#promptroulette

[lulu-zodiac]

Title: Car Crash

Prompt: “Sex hair and bedroom eyes (somewhere innocuous)” (for @winchester-reload’s prompt roulette)

Summary: Cas attempts to seduce Dean. Dean (not so) slowly loses his mind.

Note: I’ve had a few people asking me about a tag list for my fics, so if that’s something you’d like to be a part of then pls let me know <3

Cas has always looked a little devastating. Rumpled dark hair that makes him look like he’s just been thoroughly fucked, and those intense, deep stares that make Dean forget his own name. But lately – lately, Cas has become a whole other thing. The dishevelled hair has acquired an artful, tousled look, and he takes off his trench coat sometimes, showing off the strong, lean lines of his torso and the slender angles of his hips. Sometimes, if it’s warm, he even rolls his sleeves up. It’s driving Dean a little bit crazy.

But, worst of all, is the way Cas has started looking at Dean. Having Cas staring into the depths of his soul was always a bit of an overwhelming experience, but this is something else. Cas’s gazes have evolved into something that’s borderline seductive, all smitey and smouldering and deep blue. It’s the kind of intensity Dean has only come close to experiencing in the middle of fucking someone, and honestly, it’s a bit more than he can take. He’s not sure when Cas stopped looking intently serious and started looking like he wants to fuck Dean all the time. He assumes it’s some kind of misplaced angel interpretation of how humans interact, because, based on Cas’s past transgressions, that just seems like the most logical assumption.

Regardless of what’s causing it, it’s starting to get under Dean’s skin. Cas turns up everywhere now with this sex hair and these bedroom eyes, like it’s totally acceptable to look like a steamy movie scene at a morgue or a diner or unannounced in Dean’s motel room in the middle of the night. Like he has now idea how wildly inappropriate or inconvenient it is, how fucking distracting it is. How much it’s making Dean slowly lose his mind.

Up until now, Dean has managed pretty damn well at completely ignoring any less than platonic feelings he has for Cas. But trying to maintain that kind of front while Cas has been eyeing him seductively him at every possible opportunity has – been taking its toll, to say in the least. Last week, Dean accidentally stabbed a tree instead of the irate werewolf he was hunting, all because Cas showed up in a dramatic flash of light, all rumpled hair and protective glare. Later that same day, Dean had been forced to abandon his pie in the diner because, honestly, having Cas eye-fucking him across the table with Sam right there was all just a bit much. Two nights ago, Dean, flustered from hours of Cas staring at him like he wanted to jump him, attempted to take a drink from a lamp on his bedside table instead of the bottle of beer.

It’s getting to the point where Sam will intermittently make mildly distressed sounds and leave a room, and, more concerningly, Dean keeps accidentally stabbing things that aren’t meant to be stabbed (walls, a fridge, a rosemary bush, and in once unfortunate moment of inattention, Sam). He knows it’s reached a point where he needs to talk to Cas and make him understand what he’s doing. People’s lives are at stake. Dean had nearly run over an elderly lady last week just because Cas was in the passenger seat staring at him.

But Dean has been struggling to bring himself to speak to Cas, because, although he’d never admit it aloud, he kind of likes it. Being able to live – however briefly – in the illusion that Cas wants him as much as Dean has tried not to want him for so long. Dean knows Cas doesn’t really want him, that it’s just some muddled up angel-to-human mannerisms that have got confused, but it’s still surprisingly let go of.

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[lulu-zodiac]

Title: Green Jasmine 

Prompt: “Barista Cas flirts with Dean by writing his number on a napkin, Dean smears it on his face, and Cas has to fess up” (for @winchester-reload​’s prompt roulette)

Summary: Cas has never liked anyone enough to even contemplate going through the social agony of asking them out. But Dean – Dean is different.

