My name's Red and I cry over Supernatural about 98% of the time. The other two percent is spent writing about it. If there's anything you want me to write, just send a request my way!
Masterlist
Wow your whiskey and tea Destiel was... So good. I've been burning through fic recently and that has been one of my favorites it's such a great starter --- I can't believe it thank you so much
wow oh my ? ? go d??? you are too sweet !! and thank you so much i’m so happy and i’m really glad you liked it :)
Pairing: TFW x reader I guess? This one’s pretty sam-centric
Word Count: 903
Warnings: a few mentions of alcohol
Request: Sam is working a case but running on no sleep. Dean and Cas and reader see him nodding off while reading. They tell him to go to bed but he says no and then says something about the case but falls asleep in middle but wakes up. They trick him into falling asleep again by putting a blanket on him soft music in the background sleepy tea…. Thanks :)
A/N: okay....i know i haven’t posted anything in almost a month, and for that i’m dearly sorry. this has been a busy summer for me but i will try my absolute best now that i have a break between responsibilities. also, thank you for 200 followers !!!!! it means the absolute world to me thank you so muchh <3
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“Friggin’ faeries, man.” Dean sighs and scrubs at his eyes with his palms, as if he could erase the past forty eight hours of Google searches from his brain.
A refrigerator hums erratically and fingers tap away at keyboards in the background as the sun begins to filter faintly into the room through windows that were probably older than the Impala parked outside. The table you and Dean sit at is littered with coffee cups, beer bottles, and frustration. Cas looks up briefly from his position on the couch and gives an equally exhausted sigh in agreement before flipping to the next page of his book. You close your laptop and lean back in your chair, staring up at an oddly colored spot on the motel ceiling.
You turn your head to ask Sam a question to see him pitch forward in his seat, his chin dropping to his chest as his eyes flutter shut. Dean looks up when he hears the sound of light snoring and his lips twist up in a smile at the sight of his brother passed out with his hair falling against his face.
“What do you say we give him a little haircut?” Dean whispers conspiratorially and Sam’s nose wiggles as a few strands of hair tickle his skin. He grins at the look of disapproval you give him and pushes his chair out to stand up with a long stretch, Sam stirring slightly at the scrape of wood against the floor.
“You’re evil,” You say as he makes a beeline for the fridge, shaking your head with a laugh all the same.
Dean rummages around in the fridge for a moment and resurfaces with more beer and a slice of pie on plate balanced precariously in his hands, and he bumps his hip against the refrigerator door lightly to close it. Sam jerks awake due to the squeaky hinges and glances around in confusion, his features relaxing as his tired hazel eyes land on your face.
Giving you a small, weary smile, he yawns and reaches for a new bottle, popping the cap off with a concise, “Find anything?”
“Other than the few hundred sheep you’ve been counting? No, not really,” Dean cuts in with a worried frown. “Look, Sammy, we’ve got this, you can take a break-”
Sam opens another book and shakes his head stubbornly, his eyes determined as he blinks them rapidly to focus on the words in front of him. “No, I’m fine. I can do it.”
“I agree with your brother, Sam. You should get some rest.” Cas chimes in from the couch with concern evident in his eyes and a parent-like sternness in his tone.
Pushing the hair out of his eyes, Sam just shakes his head adamantly. “Guys, I’m fine, okay? Let’s just get on with the case. What did the witness say again?”
Dean’s mouth sets in a hard line but he flips the file open anyway, scanning through it as if he hadn’t already memorized it from referencing it so often. “Uhh, they said that the vic was in his car when…”
He trails off when he sees Sam nod off again, his head propped up on his hand this time. He’s muttering something about faeries and homicide reports, and you stand up silently, moving across the faded motel room carpet as quietly as possible. You reach into the closet for a blanket and drape it over his shoulders, shushing him when he jumps at the contact and then tug at his elbow gently but insistently. Sam stands up and follows you without much resistance at this point and lets you guide him to the closest bed without even a single complaint.
You sit on the bed with him, watching as his resolve washes away under the somewhat scratchy sheets and creaky bed frame. His chest moves strong and steady with each breath and he recites spells under his breath in an effort to remain conscious, when suddenly the soft notes of a piano begin to drift through the room. Sam peers curiously over your shoulder at Cas, who’s smiling faintly as he sits next to the speaker he’s hooked Sam’s iPod up to, and you’ve heard this playlist enough times to know it’s the one named ‘sleep’; the four of you have, at some time or another, all had it playing on repeat in the middle of the night after an especially bad hunt.
“The case-” Sam tries weakly, but it’s not much of a protest.
