#wolfcas

[deancasfashion]

hey cuties i made a blog dedicated to dean and cas and all the cute clothes they would wear!!! it would mean a lot to me if you guys checked it out!! uwu

[majestiel]

btw u guise I recently remade my Skype account!

[slayertsetsang]

i hear the song of home in your heart

[wexchester]

petition to have everyone on the show fuss over castiel

strangers helping him sort his laundry and operate the washing machines and giving him directions on how to get home

sam showing him how to use libraries and the internet and lending him lots of good books and making him hot chocolate and slipping a blanket over his shoulders when he falls asleep in his armchair and making sure he eats all his veges and fruits

and kevin laughing at his jokes even when they're bad and doing crosswords with him and showing him that chocolate milk tastes better if he just adds a tiny bit of salt

and the angels eventually forgiving him and hugging him and telling him that he's their brother no matter what

and and and dean fixing him burgers for lunch and dinner because it's a year since he fell and that means it's technically his birthday and hugging him a lot and kissing his forehead and his cheeks and his neck and everywhere and touching him gently and showing him that he's not alone and he has a family and everything's gonna be ok

just everyone fussing over castiel all the time because he is a darling little bird and he deserves nice things

[wexchester]

They wake up together, limbs thrown across one another haphazardly, fingers tugging at newly cut hair and pressing against itchy bellies. Dean yawns widely, blinks and groans. Cas is still dozing, weakly pawing at Dean like a disgruntled cat in an attempt to draw him back in.

  Dean grins and reaches a hand out, intending to rub Castiel’s smooth back.

  And then he remembers.

  He hears Cas’ surprised mumble and the sound of the bed creaking as he stirs.

  “Stay where you are,” Dean orders, extracting his legs from the sheet inelegantly. “Don’t you dare move.”

  Cas makes a confused, defeated puppy-dog kind of noise. “What, Dean? What is it?”

  Dean lies where he is, arms and legs splayed out, suddenly feeling like a twelve-year old schoolgirl. “Um,” he says. “You’re not supposed to. You know.” He swallows, slaps a hand over his mouth and groans inwardly. What the hell Winchester? “You’renotsupposedtoseeme. Before the. Before the wedding.”

  He hears Cas’ silence and it’s the loudest fucking thing on earth. His cheeks are burning and he wishes he could sink into the carpet and never ever return.

  From somewhere above, Cas makes a soft, breathy noise that could really be anything at all. “Ah, yes,” he says. “We must preserve the virtue of the blushing bride.”

  “Shut up,” says Dean. “Oh my God. Shut up.” He groans, hiding his face in his hands.

  Cas laughs quietly and a hand reaches down, patting Dean blindly across the stomach. “I’m not looking,” he murmurs, finally locating Dean’s hand, which he clasps tightly.

  Dean still half hopes the floor will swallow him up, but then Cas squeezes his hand and he doesn’t feel so ridiculous anymore. He pulls himself to his feet, smiles lopsidedly at Castiel’s questioning glance. “I’m an idiot,” he says, kneeling beside the bed and face-planting into the mattress. “D’you really want to marry me?” Those last words come out as an incoherent mumble, but Cas, dear awesome Cas, understands.

  “Dean,” he says, sliding his fingers through Dean’s hair and massaging gently. “I would marry you a thousand times if I could.”

  Dean’s heart doesn’t skip, because that would be impossible. And girlish. But it sure does something inside his chest, and he sucks in a breath, inhaling dust from the bed pressed to his face.

  He turns his head, coming up for air, and Cas’ knee is right there, Cas’ perfect beautiful knee that has somehow become more familiar to Dean over the past few years than the back of his own hand. He reaches for it, slides his palm around the soft bend at the back and draws it closer so he can place a kiss right on the bone.

  “I can hear your pulse in your knee,” he tells Cas, smiling.

  Cas hums and rubs Dean’s shoulder. “How strange,” he murmurs, and Dean can hear the happiness in his voice, as loud as a freaking orchestra. Plus one cannon.

  “I would too, you know,” Dean whispers, resting his forehead against Castiel’s kneecap.

  “Would what?”

  “I would marry you. A thousand times.”

  “Mm,” Cas hums. “I know.”