Note: I’ve had quite a few people asking me about a tag list for my fics, so if that’s something you’d like to be a part of then pls let me know <3

Cas hates his job. Admittedly, the prospect of serving coffee for eight hours a day in a busy campus coffee shop probably isn’t any introvert’s idea of fun. But it’s not the constant noise and bustle which bothers Cas the most about working at the Moose & Squirrel. It’s not even the fact he has to wear an apron covered in tiny bumblebees, or that the cappuccino machine breaks and spitefully spits hot foam everywhere on a pretty much hourly basis. The thing that makes Cas hate his job is how invisible it makes him feel (no mean feat for a grown man wearing a bumblebee apron and covered in hot foam).

Every day after his morning lectures, he spends from 2pm to 8pm talking to customers, taking orders, serving food. He knows all the regulars, could pick them out of a line up; the timid, bespectacled professor with hunched shoulders and a battered briefcase who sits at the window table every afternoon reading textbooks on phenomenology and religion; the three girls in blazers and ties who come in most days after school and order milkshakes with as many sugary toppings as possible; the mother and chubby-cheeked toddler who stop in every Thursday afternoon. Cas notices things about the one-time customers too; whether they look tense or distracted, if they look longingly at the cakes but then order a fruit salad, how they relate with whoever’s with them. He knows none of them, not really, but he feels like he does. And yet none of them look at him, really see him. They don’t notice what mood he’s in that day or what book he’s got stashed behind the counter to read whenever it’s quiet, they don’t notice if his smile is real or not. He’s just the person who serves their coffee.

Cas doesn’t know why it grates on him so much. It’s not like he ever wanted to be the centre of attention; he hates the spotlight. Maybe what really bothers him is that it’s not just the coffee shop where he feels unseen. Like no one really cares about knowing him. Working at the Moose & Squirrel is just an eight-hour-a-day reminder of how invisible he is.

Monday is particularly bad. By the end of his shift, Cas is exhausted and bad-tempered, and just wants to go home and curl up under his duvet before he has to do the whole thing all over again tomorrow. It’s ten minutes to closing and the café is finally empty. He’s just finished wiping down the display and has switched off the quarrelsome cappuccino machine. Drained, he retreats behind the pages of his Plath poetry book, silently praying no one else comes in before Meg finishes in the kitchen and they have the chance to lock up.

He’s only four lines into Tulips when the chime of the door makes his heart sink. But whatever irritation Cas is feeling fades the moment he looks up, eyes settling on the person who’s just walked through the door.

It’s a guy not much younger than him, so strikingly beautiful it kind of punches the breath out of Cas’s lungs. The guy looks like he’s just walked off the pages of a magazine spread – only he’s a little too rough around the edges, like maybe he had to fend for himself more than he should growing up. He’s wearing a beat-up old leather jacket and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and there’s a cigarette tucked carelessly behind one ear. He catches Cas’s eye and grins easily, all dirty charm. It’s the smile of someone used to the impact he has on people, but it still makes Cas’s stomach somersault involuntarily.

“Hey,” the guy’s voice is low and a little rough, understatedly sexual in a way that makes Cas swallow. He watches helplessly as the guy saunters up to the counter and leans casually against it, gazing up at the drinks’ menu. He drums his fingers restlessly against the freshly polished glass, and instead of being annoyed that he’s going to have to clean it again, all Cas can wonder is what beat he’s moving them to. A Zeppelin track seems too obvious. Perhaps something similar, classic rock ‘n’ roll bands that Cas has never been cool enough to listen to. Or maybe nothing at all, maybe it’s just a nervous habit. Although Cas can’t imagine this guy being anything but careless, casual.

“What would you recommend?” his gaze falls on Cas suddenly, deep, complex green flecked with quiet hues of honey and hazel, so striking it takes Cas’s breath away all over again.

Cas swallows, realises he’s been caught staring. “Um –” he stammers, trying in vain to stop the head flooding his cheeks. “Our London Fog is quite popular at the moment, and the special this week is the pumpkin spice latte. Or we have cold drinks. Local raspberry and vanilla cordial or ice cream milkshakes. Sparkling water. Uh - it depends what you like, really,” he finishes lamely, internally cursing the way he can feel his cheeks burning.