“Can wait,” You finish for him with an understanding smile.
You look over your shoulder at the sounds of shuffling feet and busy hands to see Dean standing over the stove with a steaming mug in his hand, looking down at it with disdain. He comes over and sits at the edge of the bed, extending his arm out carefully.
“I made you some of that herbal tea crap,” He says gruffly, as if drinking anything other than alcohol is a personal offense. “I probably made it wrong but uh, enjoy, I guess. Get some sleep, buddy.”
Sam smiles warmly at his brother, taking the cup from him gingerly. “Thank you, Dean.”
You return to your seat and Dean does as well, smiling mischievously again. Sam is finally snoring away, content and peaceful, when the older Winchester says, “You sure we couldn’t just trim a little off the bottom?”
Warnings: mentions of injuries and Cas has a panic attack sort of thing towards the end :/ but then Dean makes it better :)
Request: Cas & Dean getting in a fight and Cas is dangerous upset about Dean shouting at him and Dean starts apologizing and he accidentally calls Cas babe? I live for this (Thank you for this request! It was so fun to write and it’s super cute. I’m sorry this is so late!)
A/N: This request is so old and for that, anon, I’m sorry. But I finally did it! I really hope you like it! I think it’s the longest fic I’ve posted on here so far? Also it’s human!cas because honestly I have such a weakness for human!cas he’s my favorite to write :D
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The low rumble of the engine is the only interruption from the tense silence that hangs over the Impala and its two occupants. Both are dirty and exhausted; one swipes the hair out of his green eyes as the other begins to wrap a tie around his bloody knuckles.
The driver drums his fingers against the wheel, risking a glance at the passenger out of the corner of his eye. The rumpled trench coat the latter wears hides most of his injuries, but his clenched jaw and unsteady hands give him away.
The driver, Dean, still has his gun tucked into the waistband of his pants and the passenger, Castiel, feels guilty about getting blood on the seats. Every muscle in Castiel’s body still feels rigid, like they never left the vampire’s nest, and he has to press his fingers to the cut on his leg to keep his thoughts from wandering back there.
It’s dark enough that they’re having trouble seeing each other as more than just shapes, and it’s late enough that they’re not trying all that hard to make out the details anyway. Every mile of open road they pass seems to stretch longer and longer but neither of them wants to break the stillness to turn on the radio.
Dean feels like his heart is beating loud, too loud, and he’s not exactly sure why, so he credits this to the leftover adrenaline in his system. He clears his throat but his voice still sounds rough when he speaks.
"Look, Cas, we need to talk about this."
Cas sighs as though he had been expecting this. He drags his eyes away from his hands and shuts them with a tiredness that can't be fixed by sleep, his tone carefully neutral as he answers.
"There's nothing to talk about, Dean."
Dean shifts his eyes from the lonely road to Cas’ face, a deep frown stitching across his own. For a second he simply watches Cas; the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair curls near his ear with dried sweat, how his eyelashes touch his cheeks when his eyes are closed. It’s in this moment that his brain decides to remind him that he almost lost Cas today, and he grips the wheel with white knuckles, his pulse quickening faster than the needle of the speedometer going zero to sixty.
"Nothing? Do you really think what happened back there was nothing?”
Cas shies away from Dean’s suddenly frustrated tone, opting to stare through the windshield and take to counting each mile marker they pass. He’s surprised they managed to get as far as Mile 103 without Dean starting his interrogation. “Fine,” Cas relents. “It was something. Something I don’t want to talk about.”
Dean lets out a little groan at Cas’ stubbornness, which can rival his own any day. He makes an effort to keep his voice level, after seeing how Cas reacted the first time. “Come on, Cas, if we don’t talk about it now we never will.”
“That’s the plan,” Cas states, trying to pull his trench coat even tighter around himself; for warmth or for security Dean can’t tell.
It’s not that Cas doesn’t want to talk to Dean about it, he just doesn’t know how. He’s not sure “I fought three vampires at once because I’m in love with you and you were getting your ass kicked" is the explanation Dean is looking for, nevertheless the fact that he would never be able to say it out loud.
They make it to Mile 117 before Dean tries again. His mouth is set in a hard line but his eyes look pleading, and Cas can’t decide which part of him to trust. “Cas, please talk to me.”
Heaving a sigh of defeat, Cas throws his hands up. “What do you want me to say, Dean? That I’m sorry? Because I’m not. Not for saving you back there.”
Without warning Dean slams his hand against the wheel, causing Cas to jump and the car to swerve into the left lane. Dean won’t meet his eyes but there’s something feral, maybe even desperate, in them as he straightens the car out.
