Continuing my yearly artfight tradition, here are some permission templates. I will also be uploading page decor on my toyhouse soon :)
Feel free to edit and use however much you'd like. That being said, my only condition is that you don't remove the "Template by uselesstherapy" at the bottom, It is there so other people can find and use the templates.
No credit is necessary, but it is appreciated, my Art fight user is UselessTherapy if you'd like to give credit
Do not reupload the original templates and claim to be the maker of them.
So I saw this fanart (go check it out first!!!) from @uselesstherapy and wrote a little story with their permission. It’s also on ao3.
Tags: Stanford Era (Supernatural), Pre-Canon, Sexual Tension, Alley Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Internalized Homophobia, Mentioned John Winchester, john winchesters A+ parenting, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, POV Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Guardian Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Canon-Typical Violence, Under-negotiated Kink, Alcohol, Cigarettes, Mildly Dubious Consent, Angst, Smut, Repressed Bisexual Dean Winchester, Rough Oral Sex, Dean Winchester Likes It Rough
Words: 1,952
Rating: E
The cold whiskey is burning down his throat.
It hurts just a little, but it’s nothing against the wounds and broken bones Dean has survived in his young hunter life, so he brushes it off like a real man. He gets better at hiding the expression in his face every time he drinks whiskey, so he keeps going. Soldiers through.
Dean just finished an easy salt and burn kinda job. Solo. Called John to report already, too.
So now he’s in a bar, looking for fun. And the waitress looks like fun - brunette, his age and with a naughty smile in his direction.
But there’s a guy in his vision, with an awkward stoic expression, looking at him, too. And Dean would be a liar if he wouldn’t say that he does look handsome, too. The blue eyes are staring at him too intensely.
It’s unsettling.
But also hot.
Dean shifts in his seat at the bar.
He winks at the waitress when she approaches him. Flirts with her intensely. She seems to like it, with the way she blushes. Nice, easy bait. Next time she comes around, he’ll ask her when her shift is gonna be over. Take her to the motel, kiss her real nice and soft-
The guy with the bedhead in the tax accountant dress-up shifts in his seat. Their eyes meet across the room. Damn, they are so blue. Straight nose. Full lips. Makes him wanna kiss them, too. John would never have to know-
No, it’s wrong. Wrong. Wrong. He’s not supposed to feel this attracted to a man. He’s half hard because he just pictured himself with the cute waitress, not with the gorgeous man in the trench coat. He looks back to the waitress, she brings him his second whiskey. He doesn’t ask her about the end of her shift.
He slurps the whiskey in one go, it’s stupid. So stupid. John doesn’t have to know. Right? He slips his large leatherjacket on. Winks at the guy and grins cockily. Steps outside. Cold air hits his lungs, a shaky breath comes back out. He feels lightheaded, blood pumping loudly in his ears.
Lights up a cigarette. Just one. Another thing John doesn’t know. And he won’t find out. Not that he really cares where Dean is right now, anyway. ‚I’ll be gone for a few days, you go check out that situation outside of Milwaukee‘ he had said. So he did, like a good son.
A gush of smoke fills his lungs. It hits the spot where it makes his head feel slightly dizzy. Just the right way. And yet, he can’t get the blue eyes out of his head. He sent the message. The ‚I want you, follow me?‘-kind of message. Once the guy chooses to get outside the bar, what happens next is no longer up to Dean.
So he waits a few minutes, a few feet from the entrance away, outside the streetlight's cone of light.
It doesn’t take that long, though. Trenchcoat comes out. „Dean Winchester?“ The voice is lower than Dean anticipated.
„What the fuck?“, he huffs out as he pushes the man against the nearest wall, pinning him with his underarm. The cigarette drops on the floor as he curls his fist, ready to punch him straight in the face. „Who are you and why do you know my name?“
„Castiel“, the stranger says with the same stoic expression. „I'm the one who will grip you tight and raise you from perdition.“ A weird feeling settles in his stomach. He fucked up. He’s fucked. This is how Dean will die. In this weird ass alley, by the hands of a weird ass man. He looks around to assess if there are more enemies. All clear so far.