“Lots of things,” the guy grins wider, and leans closer into Cas’s space. He smells of faintly of mint and smoke and warm skin, like he’s spent all day in the sun. “I’m not fussy.”

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[lulu-zodiac]

Title: Blue Ink

Prompt: Cas getting tattooed by Dean (or the other way around) (for @winchester-reload ’s prompt roulette)

Summary:  And then, with the same tender carefulness with which he’d just been tattooing Dean, Cas leans in and kisses him.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Dean eyes the needle in Cas’s hand apprehensively, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. They’re both sitting facing each other on Dean’s bed, the lights low and Zeppelin playing softly on the record player.

Cas’s blue gaze flickers up to catch his, amused and reassuring all at once. “Dean. You’ve watched me do this plenty of times.” It’s true: Cas trained as a tattoo apprentice for part of his art course last semester, and since then has informally tattooed a bunch of their friends at parties, as well as himself. Dean has been pestering him to give him one for months.

“I know, I know,” Dean hedges, fiddling with the bedspread. “It’s just –”

“It’s normal to be nervous, you know,” Cas tells him, “You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to,” his eyes are suddenly serious, regarding Dean closely, soft blue and familiar in a way that tugs at Dean’s heart. “And if you want to stop at any point, I’ll stop.”

“Christ, I’m not some blushing virgin, Cas,” Dean rolls his eyes, mainly to cover up the way his heart is suddenly fluttering in his chest. “Just get on with it, okay?”

Cas rolls his eyes right back at Dean and rolls up the sleeves of his vintage patterned shirt, exposing the intricate ink on his own arms. “Alright, give me your arm, then.”

Hesitantly, Dean holds it out and Cas’s fingers grasp it reassuringly, warm and dexterous and familiar. His heart rate picks up further, not entirely from the prospect of being tattooed for the first time. Swallowing, he watches Cas swab his bicep with alcohol and pick up the marker that’s sitting on Dean’s bedspread.

Cas leans in, head bowed in concentration, fingers skilled and precise as he inks the outline of the sigil on Dean’s skin. This close, Dean can smell the distinct muskiness of Cas’s skin, the way the patchouli incense he always burns clings to his tousled hair. Dean has to force himself to concentrate on the image taking form under Cas’s touch, resisting the urge to lean in closer than he should and do something monumentally stupid like brush Cas’s hair away from his face or kiss him.

“Alright?” Cas’s low, gravelly voice breaks Dean’s spiralling thoughts. He glances up fleetingly, a flash of dark blue that has Dean’s heart racing. They’ve been friends for years now, but the rush is still the same, the thrill of being this close to Cas. Fleetingly, he wonders if it’ll ever change.

Wordlessly, Dean nods.

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[lulu-zodiac]

Title: A Less Than Ideal Situation

Prompt: Vampire!Dean having a Cas snack (for @winchester-reload’s prompt roulette)

Summary:  If Dean weren’t currently so consumed with rampant bloodlust and the consequences of a longstanding sexuality crisis, he'd be fascinated by how hard Cas's heart is beating right now.

Note: I’ve had a few people asking me about a tag list for my fics, so if that’s something you’d like to be a part of then pls let me know <3

As far as situations go, it’s not ideal. For starters, Dean is – temporarily – a vampire. Which is a fairly stressful state of being, actually. His gums are still tender from where his brand-new fangs have made an appearance, and everything is so fucking loud.

But, even less ideal than the fact Dean is currently a member of the undead, is the fact he is alone, in his bedroom, with Cas. Which, if Dean is being totally honest with himself, is the kind of situation that would stress him out even if he weren’t currently experiencing the whole uncontrollable bloodlust thing. Because – not that he’d would admit this to anyone, especially Sam and his stupid, smug face – he actually already has enough urges when it comes to Cas without also wanting to, y’know, drain him of blood. Which is, incidentally, pretty much all he can think about right now.