“God damn it, Cas, I don’t need saving. I’m not some damsel in distress for you to rescue. I know what I’m doing. This is my job. For Christ’s sake, this is my life. I had it under control, and you nearly got yourself killed!”
Cas can’t figure out why Dean is being so hard on him. They’ve gone up against much worse with much less, and it’s a vamp nest that’s got him bothered? They’re both alive and kicking, albeit with a few more scratches and scrapes than usual, but overall that sounds like a victory to Cas.
“This is my job, too. I’m a hunter, just like you.” Cas doesn’t realize how shaky his voice sounds until the words are already out of his mouth. He watches the silhouette of Dean take in his words and braces himself for whatever response Dean decides to throw his way. He’s quickly learning that Dean yelling at him in the close quarters of a car is one of his least favorite things.
“You’re human, Cas! Human. Yeah, you’re a hunter, and a pretty good one so far, but you’re human now. You bleed the same way I do. You can die just as easily as I can. You fell. No more angel powers, no more zapping away, no more grace. You can’t just barge in guns blazing, Cas, you have to be careful, don’t you understand that?”
Cas shrinks even more into his seat as Dean’s words hit him harder than bullets, and he thinks Dean could hurt him far worse than a gun ever could. The anger radiating from Dean’s side of the car seems as though it’s heavy enough to drown them both. Cas feels an odd ache coursing through his chest as stares down at his hands again and croaks out a weak “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t keep you alive!” Dean roars, and that’s when Cas breaks. He turns away and buries his face in his hands, his breaths coming fast and shallow. He doesn't understand why he's reacting like this, but whatever he's feeling is something he's never experienced on the spectrum of human emotion before before.
Cas is vaguely aware of Dean pulling over to the side of the road but he's shaking too much to risk a glance up- not that he actually had any desire to do so. He's curled his limbs around himself in a way that looks sort of like the fetal position but far more uncomfortable and the slight rattling of the passenger door handle gives him something to focus on, to keep his mind away from the man sitting next to him.
The car's parked at Mile 123 as Dean sets a firm but gentle hand on Cas' shoulder, the other man flinching at the sudden contact. "Cas?" Dean whispers, the resounding silence answer enough. "Hey, come on, Cas, look at me, buddy."
The fallen angel shakes his head and a muffled, indignant “no” comes from somewhere within the folds of his coat as Dean mentally facepalms himself over how he’s handled this situation. If Cas had been looking up he’d have seen how the anger had long faded from his features, replaced by a singularly worried look.
“Shit, Cas, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay, babe? Listen, I’m sorry I took things out on you, none of this is your fault, alright? You did good back there. I’m just- just stupid.”
Cas doesn’t show any sign of moving anytime soon and Dean leans forward in his seat with a groan, softly hitting his head against the wheel over and over again, muttering, “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
About a minute passes and Cas is sure Dean can hear his heartbeat over the rustling of his trench coat as he slowly sits upright, tugging at his seat belt with a cautious and fleeting look in Dean’s direction. He pulls at a loose button on his coat and says hesitantly, “You, uh. You called me babe.”
It comes out as more of a question than a statement, as more of a way for Dean to deny it if he wanted to. He replays Dean’s words in his head a thousand times but it still sounds the same, no matter how he spins it.
Dean’s face flushes a deep red all the way up to the tips of his ears as the realization of what he said hits him, and he shifts around uncomfortably and makes a string of noises that may or may not consist of the English language that Cas can’t understand either way. A small smile creeps its way onto Cas’ face at the sight of the hunter looking so flustered; usually it’s Cas who's the awkward one. He stretches a hand out and sets it on Dean’s arm, his voice low and maybe a little disappointed.
“It’s alright, Dean, I get it. It was just a mistake.”
To his surprise Dean starts to shake his head, reaching up to place his hand over Cas’ with a soft look in his deep green eyes. “No, Cas. It wasn’t.”
“Oh.” Cas sits back as the smile returns to his face and Dean pulls back onto the road. His skin tingles where Dean touched it and his stomach flips at Dean’s abrupt, unrestrained laughter. They both know what line they’ve just crossed, what they’ve just admitted to each other. And they can’t keep the stupid grins off their faces.
By Mile 125, they’re holding hands.
By Mile 128, Dean’s got his arm wrapped around Cas’ shoulders as he leans against his side.
By Mile 130, he’s humming Cas to sleep.
