Oct 24, 2019
Searching for the answer buried in his heart, Thinking, is there anybody out there?
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
Searching for the answer buried in his heart, Thinking, is there anybody out there?
spn meme: four objects [2/4] ↳Impala
For My Next Trick
DeanCas Magicians!AU ~ shameless freaking fluff because I need it
"Is this your card?"
Dean purses his lips before shaking his head. "You know for working at this as much as you do, you still suck. Stick to your disappearing act, sweetheart."
"Of course, because ‘card tricks aren't my forte’."
A smirk and shrug. “My domain; I’m the authority. Sorry to say it, Cas."
Castiel narrows his eyes.
“And just to put the nail in the coffin,” Dean continues. “In less than half that time I’ve mastered one of yours."
Cas smirks as well now, the expression tugging at his lips while his brow raises skeptically. “Really.”
"Yup," Dean says, popping the ‘p’. He pushes out of his own chair and slips onto Castiel’s lap, arms draping around the illusionist’s shoulders. “Wasn’t hard, either. I learnt it in one afternoon.”
Castiel's smirk has turned into a smile. “And what exactly is ‘it’?”
“For my next trick,” Dean breathes, leaning in to nip at Cas’s ear lobe. He rolls his hips once, slow and hard. “I will make your cock disappear.”
Castiel's smile widens.
DeanCas Coda to 11x22. Warning for temporary character death, but the end is schmoopy and good :)
As soon as Amara has fucked off to wherever the hell she goes, dragging God with her, Dean all but sprints to the other side of the room. His ribs are bruised if not cracked, and everything hurts, but the tears blurring his vision are not due to pain, at least—not in the most physical sense.
Dean had no idea one could die of a broken heart.
“Cas…”
The angel is complete dead weight, his chest still and head lolling to the side instead of tilted with purpose like it should be. Dean’s fingers are trembling, hands smoothing over Cas’s stubbled cheeks. He traces his thumbs along Cas’s jaw and bites his lip, shaking his head as his eyes squeeze shut. “No,” he breathes. “Nonononono. Cas? Cas, wake up. You son of a bitch, Castiel, wake up!” Desperately, one of Dean’s hands card through Cas’s hair while the other presses above his heart, causing the angel’s forehead to press against his hunter’s.
But there’s nothing; no breath, no heartbeat, no blue eyes dazedly fluttering open or mouth parting around the name Dean.
Cas is just… gone.
Because I just saw Civil War and Dean would totally be Team Cap (because Cas is totally Bucky)
The Impala, filled with four passengers, zooms down the highway and back towards the bunker. Its cargo smells like popcorn and sour gummies.
“Of course you’d be Team Tony; of course.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I say that ‘cause it is a bad thing.”
“Right, because letting thousands of civilians die is the right course of action, here. The Avengers need a reality check—they’re out of control. Vision even said that their existence as a task force increases the probability of more powerful enemies.”
“Vision forgets that he’s living in the MCU and all that shit would’ve happened anyway because there are people with superpowers. If it wasn’t the Avengers, it would’ve been something else and some other bad guy; the whole fuckin’ universe moves towards entropy. But, fine, for the sake of argument, let’s say it’s all the Avengers’ fault. Giving all the control to the government, that’s the solution? Jesus, Sam, for being a Sanders-loving free will hippie, you sure are loving the establishment.”
“You’re ridiculous. This is a fictional universe. Besides, after the apocalypse, how can you side with Rogers?”
“How can’t you? You realize he’s Team Free Will, right? He’s the only one who woulda been on our side.”
Just some sappy motel love confession fluff
“Dean? Are you okay?”
Dean doesn’t know how to explain it—this too-big-for-my-body feeling, brought on just by laying side-by-side. It’s the way that sweat cools on their bodies, the oppressive, humid heat of the room bearing down on them even with their clothes off and the windows open. Memories of their love-making cling to their skin in persistent damp reminders; the wetness of a washcloth, saltiness stubbornly resisting extinction. Their legs are tangled haphazardly in plain white sheets, limbs spread in an attempt to keep cool. Outside, cars zoom by on the highway like they’re moving through Jell-O: quietly, leaving no breeze in their wake.