Thankfully, Cas is sitting at a safe (tantalising) distance on a chair by the door. Less thankfully, he’s wearing uncharacteristically little. After helping Sam wrestle Dean into submission (read: handcuffing him to the bedframe), Cas had shed his trench coat and suit jacket, and he hasn’t put them back on. Instead, he’s sitting with his shirt sleeves rolled up, hair rumpled, blue gaze heavy and watchful. Which is just. Not helpful in any capacity.

Especially as – so far, at least – the transformation seems to have not only heightened Dean’s desire for blood, but, to his horror, any kind of desire. It’s only been a couple hours since he was bitten, but already Dean feels all rational thought fading in the face of how much he wants. Fleetingly, he wishes Sam had stayed to watch over him instead of leaving to track the vamp responsible for this whole mess. At least then Dean would only have had to worry about trying to suck his blood, not also trying to suck his dick. Cas – Cas is a different matter.

Because – okay – if Dean sometimes finds himself attracted to Cas under normal circumstances (i.e. being human), it’s nothing to how he feels right now. Cas looks fucking irresistible with his blue eyes dark and serious in the muted light of Dean’s bedroom, staring unflinchingly, intensely at Dean like he’s all that exists. And god – Dean can hear the rush of hot blood through Cas’s veins, feel the light, airy swirl of his grace like clear water. He can taste the soft clarity of it, intriguing, compelling, familiar. He realises it’s a stronger version of the smell he associates with Cas’s hugs, and can’t help wondering if that’s what Cas’s skin would taste like under his tongue. The thought draws him in almost as much as the blood pumping just beneath it.

Involuntarily, Dean groans darkly at the thought of biting into Cas’s skin, the ache for the blood he can hear humming through Cas’s veins almost overwhelming.

“Are you alright?” Cas’s voice is low and gravelly, the timbre of it sending shivers all through Dean. Cas is leaning forward in his chair, brow furrowed slightly as he regards Dean, wild-eyed and straining against his restraints.

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[lulu-zodiac]

Title: Flours and Kisses

Prompt: “Great British Bake-Off contestants with fewer clothes and lots of flour!” (for @winchester-reload’s prompt roulette)

Summary: Dean’s pretty sure that if Castiel hadn’t spent so much time looking at him, he wouldn’t have burnt the angel cakes in last week’s challenge. It's really fucking distracting.

Note: I’ve had a few people asking me about a tag list for my fics, so if that’s something you’d like to be a part of then pls let me know <3

If it weren’t for Castiel Novak, Dean knows he’d easily win this competition. Castiel Novak with his stupid messy hair and serious eyes and long, skilled fingers. Castiel Novak and his insufferable ability to bake the fluffiest angel cakes when Dean burns all his in the oven.

Castiel’s bench is the one next to Dean’s, and Dean has watched him creating perfect rosemary souffles and elaborate, intricate showstoppers for five weeks now. Dean has always been pretty damn confident in his baking skills, but over a month in such close proximity to Castiel has made him increasingly flustered and self-conscious in a way he’s never experienced before. Something about him is slowly but surely getting under Dean’s skin, and it’s affecting his baking with disastrous results.

The last two weeks have been a mess, and Dean knows that if he doesn’t watch himself, this week will be his last one in the competition. Determined not to be intimidated out of his rightful place in this competition by a man who wears a bumblebee apron, Dean sets his alarm extra early on Saturday morning to get in a couple hours practice in before everyone else shows up. His frustration is momentarily soothed by his walk across the sloping grass lawn; the spring sunshine is just pastel and soft, warm on his back, blossoms rustling softly in the breeze.

However, when he enters the tent, his fleeting good mood rapidly disappears. Despite the earliness of the hour, the space isn’t empty. Castiel Novak is working intently at his bench with some marzipan figures, sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong, lean forearms. Something funny happens to Dean’s heart, but he ignores it and tugs on his own apron (plain black with no stupid garden insects thank you very much), tying it with a little more force than necessary as he walks over to his own bench.