“G’night, babe,” He says, and Cas thinks he could get used to the way that sounds.
hey everyone! it’s Red, owner of this poorly run blog. I just wanted to give you guys an update as to why i’ve pretty much been on a writing hiatus for like a month, and that was due to finals week/month, but that’s over now! It’s finally summer!!! i do have drivers ed that i need to focus on and taking care of a very energetic puppy, but i’m pretty sure that i can get out this destiel fic i’ve been working on by the end of the week :D and after that I’ve got a couple xreader requests sent in, so i’ll be keeping busy. Things will be semi normal again here soon, and i hope you’re having a good week!
I’ll tell you who else had faith like that — Mom. She used to tell me when she tucked me in that angels were watching over us. In fact, that was the last thing she ever said to me. You never told me that. Well, what’s to tell? She was wrong. There was nothing protecting her. There’s no higher power, there’s no God. I mean, there’s just chaos, and violence, and random unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere, and rips you to shreds. You want me to believe in this stuff? I’m going to need to see some hard proof. You got any?
Warnings: um sleepy sam has sleepy hair? just kidding, none, i believe
Request: littlespoon!sam and gabriel? love you! (thank you for the request, I love you too!!)
A/N: ok. first. I am so so sorry it took me so long to get this out, it’s just finals have been stressing me out so much and i’m trying to do the best that i can to keep up with all of that. And second, once school is out, i should definitely be better about posting!! Not too long now! side note excuse my horrible titles
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It’s three in the morning when Gabriel wakes up to an empty bed. He doesn’t know why he woke up, or what he dreamt about, but the first thing he notices is how Sam isn’t pressing a hand to his, asking what’s wrong. With a groan he rolls over onto the other side of the mattress, burrowing into the cold sheets and breathing in Sam’s comforting smell of lemon shampoo and books and pine needles. He stares up at the familiar ceiling of their bedroom and wonders why the hell he ever falls asleep without making sure Sam is next to him.
Technically, he doesn't need sleep. And technically, he doesn’t need to share a bed with a certain hunter whose feet hang off the end anyway. Gabriel isn’t one for technicalities though, and his main focus is the sleeping next to Sam part.
Gabriel gets up with a yawn and a stretch, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He shrugs on one of Sam’s old flannels but only bothers with buttoning it halfway, his sweats resting low on his hips and his hair a bird’s nest. Sam always says he looks so much more human when he wears his clothes and Gabriel loves that, even though he would never admit it.
In the process of maneuvering his way across the pitch black room he stubs his toe against the bed and swears, hopping precariously on one leg. "Every single time," He mutters to himself, leaning against the doorframe until the pain in his foot subsides.
He shuffles through the bunker in search of his Winchester rather grumpily, squinting against the seemingly bright lights in the hallway and sliding his sock covered feet over the floor like a kid. Gabriel racks his brain for where Sam could possibly be at this ungodly hour, and comes up with just one option. He heads directly to the library with eyes still half glued shut and stumbles into a bookshelf along the way, grumbling profanity at that, too.
As soon as he sees Sam slumped over a book bigger than his head Gabriel can’t help a smile from growing on his lips, especially when he hears the little snores that escape from beneath his mop of hair every now and then. He peers over Sam’s shoulder at the scrawled latin phrases in the book turned makeshift pillow and shakes his head ruefully.
“Sammy, you nerd,” He quips, setting his hand on the other man’s shoulder as gently as he could; he knew Sam was a light sleeper and reacted impossibly fast when startled considering how tall he was.
“Whoa, hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just me, Sammy,” Gabriel says softly, keeping a safe distance in case Sam striked out at him on instinct.
Sam blinks rapidly as he sits up and shields his eyes against the lights, and Gabriel grins at the fact that, of the two of them, his hair definitely looked worse. He pushes his chair back to stand and glances around as if to reorient himself, jumping at the sharp sound the chair legs scraping against the floor makes. He looks to Gabriel imploringly after frowning down at the watch on his arm and checking the time.
“What- what’re you doing up, Gabe?” Sam says groggily, his voice sluggish with the lingering effects of sleep, which he hasn't gotten a full night of in Gabriel doesn't even know how long. He rubs a hand across his eyes and Gabriel can see the tension in the lines of his face, the exhaustion starting to set in from countless nights spent researching.
Gabriel leans against the table and raises an eyebrow, his concern showing through as he chews at his lip. “I could say the same to you, Samsquatch.”
Despite how obviously burnt out he was, Sam lets out a snort of laughter, shaking his head as he stands up on unsteady legs. “Samsquatch? That’s gotta be the worst one yet.”
Resisting the urge to reach out and catch Sam’s arm because he knew Sam was too goddamn stubborn to accept help, even if it was something as simple as walking back to their room, Gabriel settles with standing just a bit too close. He’s certainly popping any personal space bubble Sam might’ve had, but this way he would be prepared to catch him if he were to fall asleep mid stride, which could be an actual possibility given his current state.
