. Your eyes dart from his to the person getting busy between Castiel’s thighs as if to say: ‘Do I really?’
You don’t even want to touch him anyway. Filthy is a kind way of describing the man on your lap: half naked might be a better descriptor. “Do you want me to stop?” You pick the camera back up to record his body, what people are doing to him, then his face where he’s decorated in blush.
Castiel freezes. As much as he’d like to convince himself otherwise— he doesn’t want to disappoint you. He wants to be good for you. He likes it.
You do either sweep of his body while he thinks: that toned body of his clenching its abs, the sweat and cum mixing on his lower abdomen to create a shine around his tattooed groin: a church and the frat’s Greek letters, in blue.
“N-no.” He murmurs, eyes locking with the camera lens, knowing when you go home and watch it back you’ll have to make eye contact the nervous wreck in him. “But if you do anything to yourself with it…don’t be gentle. It’s not what I’m used for.”
He stares at the blinking red until you’re satisfied.
he’s surpisingly cuddly for an angel. eons of not being touched, let alone held will do that to you. you’d stroke his black locks while watching tv, smiling softly as his eyes—so blue they were almost translucent—gazed up at you adoringly. his wings fluttered gently. you paused. castiel only brought them forth with those he truly trusted. it took a great deal of his energy keeping them hidden. you reached down to stroke a feather.
“mm…”
they were incredibly soft. your hands ventured lower, dipping beneath his wings and tracing a short line up and down. those gorgeous blue eyes fluttered shut, a pink flush overtaking his otherworldly complexion. he rocked his hips against your midriff. “y/n,” he groaned, bloating pupils swallowing his irises. “stop that.”
you didn’t listen.
you rubbed fast little circles, fingertips pushing up from beneath his wing and it was like setting off a bomb. his wings snapped up, pulsing with grace. he was heaving. castiel didn’t even breathe.
“you,” he rasped, sitting up with quivering thighs. “you don’t understand what you’re doing.”
you responded by rubbing all up on his back. the angel came tumbling down.
you slotted your thigh between his, giving his aching cock much needed relief. his eyes rolled back, instinctually grinding down. you chuckled darkly at this display, palming his wings, fingering between the dark feathers. “please! pleasepleaseplease-”
you craned your neck to lick a stripe on the top of his wing. his hips bucked, gyrating wildly as his arms wrapped around you, squeezing the air out of you as his cock came pathetically in his pants.
you cooed softly, stroking his soft feathers as his hips gave little thrusts, stars bursting behind his eyes as he gazed up at you with more adoration than you’ve ever seen.
little did you know this meant the angel saw you as a mate. his mate.
could you do a Castiel fic with a plus size reader who’s feeling insecure and Cas doesnt understand why?? you dont have to but i think itd be cute :) !! reader can be gn or fem
I'll do fem!reader, but if you want something else in the future lmk!!!
Genre:sweet fluff! Nothing to worry about!
Warnings:none besides be slightly suggestive
Contains:fem!reader or gn!reader whatever you want to imagine!, plus size reader, established relationship, reader lives in the bunker obvi! Spoilers if you're in earlier seasons, mentions of the bunker but not nothing else!
Sweetest angelboy
You didn't know why but in your own body it felt wrong. Some clothes fit tight, some made you feel awful. It wasn't your fault personally, it's just you were feeling a little insecure, big mistake talking about it in front of Castiel.
You were in the living room area or kinda close enough to a living room, with Castiel, Sam and Dean were out on a hunt as usual, Castiel was reading some lore. "y'know..I don't know how you look at me..I look all wrong in these clothes, I feel all gross." You said with a sigh, not thinking much of it, you were used to talking about your body negatively.
Castiel was not used to you talking that way, hell he immediately stopped reading/talking. "What do you mean? I don't understand why you feel that way" Castiel spoke with great confusion, before you could speak and explain insecurities to this sweet angel, he said "Your body is perfect, you look heavenly in those clothes. I don't understand why you would speak so negatively about yourself." Castiel said unblinkingly, as he walked over to you.
