#satanwinchester

[wingedfreckles]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ﾉ◉‿◉)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

THANK YOU ALLY!!!!!!! <3333333333

[crowbarbie]

I CHANGED MY THEME FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LIKE 843967547847 YEARS GO LOOK AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OK

[deancasotp]

thank you for your porn spams they are greatly appreciated

ahaha, you are so welcome! :) I love doing them because yes good <3

[ughsammy]

my favorite song is booty man by tim wilson

SONG: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 10+ omfg

BLOG: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 10+

FOLLOWING: no, sorry but ily | i am now | yes | FOREVER

[ballerinodean]

i like you a lot because you get just about as angry with this fandom as i do

Thanks haha. Getting angry over things so many times a day is becoming a slight problem. 

[hubrisandwax]

Written as a belated Birthday present for Ally because I adore her very much and she is just wonderful and gorgeous and (go and follow her shhh).

“C’mon, Cas. We’re gonna teach you to drive.”

Cas slides his gaze over Dean, sardonic and haughty, before turning back to stare out the window. The landscape outside the car continues to smudge to a world drawn in charcoals and pastels, swirls of colour muted by the dying sunlight.

Cas doesn’t reply.

“You’ve barely left the bunker in weeks, man,” Dean tries again. “Hunting for angels doesn’t count.”

Silence; Cas winds the cassette forward until Robert Plant’s familiar vocals whine through the stereo. Something about words having two meanings, which means the song is Stairway to Heaven. Cas rotates the volume knob until the music fills the car, guitar line high and melodic, the treble twisting against the dull, rhythmic hiss of the drums and bass. It’s a painful cacophony; the sound distorts and blurs into high static the further Cas turns.

Dean pushes Cas’s hand away roughly before hitting the power button, turning the stereo off. He slams his opposite fist against the dash. Cas doesn’t even flinch.

“Answer me, damnit!” Dean shouts. He’s so desperate, so fucking desperate, that he’ll let Cas drive the Impala – can’t Cas see that? “Stop being such a fucking asshole.”

Cas sighs irritably, still refusing to look at Dean. “We didn’t find any today,” he says steadily, casually, like he’s making a statement the weather, “and I don’t want to learn to drive the Impala; I’d be no good at it.” A beat; Cas folds his hands in to his lap. “It’s nothing like flying.”

His tone implies that it’s the end of the conversation.

Dean, however, wants none of the fallen angel’s grumpy bullshit. He jerks the wheel sharply to the right, the car spinning off the road and in to the open paddock beside it, slipping to a halt on the tawny, sun-bleached Kansas grass.

“Out,” Dean barks, switching the engine off. He shoves his door open. Gets out. Rounds the car and stands with his shoulders drawn back next to Cas's door; Cas just looks out at him with half-lidded eyes, looking bored. 

"No," he says. He locks his door.

Dean has one up on him, though, and sticks the keys in the lock, unlocking the door and pulling it open in one swift movement. Cas tumbles out in the grass, having had his body weight pushed up against interior panels of the car. Dean hauls his surly ass up and pushes him around the car, bundling him in to the driver’s seat. Cas glares at him as Dean pushes the keys in to his hands.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Dean growls, slamming the door shut before moving back around the car. He eases in to the passenger seat. Cas is already hunched forward, both hands on the wheel at ten and two o’clock, keys stuck in the ignition. He twists them as soon as Dean is buckled in, and the engine hums to life. Cas glances over, looking petulant and irate, hair mussed over the tight lines of his face. Dean ignores him.

“So,” he says, leaning over. “Hold the wheel at the goddamn sides, okay? At least at first; it gives you more control.” He adjusts Cas’s hands, sliding them gently around the circle. “Got it?”

Cas nods, watching Dean’s hands on his wrists. Dean pulls away and stares straight ahead. “Now switch the stick to first-“ he shows Cas how to move the gear stick in to first position – “take off the handbrake, and ease down on the pedal.”

Cas does nothing.

“You’re a little shit,” Dean says. This earns him another filthy look. “Keep one foot on the clutch and the other on the accelerator. We’re not getting out of this friggin’ car until you can drive her home.”

Cas responds by pushing his foot down; the car jerks forward a few metres, too fast, and in the next moment the brake is slammed on. “Bit not good,” he mutters.

“Woah there, leadfoot,” Dean exclaims. “More than a bit not good. Go easy on her.”

Cas rolls his eyes and presses the accelerator down easier this time. The Impala glides forward, slowly, riding across a sea of golden blades. The contrast of the light greens and bronze is gorgeous against the deep blue sky, fluffy clouds skimming across as the sun begins to sink below the horizon.

“Now turn,” Dean says, “and change to second.” Cas obeys; the car moves smoothly. He does a few loops of the paddock, leaning forward in his seat, the intense focus he reserves for planning battle strategies and studying Dean concentrated instead on steering the car. Eventually he relaxes in to the motions, however, and pre-empts the change in the motor well. He only stalls three times and eventually stops gripping the wheel with whitened knuckles. Although after fifteen minutes, despite beginning to drive well, he slows the car to a halt.

“This isn’t interesting,” he says. “Or fun. Quite frankly, I believe it is what you’d deem ‘boring’.”

Dean casts his gaze sideways at Cas and frowns. “I don’t care; it’s important you learn.”

“I hate cars,” he continues, as if Dean hasn’t spoken. “I much prefer flying.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Maybe I could learn to ride a motorcycle.”

“I fucking give up,” Dean says, throwing his hands up in the air, surrendering. “This is painful.”

A shit-eating grin twitches across Cas’s mouth as he turns the engine off. A moment of silence stretches between them, tension high, before he’s suddenly climbing across the gap between the seats and straddling Dean’s lap. “I apologise. Much like you don’t enjoy flying, I don’t like driving.”

Dean grunts. “What’s with the Tinkerbell act? The sudden mood swings?” He’s trying not to be distracted by Cas’s denim-wrapped thighs pressed against his own. “Becoming a fairy now you’re no longer an angel?”

“No,” he says, bending down to run his lips over the edge of Dean’s jaw. “I thought it might be the best way to distract you. Or ‘shut you up’, as it were.” His hands work their way under Dean’s shirt. “What’s a ‘tinkerbell’, anyway? I don’t have any bells. Nor am I particularly good with machinery.”

“Never mind,” Dean mutters. He feels Cas hum under his palms, which have worked their way to Cas’s back.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Cas breathes in his ear. “I’ll drive you back to the bunker, and will listen to all your all wise instruction, as long as you allow us to copulate in the front seat of your car.”

Dean swallows hard; no words have any right to sound that hot. Who the fuck uses ‘copulate’ these days, anyway? It’s been weeks since he and Cas have had any sexual interaction, even longer since they’ve shared mutual orgasms, and Dean hopes that it might do something to remove the haze of bitterness and anger that has coalesced around Cas since he returned to the bunker a week after he fell.

“You’re on,” he mumbles against the heat of Cas’s skin as his fingers dance along the undulations of Cas’s spine.

[wingedfreckles]

If you don't think The Lion King is the best movie in the history of everything, you are wrong!! WRONG!!