He should be miserable right now.
Dean knows he should be miserable: it’s so muggy he can barely breathe, and having sex was a bad idea because he’s sweaty and gross, and the cicadas outside are so damn loud it probably wouldn’t help to close the window even if they wanted to. There’s a baby in the next room who keeps fussing and’ll probably start screaming soon, and the stupid fucking ‘VACANCY’ sign is flashing right into their bed.
But Dean doesn’t care. Dean is too busy waxing poetic about how the red neon light splashes across Cas’s skin and makes him all soft skin and hard lines; how it makes his dark hair pitch black and catches on his stubble to highlight his jaw. His mouth is an oasis under the glow, and his eyes are ten times as blue in its absence. Shadows spring from his shoulders like big black wings.
“Dean?”
“Mm?”
Dean isn’t really listening; there’s something inside Castiel that makes him this gorgeous—something bright and warm and kind. Motel Neon Red is the palette of ten-dollar blow jobs and STDs. It’s desperation and hunger and filth. It’s not love and acceptance and it doesn’t look good on anyone.
But Cas makes it soft.
“Hey, where are you?”
It’s a question Castiel has heard before, because Dean has asked it a lot recently: quietly at the kitchen table; more loudly in the library; whispered in bed. Since losing his wings, Cas has been more broody and pensive than usual, and him asking Dean that question now does something to his insides.
Dean’s eyes refocus and he immediately moves to press his lips to Cas’s furrowed brow, letting the other clutch to him instead of complaining about the heat. “Are you okay?” Castiel breathes, and Dean knows he’s terrified that these questions won’t work—he can hear it in his voice.
“Fine,” Dean breathes, pushing fingers through curly damp hair. He needs Castiel to know he’s not bullshitting, so he pulls away to make eye-contact. “I just love you.”
His expression is the same it always is after Dean says this, a mix of surprise and awe and raw, unadulterated joy. It makes Dean feel like shit, ‘cause after everything, he wishes Cas would stop being surprised. But, after everything, he knows that he would’ve been surprised, too.
Giving Dean his toothiest smile, Castiel leans in to kiss him even though his grin makes it almost impossible. Still, Dean throws himself into the contact, relishing its imperfectness. Cas can be smooth and debonair and charming, and sometimes he’s that way without meaning to, but he is always clumsy when it comes to the love thing. It’s something Dean’s trying to change, but he knows he sucks at it, too.
The second kiss is a little less smiley, and Dean wraps an arm around Cas’s waist and hauls him in as close as possible. Castiel throws a leg over the other’s waist like he’s still getting used to them, and pulls back, fingers moving to trace Dean’s kiss-swollen mouth. He takes a deep, shaky breath and bites his lip, nudging their noses together.
“I just love you, too.”
DeanCas coda to 11x15: Beyond the Mat
Dean doesn’t sleep.
After his little ‘keep grinding’ speech, he hits the books and hits them hard, burying his nose so far deep into obscure lore and biblical texts that he can’t breathe without inhaling the smell of old paper. In the past fort-eight hours, he’s drunk so much coffee he’s convinced his blood must be 98% java, and he needs to keep popping painkillers for the soreness in his eyes and forehead.
He knows he needed the break, but the time he lost is making him feel guilty.
“Dean, you gotta sleep, man.”
“Yeah, okay, Sam. In a minute.”
“You said that three hours ago.”
“Well, I’m not done with this book yet. Think’m onto something.”
Across the table, Sam bites his lip and nods. “Right. Like you were onto that other thing, earlier. And then the one before that. And the one before that—”
“Would you just—”
“Listen,” Sam says intently. “I get it, I do. Trust me, my first priority is to get Lucifer out of Cas… but you need sleep, Dean. You can’t function if you don’t rest—”
“I’m functioning just fine—”
“You’ve been reading that page for a half hour.”
Clenching his jaw, Dean forces himself to look up from the swimming letters of the tome. He glares at his sasquatch of a little brother with all the malice he can muster, but he’s exhausted and nauseas and he’s pretty sure he’s either about to snap in two or unravel from the heart out, so the expression falls flat.