"You are the most perfect human in my eyes." Castiel said, pressing kisses alongside your neck to your chest, "Perfection, Beauty and temptation.." Castiels lips wandering. "Cas..." You whispered, "I don't want to hear you ever say such things about yourself.." Castiel murmured, as he sunk to his knees staring up at you as if you were the only god in the world. "now may I take you to the bedroom to.. engage in intercourse..?" Castiel hummed gently, you wanted to giggle but you held yourself back. "Of course cas..we shall" you said with a soft smile on your lips.
A/n:I hope you enjoyed this, this isn't my best work but I tried!
But.. Father Castiel too? Pretty please? With sugar and cherries on top with a side of ice cream? 😊🩷🩷
writing for Cas scares me..... But for you my dear I'd do anything 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️ I hope this is okay 🙈
† 🪽 † 🪽 † 🪽 † 🪽 † 🪽 † 🪽 † 🪽 † 🪽 † 🪽 † 🪽
He thought god would speak to him.
He thought staying pure, those nightly prayers, blood and body. All of it. That would save him.
That preacher's boy, who spent his life inside the church. He knew the passages of the bible before he even knew how to spell his name, so devoted to the word of the Lord.
But that voice never came, never filled his mind as he slept, never struck him like lightning as he stood at the pulpit.
Surely, then, he can be forgiven for letting your voice take His place.
Your sweet voice, lips pressed against his ear, begging him to let you touch. He should have known you were sent to tempt him, to steer him away from the Lord. With those scandalous clothes and blasphemous words.
Your hand on his inner thigh, the other screwed into his hair as you kiss him. He kisses you back, telling himself he shouldn't while he's got his hands under your clothes and his fingers digging into your skin.
"Not here. We can't." He gasps. What if this is it- the day god has chosen to speak to him. And he's committing sins in the one place he knows He'll see.
You're breathless, "There's no one here- this place is empty-"
"A church- a church is never empty-"
"Well yeah. We're here." You laugh against him, that laugh that sounds dirty, that laugh he can't get enough of.
When you get on your knees there's no prayers in sight, only his clasped hands, white knuckled as he swallows down repentance.
You touch him in a way he's never felt before, like you're devoted to him, like you need him. He's got sweat soaking through his clothes, his eyes half lidded, lip wedged between his teeth. He won't last long, you both know it, but you don't mind. You know this won't be the last time.
With your tongue on him and his body in your mouth, finally, he feels holy.
~♡ꜝꜞ ❝ ℋigher power ❞
────── · · Castiel Novak x fem ! seraphim ! reader
a / n : THIS GIF HAS SOOOOO MUCH TO DO WITH THE FIC TRUST ME
character/s featured. castiel novak .ᐟ sam winchester .ᐟ dean winchester .ᐟ
rating: suggestive .ᐟ
summary : Castiel was assigned to Dean, a soldier to a man, wereas you were assigned to Sam, a seraphim to a boy of demon blood. Castiel seems to need a reminder that he is not to harm your charge.
notes : can be read as in the same universe as THIS smut drabble for charge!Sam and angel!reader<33
Dean Winchester had his boot pressed against the demon's chest, silver knife glinting in the dim light filtering through cracked windows. The creature beneath him, a young man with hollow eyes and a mouth full of teeth that seemed too sharp, hissed and spat, black smoke curling from its lips.
"Sam, now!" Dean shouted, his grip tightening on the blade.
Sam Winchester stood three feet away, his face a mask of concentration. His hand was raised, fingers spread, and his eyes had gone black-tinged at the edges. The demon's body began to convulse beneath Dean's weight as Sam's psychic powers latched onto the creature's essence, wrenching it from its vessel with invisible force.
The demon screamed. Actually screamed as its form began to unravel, black smoke pouring from its mouth, its eyes, its ears—
And then the temperature in the room dropped forty degrees in an instant.
Dean's breath crystallized in front of his face. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He'd felt this before. He'd know this presence anywhere.
"Winchester."
Castiel's voice was like grinding stones and distant thunder. The angel materialized from the shadows, his trench coat billowing despite the absence of wind, his face twisted with righteous fury. His hand shot out toward Sam, fingers splayed, holy power gathering in his palm.
"You will cease this immediately, Abomination." Castiel snarled, his eyes blazing with blue-white light. "You are forbidden from using—"
He never finished the sentence.