Sam glances over at him, an exasperated but easy smile gracing his lips. “You’re hovering,” he says not unkindly, gathering the files scattered around the table into a messy pile.
Gabriel shifts so that he can gaze up at Sam’s tired eyes and gives him a soft look, his tone even more so. “I’m just worried about you.”
The taller man sighs, and although he’s facing the other way now Gabriel just knows there’s that unmistakable hard look on his features, the one he uses on the rare occasion he doesn’t meet eye to eye with his angel but doesn’t have it in him to argue.
Shutting his laptop with an air of finality, Sam replies quietly, “You don’t have to worry about me, Gabe, I’m fi-”
Gabriel stands up straighter and the shakiness of his voice is evident. “Yes, Sam, I do have to worry about you, if you keep going on like this! And don’t you dare say you’re fine, because I know damn well you’re not. It’s getting too much, Sammy, so just- just, please, take a break from all this, okay?”
He had started out frustrated, just below a yell, but by the end he was pleading with Sam, the “okay?” hardly more than a hoarse whisper. Sam’s jaw is clenched with an emotion Gabriel can’t place and the circles under his eyes seemed harsher in the light. He unknits his eyebrows as the hunter protests, albeit halfheartedly.
“The case, Gabe, I can’t- I can’t just-”
“Sure you can,” Gabriel says gently, any traces of anger he had gone with one look at Sam’s hazel eyes, vulnerable and weary and washed out. He takes hold of Sam’s wrist and tries to slowly pull him away from the table as he talked. “Forget about the case, alright? It’s just one case, Sammy, just one. You don’t have to save the world everyday. Let someone else do that for a change, will ya? Just come to bed with me, Sam. You need to get some actual sleep.”
Sam stays silent for a second longer but doesn’t put up much of a fight at Gabriel’s “Sam, please, for me.” His tense shoulders relax as Gabriel fits a hand against his much bigger one and he allows himself to be led away from the books, from the case, from the stress.
As soon as they reach the bed Sam flops down onto it face first, his sleepiness hitting him full force once he finally acknowledged it existed. Gabriel pulls the covers back and climbs in after taking off his shirt, nudging Sam with his foot where he was stretched out across the end of the bed.
“You gonna get in here or do I have to make to you?” He jokes as he adjusts the pillows, throwing one at Sam’s head and grinning at the groan he gets in response.
Sam manages to wriggle out of his pants without getting up and peels his shirt off in the same fashion, crawling under the sheets next to Gabriel in just his underwear. “I think I could sleep for eighty thousand years,” He murmurs through a yawn as Gabriel pulls him closer, snaking an arm around his waist.
“Good,” Gabriel chuckles as Sam’s hair tickles his nose, “You need it.”
Sam’s back is pressed flat against Gabriel’s chest, their inhales and exhales matching in a perfect rhythm. Sam hums and tangles their legs together, pressing his feet against Gabriel’s briefly before the angel pulls his away with a yelp.
“Your feet are always freezing, Sam! Stop doing that!” Gabriel exclaims as Sam’s clear laugh seems to seep into the corners of his ribcage and echo wonderfully in his ears.
“I do it ‘cause I love you,” Sam teases as he scoots closer into Gabriel’s loose embrace, his feet kicked free of the covers and dangling over the edge of the bed like they always are.
Gabriel runs a hand up Sam’s arm lazily, breathing in his comforting smell of lemon shampoo and books and pine needles. He stares up at the familiar ceiling of their bedroom and thinks about just how true that statement is. “I love you too,” He breathes as he kisses Sam’s shoulder, “Cold feet and all.”
Even though Gabriel can’t see it Sam smiles into the pillow, his eyes already becoming heavy with sleep. He yawns and marvels at how right this feels; Gabriel’s arms around him, their hearts beating in time, the silence of the early morning. Sam can feel himself starting to slip into unconsciousness, his body finally getting the rest that it needs, and safely in Gabriel’s arms, he lets it happen.
“I love you.” Gabriel says it once more, and it’s the last thing Sam hears before he sleeps.
Warnings: 99.8% sure that there isn’t anything other than fluff in this, but a fear of flying is briefly mentioned
Request: This is for the anon who was asking if I had written anything about Cas’ wings, which is a GREAT question and this is your answer :)
A/N: i apologize for being terrible at consistent posting I’m gonna get better I promise don’t actually hold me to this
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The air conditioner hums in the easy silence that rests between the hunter and the angel, both of whom have kicked off the covers in favor of the cool air. Summer in Kansas was something comparable to the climate of hell, and despite the tolerable temperatures of night the pair still never untangled their limbs, never gave up an inch of the other’s skin to the heat.