He flicks his knife out of his pocket and plunges it into Castiel’s chest with all his force. He may have alcohol pumping in his blood but one thing’s for sure, he never misses the heart.
Shock bolts through his body. Because nothing happens. Fucker just looks at him with an eerie smile and removes the knife of his heart with a disgusting crunching sound. It drops on the floor with a loud clattering sound.
„What the fuck?! What are you really?“
„We need to talk, Dean“, the guy says calmly.
„Then talk! What are you?!“ Dean growls and spits on the floor.
„I’m an angel of the lord.“
„Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing.“ He shoves his arm against the alleged angel. Hard.
„This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.“
Then, a mysterious lightning flashes. On Castiels back, a set of large, shadowy-black wings appear, stretching off impressively into the wall behind him. The light goes out and the wings disappear.
It should turn Dean off. Make him run into the opposite direction.
At least make him feel like he’s in danger, hell, maybe he is.
But something makes him want to smash his lips onto Castiels. Grind his hips into his.
He shouldn’t feel like this. And yet, here we are. Dean grits out „I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"
Castiel frowns „I told you.“
„Right. And why would an angel rescue me from perdition? From what perdition exactly, buddy?“
„Good things do happen, Dean.“ Castiels gaze is locked on Dean, and there’s glint in it.
Dean’s eyes dip lower. On Castiels lips. Just for a second. „Not in my experience.“
Castiels head tilts, eyes narrowing. „What’s the matter, Dean? You don't think you deserve to be saved?"
„As you can see, I don’t need fucking saving. Go find yourself some other damsel in distress. I’m leaving.“ Dean shoves his arm one last time against the angel, quickly picks up his knife and turns around to walk away.
„Dean.“ It’s firm. And so low, like gravel. Like a command. Dean shouldn’t like how his name sounds rolling off Castiels tongue. He shouldn’t like how Castiel grips his wrist. Deans brain is spinning. An angel. Sent from heaven. To save him, specifically. Wtf.
He should continue to walk away. He could. He could wiggle out of Castiels tight grip.
He doesn’t. Instead, he halts.
And turns around one last time. „What, Cas?“
Cas stands only inches from Deans face. And Dean can’t help but look at those plush lips again. „You are right. I can see that you don’t need saving right now. But one day you will and because I’m the one watching over you, I’ll be the one who saves The Righteous Man. I will stop you from going to hell. I’ll prevent it this time.“ Castiel says calmly, but there’s a storm brewing inside him. Determined.
„What are you talking about, man? Like a guardian angel? With fluffy wings and a harp?“
„Angels don’t have harps, Dean“, Castiel deadpans.
It isn’t funny. But Dean laughs, regardless. A full on belly laugh. Because this is too absurd. He’s too tipsy and annoyed and still too fucking horny for this. He should have definitely gone with the waitress. But Castiels hand is still wrapped around his wrist.
„So what now?“ Dean asks, jutting his chin forward.
„I’ll watch over you“, the angel says, unyielding. Dean visibly rakes his gaze over the angels face. Teasing. Down to the sharp jawline. Lower to the exposed neck. The collar of the white shirt has been shifted from being pinned at the wall, and Castiels collarbone is now visible. The trench coat has a hole where the knife had been.
Dean gulps. He still doesn’t trust Cas. That would be a grave mistake. It could still be a trap. But the encounter didn’t make Dean less horny. On the contrary. Castiel is all power and authority, and there’s a push and pull energy between them that he can’t explain. From the moment their eyes met, they’ve been somehow attached?
John wouldn’t have to know.
Castiel still looks at him. But there’s something else now. The same hunger Dean feels inside him, low and fierce. He’s acutely aware of where Castiel still touches him. But he needs more. He shoves him back to against the wall.