One moment, Castiel was standing on solid ground, his power building to subdue the youngest Winchester. The next, the world shifted. The air around him compressed, and he felt himself lifted off his feet, propelled backward at impossible speed, the wind ripped from his lungs as his vessel's body slammed into the cracked stone wall behind him.
The impact drove the breath from his lungs. Stone fragments rained down around him, and for a disorienting moment, Castiel couldn't process what had happened. His vessel's body was pinned against the wall, held in place by a grip that could only be described as absolute.
Your hand was around his throat.
Your hand.
Castiel's grace flared in recognition, in shock, in something that made his vessel's heart—a muscle he still didn't fully understand—stutter in his chest.
You had appeared from nowhere. One moment, the space beside Sam had been empty; the next, you were there, your vessel's tall, imposing form radiating power that made the air itself feel thick and heavy. Your fingers were wrapped around Castiel's throat with surgical precision, not squeezing quite hard enough to damage his vessel's trachea, but hard enough to cut off his air supply almost entirely.
Hard enough to lift him two feet off the ground.
His feet kicked uselessly against the wall. His hands flew up to grip your wrist, trying to peel your fingers from his neck, but you wouldn't budge. Couldn't. You were three celestial ranks above him. Three. Your power was to his as an ocean was to a raindrop.
"Sam, you are allowed to continue." you said, and your voice was calm. Dangerously calm. Motherly in a way that somehow made it infinitely more terrifying. "I've got him."
Sam's arm dropped. The black faded from his eyes as the a smoke of the same very shade of darkness escaped the man's mouth before disipating. Exorcised. He stared at you, at the angel dangling from your grip like a naughty kitten, and something like relief washed over his features.
"Ma'am-" he breathed. "I didn't- I wasn't going to-"
"I know, sweetheart. You weren't going to use your gift to cause harm." Your tone gentled just slightly, though your eyes, still fixed on Castiel, remained like chips of frozen starlight. "Dean. Get your brother out of here. I need to have a word with your angel."
Dean hesitated. His gaze flicked from Castiel's face to your expressionless features, and for a moment, the hunter looked like he was about to argue.
Castiel's hands scrabbled weakly at your wrist, his heels kicking against the wall. His vessel's face was flushed, his blue eyes wide and panicked as he tried to draw breath that wouldn't come.
"My charge," you switched to speak to the angel, your voice dropping to something dangerous and low. "You were going to harm my charge. After I specifically told you, ordered you, that Sam Winchester was under my protection."
Castiel made a choking sound. His fingers couldn't find purchase on your arm: you were too strong, far too strong, three ranks above him and he was just a grunt soldier, a foot soldier, and you were a seraphim, one of the most powerful beings in all of creation, and you were holding him against a wall with one hand like he weighed nothing at all-
"I... I..." Castiel managed, his voice a strangled rasp. "The... Abomination... he used his powers... he must be... contained..."
"Dean." Your voice dropped another octave. "Now."
Dean grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him toward the exit. Sam went willingly, shooting one last glance over his shoulder at Castiel's dangling form. There was something almost like pity in his eyes.
Castiel wanted to scream at him. Wanted to tell him that he didn't need the Abomination's pity. That he was an angel of the Lord, a soldier of Heaven, and he was being restrained by a superior officer, and this was not- this should not be-
His vessel's pulse hammered against your fingers. He could feel each beat of it, frantic and desperate, trying to pump oxygen to a brain that was slowly being starved of it. His vision was starting to go dark at the edges.
And yet.
And yet.
"The Abomination?" Your laughter was bitter, sharp as broken glass. "Is that what we're calling him? The boy who has done nothing but try to save his brother's life? The boy who has refused every demon's offer to use his powers for evil? The boy who has been nothing but a loyal servant to Heaven's cause?"
Castiel's grace surged with something that was not fear. It couldn't be fear. He was an angel of the Lord, and angels did not feel fear. They felt righteous fury, they felt purpose, they felt- they felt..
Your power was incredible.
He could feel it pressing against him from all sides. Your grace—your true celestial form, the part of you that existed beyond this fragile vessel—was overwhelming his senses completely. He could see it with his true sight, the vast expanse of your being, radiant and terrible and so much larger than his own. Ten times the size. Maybe more. Your grace flared with anger and protectiveness, a blinding supernova of righteous fury that made Castiel feel like a candle flame caught in a hurricane.