Dean lies on the mattress in a position just uncomfortable enough to keep him awake but he doesn’t mind that in the slightest, given the way Cas is half asleep and using him as a pillow, head resting between the hollow of his throat and collarbone. He’s trailing his hands lightly over Cas’ wings, causing him to squirm and ruffle the black feathers. “That tickles, Dean,” Cas mumbles with a sleepy laugh.
“Cas,” Dean breathes out, stuttering on the exhale at the gentle press of lips to his neck when the man in question hears his name. “How does it feel to fly?"
The angel with blue eyes looks up when he hears the wonder and fear laced into each word, Dean’s intent green ones tracking the movement even in the darkness of their bedroom. Cas repositions himself in Dean’s arms so that he’s propped up on his elbows and facing him, a matching look of curiosity on his features. He yawns widely and Dean involuntarily does the same, both of them laughing.
Cas smiles and traces his fingers across the outlines of Dean's rib bones, his voice an equal whisper. "You mean...for angels?"
Dean nods, the scratch of linen against his hair seeming louder in the dead of night. He reaches out and takes Cas' hand in his, softly pressing the other man's knuckles to his lips. "Yeah," He muses, the sound radiating through Cas' fingertips. "What's it like?"
“Well,” Cas starts, but doesn’t get any further than that. There’s a million different words he could use to describe having wings to Dean, most of them in languages too old for Dean to know, but Cas can’t find the right ones. He opens and closes his mouth a few times as he tries to form a sentence, but nothing articulate comes out and he just resembles a fish.
“You told me you were afraid of flying,” He says to change the subject, watching Dean pick at the blanket absently.
Dean sits back, mulling his words over. “I think - I think I still am. It’s just that,” He flops his head onto the pillow, frowning up at the ceiling, “It’s just you...You make me feel like I’m flying. God, that sounds so cheesy.”
He rushes the confession and laughs through the end as he scrubs a hand across his face in embarrassment. Dean averts his eyes and Cas’ can feel the hunter’s heart start to beat fast and loud against his own when Cas keeps looking at him with something bordering on reverence.
“No, it doesn’t,” Cas murmurs in reassurance, pressing a kiss to the hesitant smile hiding at the corner of Dean’s lips. “No, no, no it doesn’t. Dean, that isn’t cheesy. That's - it's -"
Cas lets out a frustrated sigh and gives up on trying to speak and simply kisses Dean again, hoping that he can communicate how important Dean's words are by using his mouth in a language he knows Dean is very fluent in.
Dean responds with a sense of urgency, a need for Cas to understand, for him to know he’d gladly fly into sun if it meant their mouths would always fit so perfectly together. He brushes his hands down Cas’ back as he steals the air right from Dean’s lungs, and he lets him. He lets Cas take his breath away, he invites Cas to replace his blood with adrenaline, he needs Cas to groan through his teeth when he tugs on his dark hair. He just needs Cas.
He doesn’t know how it happened, but Cas has a leg on either side of him, his weight supported on his hands as Dean runs calloused fingers along Cas’ unfolded wings. Dean can feel Cas’ smile hovering over his as the angel drapes his wings around them, forming a cocoon of soft feathers and bare skin and racing hearts. When Cas pulls away and sits up in his lap Dean rests his hands on Cas’ hips, as if he actually had any intention of leaving.
“That,” Cas says, just as breathless as he is, “Is what it feels like to fly.”
Warnings: mentions of blood and a razor but not in that way Cas is just terrible at humany things ok
Request: newly human!cas cutting himself up the last time he tried to shave his face, so this time dean decides to help him? cas sitting on the bathroom counter with his legs around dean??? sweet man kisses idek please (tysm for this request it was so fun to write!)
A/N: this is honestly the worst title ever but I seriously can’t think of anything else rip
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Dean flips out the moment he catches sight of Cas’ hands in the bathroom mirror. They’re red and held up to his face while he’s grimacing slightly and Dean interprets this as bad bad bad very bad. He shoulders the door the rest of the way open and strides to the former angel’s side with panic blooming in his chest and Cas’ name forming on his lips. Cas jumps in surprise when Dean spins him around so they’re facing each other and he tries to pull away as Dean grips his wrists, turning his hands upward so his palms were showing.
“Cas, what the hell-” Dean’s eyebrows are tugged down into a deep frown that disappears as soon as he finally glances up at Cas’ embarrassed face. The hint of a smirk dances at the corners of his lips as he squints at the collection of small cuts scattered across Cas’ chin, but he’s careful when he places a gentle hand against his jawline. “Babe, did you borrow my razor?”