  They lie awkwardly entwined for another few minutes, until the alarm is screaming for them to get up. To get married. Cas takes Dean’s hand as they stumble to the bathroom, holds it tightly within his own and smiles when Dean squeezes back. There’s a long day ahead. There’s a long life to come.

  There’s a lot of time to be spent together.

[wexchester]

Dean kicks Cas awake with little nudges of his feet, running his toes over Cas' calves until he squirms out of unconsciousness, glaring at Dean sleepily. "What do you want?" he murmurs, nestling closer and shoving his nose into the warm skin of Dean's neck.

"Nothing," Dean says, laughing into his hair. "Just..."

Cas pulls back and meets Dean's eye. "What?"

He' blushing -- a soft rouge colour skating over his cheeks. "Don't you remember, Cas?"

Perplexed, he sifts through his memories, not sure what he supposed to be remembering exactly. He says, "I remember everything, Dean." Which is true. 

"Well. Um." Dean breaks eye contact and grins sheepishly. "You know. Thanks."

"For what?" Cas threads a hand through Dean's mussed hair, waiting.

Dean slides his mouth across Cas' jaw, plants a hard kiss on his lips. "For everything."

"Oh." Dean smiles, almost proud, and Castiel's sleep-fuzzed brain finally catches up. Oh. He holds Dean close, touches their hands together, their foreheads.

Against his mouth, Dean smiles dopily, already dropping back to sleep. "Love you," he mumbles, eyes falling shut, body slackening as he drifts off.

Cas huffs and laughs. "Oh, Dean," he sighs. "I love you too." 

[highclassholmes]

It's a sunny Thursday afternoon when Dean decides that Cas has turned him into an idiot. 

They're sitting outside together, just him and Cas; watching the sunset with their butts planted firmly in the plastic chairs that Cas had insisted they buy, and there's a soft breeze tickling the too-long hair that's fallen onto Dean's forehead.

The autumn evening is quiet—the only sounds coming from a lone cicada somewhere in the changing trees and the low humming of Amazing Grace that's been emanating from Cas for the past half an hour, and Dean's hit (more like softly tapped on the shoulder, he thinks) by the realization that he hasn't stopped smiling since the song had started.

"I think you make me stupid," Dean mumbles, completely casual, and squints against the last rays of sun as he tilts his head back; taking a long drink from his beer. 

Cas doesn't look over, but Dean feels his toes twitch where they rest in his lap; a soft scratching of woolen socks on the side of his forearm, "Oh yeah? And how, may I ask, have I managed to accomplish such a feat as dampening Dean Winchester's infallible wit?" 

Dean pinches Cas's big toe for that one, but Cas only laughs. 

"You're right. I'm sorry," he sighs, and his toes twitch again; this time purposely petting Dean's upper thigh, "Carry on." 

"I hate you," Dean laughs, bouncing his knee so that Cas's petting is interrupted, but he continues with what he was going to say anyway, "What I was going to say was: I can't tell if I feel more like a twelve year old or a seventy-five year old around you," he sighs, pausing to set his beer on the ground beside his chair before resting his hand, palm open, on Cas's shin, "Because on the one hand I feel like I've been smiling all day and we keep sneaking kisses while Sam isn't looking and you've got your damn feet in my lap and everything is sunshine and fucking rainbows," he goes on, watching as a lone flower sways in the breeze—looking lost among its bean plant friends, "but then we're sitting on a porch in Kansas together and you're wearing my sweater and there's a fucking tray of muffins cooling inside on the kitchen table and I just—Dammit, Cas, I'm happy." 

It's a while before Cas says anything back to this, and Dean decides that he's okay with that fact. He's okay with simply smiling and watching as a returning grin blooms across Cas's face—okay with simply saying what's on his mind and letting that be that—content with the simple feeling of Cas's finger threading between his own; warm in contrast to the early autumn breeze.

But being okay with the silence doesn't mean that Dean's heart doesn't skip two (or twenty) beats when the next words out of Cas's mouth are, "I don't think I've ever loved anyone as much as I love you right now, Dean Winchester." 

And it sure as hell doesn't stop him from deciding that he's definitely a twelve year old when he mumbles a quiet, "Ditto," in response. 

[lilyfevers]

Mako/Haru - episodes one to ten