Your grace covered his own completely. Threatened it. Pressed in from all sides, suffocating and inescapable, threatening to smother his grace like a candle cut off from oxygen.
He should have been terrified.
He should have felt remorseful, ashamed, that his superior was so angry at him. So determined on protecting her charge that she would destroy him without a second thought, without so much as a struggle, and Heaven would not mourn the loss of one soldier who had threatened the Seraphim's sacred trust.
Castiel should have been afraid.
Instead, something else was happening. Something he didn't have the vocabulary to understand.
All the blood in his vessel's body seemed to be pooling low, very low, in a place that Castiel had only recently begun to understand had any significance at all. The vessel's reproductive organs—the part of the body that Dean seemed to think about constantly, that humans used to procreate and, according to the hunter, "blow off steam"—were... responding.
Engorging.
His vessel's dick was chubbing up in his pants, creating an obvious tent that his trench coat did nothing to conceal. It was embarrassingly apparent. Distractingly apparent. And yet you didn't seem to notice in your determined haste, your narrowed eyes fixed on his face, cold anger radiating from every inch of your vessel's body.
Castiel was not scared.
He was... something else. Something he couldn't name. Something that made his grace burn in ways it never had before, made his vessel's body feel strange and heated and alive in ways he didn't understand.
You were so angry at him.
You were being so scary, acting so terrifying, being so rough with his vessel. Your grace was so big and threatening, ready to smother his own smaller grace entirely. You were holding him by the throat, proving to him how much stronger you were, how much more powerful, and for some reason-
For some reason, it made him feel good.
Really, really good.
Not scared. Not afraid. Something else entirely. Something that made his grace pulse with need, made his vessel's body ache with want, made him want to beg for something he couldn't articulate.
His fingers were still wrapped around your wrist, but they were no longer trying to peel you away. They were just... holding on. Clinging. Like a child clutching their mother's hand.
His feet still kicked uselessly, but there was no strength in it. No real struggle. He was completely, utterly helpless in your grip, and some traitorous part of him, a part he didn't even know existed until this moment, found that glorious.
"You forget your place, Castiel."
Your voice was like cold water down his spine. It made him shiver. Made his vessel's skin prickle with goosebumps despite the heat radiating from where your hand gripped his throat.
"You are a common angel. A soldier." Each word was precise. Measured. Dripping with disdain that made Castiel's grace sing with something that was definitely not shame. "I am a Seraphim. I am three ranks above you. I am closer to God than you will ever be. My power dwarfs yours. My wisdom eclipses yours. My charge, my responsibility, is Sam Winchester."
Your fingers tightened fractionally. Castiel let out a choked gasp.
"He is under my protection." you continued, and your voice was like the crack of a whip. "He is mine to guard. Mine to protect. Mine to guide. And you dare to raise a hand against him? You, a simple soldier, a low-ranking angel who can barely understand his own vessel, you think you have the right to interfere with my charge?"
Castiel tried to speak. He couldn't. His vessel's throat was constricted, his voice box crushed against your fingers. All that came out was a pathetic, strangled sound.
"It is my duty to ensure Sam does not stray from Heaven's plan," you continued, and your eyes blazed with holy fire. "It is my burden to bear. Not yours. You were tasked with Dean Winchester. The righteous man. The one who, despite all your posturing, you cannot even keep from danger."
Something flickered in Castiel's chest. Guilt? Shame? No. That wasn't quite right. It was more like... inadequacy. Being confronted with his own failure, his inability to control his charge, laid bare by a superior who clearly had no such problem.
You were so good at your job. So natural. Sam listened to you. Sam trusted you. Sam looked at you like you were the only being in the universe who could save him from himself.
Castiel couldn't even get Dean to stay in one place for five minutes.
But the inadequacy wasn't a painful feeling. It was... good. It made him feel small. Insignificant. Made him want to curl up at your feet and beg for your approval, your guidance, your..
He didn't know what. He didn't have the words.
"Sam is not an abomination," you said, and your voice softened for just a moment. "He is a child of God. A human born with a burden he never asked for. And I will not allow you, or anyone, to harm him."
Your grace pulsed, and Castiel felt it: the full weight of your power, the enormity of your celestial form, pressing down on his grace like a crushing weight. His own grace.. so small, so insignificant in comparison, flickered like a candle flame in a hurricane. He could barely breathe. Could barely think. Could barely form coherent thought beyond the overwhelming sensation of you.