“I’m- uh. I was trying to shave?” The blush coloring Cas’ cheeks turns a shade darker as he attempts to shuffle away, only to bump into the counter and become stuck between the granite and Dean’s worried examination.
Dean chuckles and reaches around Cas for a towel, his breath brushing against Cas’ ear in the way he knows makes the other man shiver despite himself. Dean takes the razor out of his hand and shakes his head at Cas’ fascination with all things human.
“I can see that,” comes Dean’s bemused response as he cleans at the nicks on Cas’ still stubble covered face, the towel spotted with little specks of blood. “How did you even manage to cut yourself this many times, Cas?”
Cas huffs with a grumpy frown, crossing his arms and trying to shift his hips from where Dean’s pinned him to the counter. “I thought I was doing a good job,” He mutters indignantly.
“Well, sure, if you had been doing it in the dark," Dean grins as he wipes away an excess amount of shaving cream from Cas’ skin. After a second he reconsiders and puts it back on, fashioning it into the shape of a foamy and lopsided handlebar mustache.
Dean’s struggling to keep a straight face as Cas twists around to check his reflection in the mirror, and the exasperated noise he makes causes the hunter to double over and clutch his stomach with laughter. Cas rolls his eyes with a smile and wipes it off himself, waiting patiently until Dean’s done laughing at his expense.
“Hair is so weird,” Cas marvels, scratching at his stubble unconsciously, and Dean swats his hand away before he draws blood.
Latching onto a sudden idea, Dean twirls the razor around and says, “Cas, here, why don’t I just show you how to do it, okay?”
Cas studies him suspiciously for a second before he relents and lifts himself up to sit on the counter, feet swinging like a child’s. Dean laughs and scoots closer to reapply the shaving cream as he stands in front of Cas, whose legs are now wrapped around him like an anchor, and when Dean raises his eyebrow in question Cas only smiles innocently.
“Y’know, I think I like the five o’clock shadow look on you,” Dean admits halfway through as he compares the smooth side of Cas’ face to the rough. “It’s sorta sexy.”
He’s finding it’s impossibly hard to concentrate when Cas peers up at him with those startling baby blues, and trying to stay focused on his mouth isn’t helping, either.
“It’s a bit late for that, Dean,” Cas replies with a laugh that Dean can feel even through his shirt, the kind of laugh that makes him feel more electrically charged than a lightning storm.
It takes a couple minutes for Dean to work his way around all the scratches, and in that time Cas closes his eyes and drums his fingers against his leg, his heart forgetting to beat when Dean’s fingertips graze his neck. As he works Dean sings softly under his breath, and given the five inches of space it’s becoming increasingly difficult for Cas to try not to smile, because smiling makes it harder for Dean but god, does he have a nice voice.
“Alright, Cas, you’re good to go,” Dean says as he inspects his handiwork. “And lookin’ pretty sharp if I do say so myself.”
Dean tries to pull away from his slightly compromising position between Cas’ legs, but quickly realizes he can’t move an inch with them still hooked around his waist. He pouts as he looks up at Cas curiously and is met with the flash of a playful grin and a brush of lips against his.
“Just where do you think you’re going, Winchester?” Cas murmurs into Dean’s ear, placing a hand on the exposed strip of skin where his jeans rest on his hips. Dean sucks in a breath at the contact and sets his hands on the counter on either side of Cas, leaning into the fallen angel’s arms and peppering kisses along his jaw.
“Right here, Cas, I’m right here,” Dean whispers back, enunciating every word with a kiss to one of the many cuts littering Cas’ face. “I’m stayin’ right here.”
Dean feels an insistent tug on his hair as Cas tries to pull him even closer, taking his turn to press his lips to every single freckle gracing the hunter with green eyes, his touch unbelievably delicate as he canvases the stars of Dean’s face. Cas separates himself from Dean just long enough to give him what Dean thinks has to be the warmest smile he’s ever received, and Dean’s knees practically buckle on the spot.