“Hey,” Dean grunts, reluctantly, because, yeah, Cas is probably going to steal this competition from under his feet, but he’s not going to a complete asshole about it.

Castiel looks up, eyes very blue. “Hello, Dean.”

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[lulu-zodiac]

Title: Home

Prompt: “Song Lyrics: Come on and lay it down/I’ve always been with you/Here and now/Give all that’s within you/Be my saviour.” (Downfall by Matchbox Twenty) (for @winchester-reload‘s prompt roulette)

Summary: Freedom is a feeling Cas has come to associate with Dean. 

Note: I’ve had a few people asking me about a tag list for my fics, so if that’s something you’d like to be a part of then pls let me know <3

It’s a particularly grim motel room. Faded eggshell wallpaper and ugly geometric lamps, a sunken queen with wrinkled nylon sheets. The curtains are too thin to fully blot out the bleak neon of the gas station outside, and there are cigarette burns on the carpet and faux-wood nightstand. Cas knows it should feel hostile, lonely. He’s spent eons under quietly forming constellations, watched the unheard ebb and flow of ancient tides. He knows loneliness intimately, knows this should be it. And yet, in this cramped, bleak little room somewhere in the middle of Colorado, Cas feels closer to home than he’s ever known.

Dean is a warm weight on the bedspread beside him, dreaming of a mountain cabin he and Sam stayed in alone the spring Dean turned twelve. Cas can taste the burnt woodsmoke and the orangey coldness of spaghetti hoops and slowly burgeoning wildflowers. There’s a sense of freedom, space to breathe that there often isn’t in Dean’s dreams. Freedom is a feeling Cas has come to associate with Dean.

The air con hums, out of key. Cars growl and fade outside, the sky darkens to pitch. Cas closes his eyes and listens to the slow, steady inhale, exhale of Dean’s breathing. Lets it wash over him like the comforting lull of a tide. It brings the same, quiet solace Cas had once only known from vast midnight oceans or the entire expanse of the sky at dawn. Dean is warm and human beside him, smelling of the impala’s leather and cheap laundry detergent and scarred skin. Heat radiates off him like the sun.

Once, Cas had been terrified by it. Now, he gravitates towards it, like a planet spinning out of obscurity into orbit. For months, he’d tormented himself by trying to fight the momentum and come to fear himself powerless in the face of it. Now he knows the only reason his attempts to subvert it failed was because he never wanted them to succeed. Somewhere, he’d always chosen this, from the moment he’d touched Dean’s soul. The momentum was unstoppable, irreversible. To his younger self, it would have been inconceivable, much like the concept of freedom. Now, it makes Cas think of the human expression, “falling into place”. He has come to understand it has more meaning than flying ever had.

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[aishitara]

Prompt Roulette - Downfall

So I'm participating in @winchester-reload's March prompt roulette, and instead of dropping everything at once I'm dropping things as I finish them or else I will go insane. Here's the first one done.

Prompt for this ficlet: Song Lyrics: Come on and lay it down/I've always been with you/Here and now/Give all that's within you/Be my Savior

Tags for this ficlet: song/lyric!fic, Dean POV, gen, Castiel is in the Empty, supportive!Sam if you squint, post-series, fix-it (kind of), language (but really, it's Dean, so should that even be a tag?), shameless use of the bloody handprint as a device. Enjoy!

[aishitara]

Prompt Roulette - Barista

Prompt for this ficlet: Barista Cas flirts with Dean by writing his number on a napkin, Dean smears it on his face, and Cas has to fess up.

Tags for this ficlet: coffee shop AU, barista!Cas, bi disaster!Dean, Dean has exactly zero chill, Charlie is an enabler, fluff, more fluff, and silliness.

Here it is - enjoy!

@winchester-reload