You.
His vessel's dick was achingly hard now, pressing against his pants, and Castiel had no idea what that meant or why it was happening. All he knew was that every word you spoke, every second of your power pressing down on him, made him feel incredible. Made him want more. Made him want to be closer to you, even as you choked him, even as you threatened to smother his grace entirely.
"You will obey me, Castiel."
It wasn't a request. It was a command. Absolute. Final. The kind of order that could not be disobeyed, because the consequences were simply too terrible to contemplate.
"I have been merciful so far," you continued, your eyes boring into his. "I have allowed you to continue your mission. I have not reported your incompetence to The Host. I have not raised my hand against you, despite ample provocation." Your grip tightened another fraction of an inch, and Castiel's vision started to truly swim. "Until now. But if you ever, and I mean ever, raise a hand to my charge again, I will not be so forgiving. I will make sure you cease to exist. Not your vessel. You. Your grace. Your essence. Everything that makes Castiel, Castiel. I will unmake you so thoroughly that even our Father will not be able to find the pieces."
your grace flared with promise. Castiel felt it deep in his core, the absolute certainty that you meant every word.
And God help him, it made him even harder.
"Do you understand me?"
Castiel tried to nod. He tried to speak. All that came out was a choked, breathless sound that might have been "yes" if you were feeling generous.
You held him there for another long moment. Five seconds. Ten. Castiel's vision was going gray at the edges, his vessel's body starting to convulse from lack of oxygen. His grace flared weakly, trying to heal the damage, but your power was too strong, too overwhelming, pressing down on everything he was.
And then, finally, mercifully, you let him go.
He dropped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. His knees buckled, his vessel's legs unable to support his weight. He collapsed against the wall, gasping, choking, his hands flying to his throat as he tried to pull air into his burning lungs.
You stood over him. Tall. Imposing. Your vessel's shadow falling across his trembling form like a judgment.
"Stand upright," you said. Your voice was cold. Dispassionate. There was no warmth in it at all. "You're embarrassing yourself."
Castiel tried. He really did. But his vessel's body was shaking too badly, his legs too weak to support him. He managed to get his hands braced against the wall, his head bowed, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to keep himself up.
It wasn't even five seconds before his knees buckled and sent him down against the ground while you towered over him. Now even taller from this new point of view that cast a grand shadow over him. Not that any physical height difference in human standards would ever compare to that of your graces's sizes.
He looked up at you with the neediest, widest, most pathetic eyes you had ever seen.
And Dean wasn't even here, nut if he had been, he would have recognized the expression immediately. It was the same look Sammy got when he wanted something but was too scared to ask. The same look that had gotten Dean to agree to a hundred dangerous hunts, a thousand stupid decisions, a million compromises that had ultimately led them here.
But Castiel wasn't Sam. He was a celestial being. An angel of the Lord. A soldier of Heaven.
And he was looking at you like you were his entire universe.
You stared down at him.
For a long, long moment, you said nothing. Your expression was unreadable, your vessel's features composed into a mask of cool authority. Castiel couldn't tell what you were thinking, couldn't read your thoughts the way he could with other angels. You were too powerful. Too beyond him.
But he could feel your grace. Still pressing against his own. Still threatening. Still overwhelming.
And he could feel something else, too. Something he didn't have the words for. Something that made his grace hum with need, made his vessel's body ache with want, made him want to reach out and-
Castiel didn't even realize he was moving. His hand was reaching out, his fingers stretching toward your vessel's ankle, desperate and pleading and utterly pathetic.
He caught himself before he made contact. His hand hovered in the air, trembling, and he forced himself to pull it back. Forced himself to press his palm flat against the cold stone floor, to try to push himself up again.
He couldn't. His vessel's body had given out entirely. All he could do was lay there, knees and hands on the dirty ground, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking, waiting for your judgment.
Your next words surprised him.
"Look at me, Castiel."
It wasn't a command. It was... softer. Almost gentle. The kind of tone you used with Sam when you were trying to coax him out of a spiral.
Castiel lifted his head, his eyes wide and questioning. His vessel's throat was bruising, the marks of your fingers starting to bloom on his skin, but he barely registered the discomfort.