„No you won’t. Leave me alone!“ It’s halfhearted, and Dean’s hands clutch Castiels collar tightly.
Castiel doesn’t move as easily as earlier and his hands fly to Deans hands now. Their lips are close, almost brushing, warm breath mingling in the cold air. Something tells Dean that Castiel just let him move him. Allowed him. Castiel is compliant, almost soft, now. As if normally, he wouldn’t be. Dean wonders how much holy wrath is behind all this human-like exterior.
„I’m not leaving you“ Castiel says breathless with eternal, knowing eyes.
Their lips clash against each other. It’s all teeth and tongue and messy. Fighting for the upper hand. Until Dean gives the reigns to Cas. His tongue explores Deans mouth, sucks Deans bottom lip into his mouth, and bites down.
Dean moans. His whole body is pressed against the angel. Dean feels like all the pent up tension is exploding inside him. Then, he feels Cas grind back at him. And he’s hard. He must feel the same way.
John won’t find out.
Dean needs more. His hands find Castiels belt, and then he drops to his knees.
Oh god, this sin feels holy.
He doesn’t care that the ground is cold or that they are in some random alley. Doesn’t care if they get caught. He needs to feel Castiel now. He looks up, asking „This okay?“, as he fumbles to open the belt.
Castiel groans with big eyes, „Yes, Dean.“
And they stay on him while Dean blows him. It’s messy and quick. Castiels hand gripping Deans hair, letting Dean decide the pace initially. Until Dean chokes out a „Fuck my face“, and Castiel takes over and does as told.
Moaning his name over and over again „Fuck, Dean“ and „you feel so good.“
Pushing deep into Deans throat. Until Dean gags. Until Dean is dizzy from the lack of air. Until a few tears start streaming down Deans cheeks from the intrusion. And he almost looses his mind with want. Almost cums in his pants from this, too.
But then Castiel comes in his mouth unexpectedly, as if an orgasm rips through him for the first time. Hell, what if it is?
Dean swallows the bitter taste like it’s all he ever needed. Right there, Dean makes the mistake of pressing a palm against his painful erection in his jeans. He immediately scrambles back on the cold asphalt.
„Are you alright?“ Castiel asks, eyes blown wide, panting.
John will never know.
Dean picks himself up and runs. Runs. Runs.
Back to the motel. Dick still straining in his pants. He jerks himself off and cums, violently, to the images of Castiel standing over him, holding him, spilling into him. His jaw is sore.
No. It’s nothing personal. John can’t know. Not about Castiel, not about what happened back in the alley.
He was just horny from the pretty waitress. That’s all. He takes his clothes off and showers. Tries to wash off all the guilt. The shame. The confusion. He’s not gay. He can’t be. John can’t know.
When the water turns cold, he gets out of the shower and curls himself on the bed, hand shoved in his face. Looking out the motel window.
No. It was nothing personal. He was just letting off steam, he wasn’t horny for Cas specifically. He was just horny and Cas was available. Castiel could have been whoever. The waitress. His angel. Any woman. Castiel. His personal guardian angel.
Art Fight 2026 team cards! Use these to advertise yourself and your characters - post them on social media, on your Art Fight profile page, or in the #target-hunting channel on our Discord server.
Dean gets cursed on a hunt and sprouts a pair of wings. Rowena is called and says in her own fancy, florished way that the boys are shit out of luck, as trying to revers it could rip out Dean's spine, so they'll have to wait it out.
Cas finds a guilty, giddy joy in being around another winged being. He tells Dean he must clean and preen them, and so on and so on, spouting off about wing care.
Dean, of course, doesn't listen. He's too busy moping and bitching about them to care for them.
Cas ends up having to tend to them himself, not that he minds. On the contrary, he enjoys the bonding of preening and washing grime from soft feathers as he did often in heaven.