“Good,” Cas says, and his smirk brushes against Dean’s stubble covered cheek as he gently slips the razor from his hand. “Because you’re next.”
newly human!cas cutting himself up the last time he tried to shave his face, so this time dean decides to help him? cas sitting on the bathroom counter with his legs around dean??? sweet man kisses idek please
oh my god oh my go d i love you???? i love you i love newly human cas and i’m gonna love writing this, thank you anon!! no promises that i can get it out by tonight because i’m going to watch the mtv movie awards (fall out boy is performing!!!) but i will get to this as soon as i can ok :)
yes, you! send me a request pretty please? with a cherry on top? i’ve officially hit a wall with my writing and i wanna write what you guys want me to write. therefore, shower me with requests you lovely people! it doesn’t have to be particularly special, just like give me a scenario and a pairing? something? anything? i promise i’m good for it :)
Word Count: 667 thank goodness for the extra word lol
Warnings: brief mentions of stitches and an injury
Summary: literally what even is plot anymore it’s just aimless post hunt fluff
A/N: I made Cas human in this so he couldn’t heal Dean like he normally can, and because I just love them taking care of each other so much ok
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“Stay still, Dean,” Cas mutters under his breath in exasperation as he adjusts the newly sewn stitches on the hunter’s skin yet again. “You keep opening them back up.”
Cas wasn’t very experienced in the ways of human medicine, but since he’s now one of the seven billion on the planet it’s as good a time to learn as any.
Dean squirms under the light touch of Cas’ attentive hands on his forearm, clenching his jaw through the pain. “Sorry, Cas. It just stings like hell. Are you almost done yet?” Even though he’s speaking through gritted teeth Cas can hear how patient Dean is being with him, and he’s thankful for it.
“Just about,” He says softly, packing away the contents of the first aid kit. “The meds should be kicking in soon, and according to the label you’ll be getting drowsy.” He leans forward and pushes the hair sticking to Dean’s forehead away, letting his hand linger over the week old stubble obscuring the rough edges of his face. His fingers glance across the sleepy smile Dean wears, and even in the soft light of their bedroom Dean’s green eyes seem bright, seem to focus completely on Cas, always only Cas.
Dean leans against the headboard and closes his eyes, intertwining his fingers with Cas’ wordlessly, not wanting to fall asleep without knowing Cas was right there next to him. Cas lets go of his hand for just a second to pull the covers up around him and Dean whines into the pillow, muttering something about hurts and tired and Cas. The former angel grins and dives under the sheets, his heart twisting familiarly when Dean curls into him in that natural way that he does, his head resting against Cas’ chest as though the spot had been hollowed out for him. Cas gives a long, low laugh when Dean throws a leg haphazardly over his, the deep rumble of laughter passing from his chest to Dean’s.
“You’re such a big baby,” Cas mumbles into his hair, tapping his fingers along Dean’s spine.
Cas can feel Dean’s smile against his shirt. “You know it.” He shifts so he’s looking up at Cas with a playful, impish smirk. “But I’m your baby, and don’t you forget it.”
Cas simply rolls his eyes at the Winchester’s sentiment, because he knows Dean means it truthfully. They lay in silence for a while and listen to each other’s breathing as it evens out, and Dean’s head rises and falls with each intake of Cas’ lungs.
“Did I do a good job with your arm?” Cas asks lazily as Dean occupies himself with tugging at a loose thread on Cas’ shirt.
Dean hums and buries his head into the crook where Cas’ collarbone meets his neck. “Doctor Sexy would approve,” He jokes, his warm breath spreading wonderfully across Cas’ skin and making him even more sleepy.
Cas chuckles despite his hands still smelling like antiseptic and Dean’s blood. After a pause he says, “Oh, speaking of him, have you heard the phrase, kiss it and make it better?”
He angles his body so that he’s facing Dean and leaning on one elbow, and presses a light kiss to his shoulder, careful not to get too close to his stitches. Dean breathes a contented sigh as Cas slowly works his way upwards, leaving a trail of sweet, open-mouthed kisses on every inch of bare skin he could find, which wasn’t hard considering Dean was still shirtless.
“Doctor Sexy-” Dean grunts as Cas’ teeth graze against his ear. “-would definitely approve.”
Cas inhales sharply when Dean’s hands grip his hips and pull him more into his lap, the sheets creating a tangled sort of shelter around them.
“Am I your Doctor Sexy, Dean?” Cas whispers with a laugh, his words getting lost in Dean’s eager mouth.
Dean pulls away for just a second, looking up at Cas with outright adoration. “You know you are. And holy hell, Cas, don’t you forget it.”
so i felt the need to write poetry? at 1 am?? i’m not even sorry
there is a story of two boys
made from the ashes of fire and spent bullet shells
iron is an extension of their being
they speak in latin and use rosaries as hanging ropes
one brother has demon blood in his veins
and the other has become one
winchesters, they’re called
the name of a gun
the name of sons trained to pull the trigger
the name of a monster in the form of a father
a name washed in more blood
than any vampire has ever known
2087
origamiaround
discoholicmusic
izzy806
kianamaiart