You were still staring at him. But your expression had shifted. Something had softened. Your eyes were studying his face with an intensity that made his grace burn.
"You are shaking." you observed matter-of-factly. "Are you afraid of me?"
Castiel opened his mouth to respond. Closed it. Opened it again.
"No," he managed. His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. "I'm not afraid."
Your eyebrow arched. "No? Then what are you feeling, Castiel? Because you look like a frightened animal."
The insult should have stung. It should have made him feel ashamed, humiliated, lesser. Instead, it made his vessel's body thrum with something that was definitely not shame. Something that made his dick twitch in his pants, pressing against the fabric, desperate for any kind of friction.
"I don't know," Castiel admitted. His voice was barely audible. "I don't- I don't understand what's happening to me. My vessel is... behaving strangely. It's reacting to you in ways I can't control."
Your expression flickered. Something passed over your face, too fast for him to read. For a moment, just a moment, your gaze dropped from his face to his lower body.
Castiel's vessel's body was still betraying him. His pants were tented, the outline of his erection impossible to miss. He had no idea what it meant, no framework to understand it, but he knew it was wrong. Inappropriate. He was a soldier, and soldiers didn't—
"Ah." you said.
Just that one word. A sound of understanding. Not judgment. Not scorn. Just... acknowledgment.
And then you turned around and walked right out to go find your charge. The one you found oh, so precious.
And Castiel caught himself wishing he'd had that very same demon blood poisoning him from the inside out just so you could care for him like you did with Sam.
It was an old tale your mother used to tell you; freckles were made by angel kisses. She told you that an angel came down when you were a baby and peppered your face in kisses.
It was just an old tale. A cute story that comforted you as a kid. Or so you thought.
Currently, you're on your bed, giggling, being kissed by the bunker's resident angel. His kisses pepper from cheek to cheek, down your neck, and on your collar bone. They tickle and make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
You can't help the laughter bubbling up. Castiel seems to be encouraged by this as his kisses get more energetic.
You know both of you might have to get up soon, but Cass seems so happy, like a puppy with its favorite toy. With that in mind and the increasing warmth, you let him continue his attack. He's moved down to your arms, laying his lips on as much exposed skin as he can reach.
He goes on for a little longer before leaning back with a small smile on his lips.
"What is it?" You asked, a little dazed.
"Just admiring my work," he responds in the same monotone voice he carries always.
"Your work?" You tilt your head. His grin widens as his gaze drifts to different spots on your arms and face. You look down at your arms, eye widening as you see that your freckles have multiplied.
Your first thought is that you developed some sort of rapid acting skin cancer, until you see the smug look on Cass' face. Things start clicking in place.
"It's real…" You whisper.
"What is?" Now it's his turn to tilt his head.
"Freckles are angel kisses," you say, still in awe and looking at your hands.
"Well, not all of them," he states. You look up at him, confused. "It's a common misconception that all freckles come from angels. Only some of them," he clarifies. "It's usually by choice on the angel's part."
"So… You wanted me to have more freckles?" You ask.
"Yes, they suit you," Castiel leans down to kiss your left ring finger, leaving a large freckle right where a stone would sit. The thought makes you blush.
You blush harder when you realize that this is his way of claiming you as his.
"That color suits you as well," he murmurs as he kisses your ear. The spot tingles for a bit like the others, so you have no doubt that he added another spot to his collection. Your blush spreads to your ears and you hear a chuckle before feeling a nose nuzzle into your neck.
You lift a hand up and run your fingers through his hair. He lets out a low rumble that sounds like a purr. It makes you smile softly as you hold him closer.
You both end up falling asleep together on your bed, curled up, blushing, and covered in freckles that you don't doubt Sam and Dean will ask about later. Neither you nor Cass care, though. You're both just glad to be together.
summary ⌗ castiel trades the trench coat for hoodies and fuzzy socks, and discovers that being held might be one of the holiest things humanity ever invented.
pairing ⌗ castiel x reader ( gn )
wordcount ⌗ 722 genre ⌗ extreme fluff !!
warnings ⌗ cuddling, soft kisses, bunker domesticity, castiel being adorably touch-starved
notes ⌗ absolutely in love with this request!! #castieldeservessoftness 🥹🤧
⠀︶⠀⠀support me on ko-fi⠀ ݁⠀ 𓂂
castiel takes comfort very seriously.