“Four hours,” Sam bargains. “That’s all I ask. I just finished a nap, so I can continue while you’re gone. I’ll even make you eggs or something for when you wake up.”
They stare at each other, neither willing to give in until Dean’s exhaustion forces him to blink.
“You always fuck up the kitchen,” the hunter finally grumbles. “Don’t touch anything, keep looking into Enoch and the Dead Sea Scrolls. There’re a fuckton of other cultures with Lucifer-like baddies and I planned to look into those next.”
“Will do.”
“Fine. Four hours, Sam, that’s all I’m doing.”
“I hear you: four hours.”
“I’m gonna time it.”
“You do that.”
Green eyes narrow. “And if you find anything useful—and I mean anything—you come wake me up. None of this ‘you need sleep’ bullshit.”
“Gotcha: wake you up if I find something, don’t touch the kitchen, see you in four hours.”
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
Their smiles are both haggard.
***
Cas,
I fucked up
I’m sorry
I swear, I won’t stop until I get you back
Dean can’t fall asleep. He’s in bed, door closed and bedside lamp on, open lore book in front of him as he scribbles furiously on a slew of different pieces of paper. Some weary, rational part of himself wonders if this is some sort of sleep-deprived delirium, but he can’t stop writing. He needs Cas to understand.
Cas,
You deserve to be saved. You know that, right? I’m so fucking sorry.
So, he writes letters.
Cas,
I will never forgive myself for what I’ve done to you; however I’ve made you feel… I didn’t mean it. You have to know that I didn’t mean it. You are so much more than a grunt to me, Cas. You’re so much more than a tool. You’re not expendable and you shouldn’t be taken for granted.
Dean doesn’t know why: it’s not like Cas will ever read them, anyway, but… it feels good to put them in the shoebox under his bed like he might share them, one day. Like, after this is all said and done he’ll have the courage to hand Castiel his little cardboard receptacle full of stupid, delirious notes and say:
I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you.
Please forgive me.
I miss you.
The green of Dean’s eyes becomes harder to see as the hunter’s eyelids droop, exhaustion winning out. He only barely manages his last little note before he’s out like a light, lamp still on and pen in hand.
Though he is as of yet unaware, Dean Winchester will sleep through his alarm and hate himself for it. He will snap at his brother for not waking him on time, and pour three mugs of coffee down his throat before getting back down to business. He will force himself to forget about notes and shoeboxes.
Cas,
Don’t hate me, but I’m in love with you.
Still, they’re not so easily ignored.
Fresh Orange Ricotta Honey Cake
Based off of this post.
Castiel bounces on the balls of his feet anxiously, heavy boots crunching in the snow as his blue eyes scan the street. He’s bundled up in his peacoat and bee-themed scarf, mitts and hat, and focuses on the way snowflakes gently land on his covered hands to keep himself calm.
“Cas, hey!”
This is by far the stupidest decision he’s ever made.
Dean approaches with a spring in his step and a wide smile on his face, freckles standing out starkly against his winter-pale skin. His eyes are big and green and he winks as they stand in front of A Little Something Bakery, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “So, you ready?”
Castiel clears his throat, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he nods. The truth is that no amount of preparation will ever make him ready to pretend to be Dean’s fiancée for two hours, even if that venture is in the quest for free wedding cake samples.
Especially if that venture is in the quest for free wedding cake samples.
This is because Castiel is, in no uncertain terms, completely enamoured of his best friend. So, when said friend begged him to play fiancées in order to get free cake, Cas was a little bit powerless to resist. How bad could it possibly be, right? He gets to eat cake and pretend he’s engaged to Dean Winchester.
Unfortunately, in the time between saying ‘yes’ and arriving at the bakery, Castiel has come to his senses. He’s also been struck dumb by the fact that they’re actually doing this, and he’s spending more time sweating and trying to slow his heart than actually listening to what Dean is saying.
“…That sound good?”
Cas feels heat rise to his cheeks. “Sorry, what?”
Green eyes roll good-naturedly. “Just follow my lead, ‘kay huggybear?”