that’s the first thing you learn after he starts staying in the bunker properly, not just appearing when the world’s ending or vanishing with that worried pinch between his brows. he stays. actually stays. his coat ends up on the back of a chair more often than on his body, his tie disappears into a drawer, and little by little, almost shyly, he lets himself be convinced of softer things.
hoodies, mostly.
he likes the blue one best because the sleeves cover half his hands, even though he insists that isn’t the reason. he likes sweatpants after exactly one suspicious hour of pretending they are “structurally confusing.” he likes fuzzy socks so much that dean catches him standing in the hallway one morning, sliding one foot slowly across the floor just to feel the texture, and has to leave before he laughs himself sick.
you don’t laugh.
well... not where cas can see.
tonight, he appears in your doorway wearing the blue hoodie, grey sweatpants, and the soft white socks you bought him because he kept staring at them in the store with the grave wonder of a man witnessing divine revelation in aisle four.
“may i come in?” he asks.
you lower your book. “cas, you live here.”
“yes,” he says. “but this is your room.”
your heart does that small, helpless fold it does around him. “come here.”
he doesn’t hesitate after that. he crawls onto the bed with more focus than grace, mattress dipping beneath his weight, and then he simply lowers himself on top of you. all of him. chest to chest, hips heavy over yours, arms sliding under your shoulders as he buries his face in the side of your neck and lets out a long, quiet breath.
you go still for one second, surprised by the sudden warmth of him, by how completely he gives himself over to the contact.
then your hands come up to his back. “comfortable?”
his answer’s muffled against your skin. “extremely.”
you laugh softly, fingers moving into his hair. “you’re crushing me a little.”
he lifts his head immediately, concerned. “should i move?”
“not yet.”
his expression softens so much it almost hurts to look at, and then he settles again, more carefully this time, cheek pressed near your collarbone. he’s heavy, warm, solid in a way that makes the whole room feel quieter.
the bunker hums around you, pipes ticking somewhere in the walls, but cas melts against you as if there’s nowhere else in creation he’d rather be.
after a while, he shifts. “i would like to try another position.”
you bite your lip. “another cuddle position?”
“yes,” he nods solemnly. “it is important to be thorough.”
so you let him be thorough.
he turns onto his side and pulls you against his chest, one arm around your waist, chin tucked over your shoulder. then he changes his mind and lies on his back, guiding you carefully until your head rests over his heart. then he wants your legs tangled together. then his forehead against yours. then your hand in his because, apparently that counts too.
between each adjustment, he kisses you. your temple. your cheek. the corner of your mouth when he misjudges and then looks so pleased with the accident that you kiss him properly. his lips are soft and slow, his hand cupping your jaw with that gentle seriousness he brings to everything he loves and doesn’t fully understand yet.
“you’re very affectionate tonight,” you whisper.
his thumb brushes your cheek. “i am happy.”
oh. as simple as that.
you blink at him, suddenly too full of something warm and breakable. “yeah?”
“yes.” his gaze moves over your face with quiet certainty. “i like being here. with you. in soft clothing.”
a laugh slips out of you, small and wet around the edges. “that’s very romantic.”
“i intended it to be.”
you kiss him again before he can look worried about getting it wrong, and he sighs into it, hand spreading over your back, socks brushing clumsily against your ankle beneath the blanket.
later, when he settles on top of you again, lighter this time, face tucked back into your neck, you hold him there and feel him smile against your skin. he stays that way until your breathing matches his.
@bitchinwallaby requested ⠀ ݁⠀ 𓂂 I crave for Castiel fluff, can you pretty please supply?I just want him to be happy and living in the bunker with reader. He should have comfortable clothes, right? No more stiff business wear. Just soft hoodies, comfy sweatpants, fuzzy socks. Mmmm. I want him to be a cuddle bug. He'll crawl on the bed and lay on top of reader with his whole weight, bury his face in their neck and just melt. Blissful. He'll move after a while, assume some other cuddle positions hehe, he wants to try them all. Soft touches for both him and the reader. And kisses, lots of kisses.
.⛥ ݁ ˖ writing guidelines ⌗ posting schedule ⌗ all works
