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sometimes, when they’re lying in bed together, dean traces his thumbs over cas’ cheeks and in the soft light of the lamp that cas still has on (the angel stopped reading his book ten minutes ago when dean started trailing kisses along cas’ neck and chest) dean ghosts his fingertips over cas’ lips before he murmurs “kiss me like it’s the first time” and cas’ cheeks flush as he remembers their first kiss; the desperation and need and desire of the way their mouths had finally collided, tasting and devouring as they kissed like there was no tomorrow. and god, suddenly cas feels that same fire, that same burning need for dean, and he hastily leans in and drags dean down into a kiss as hot and heady as that very first kiss. cas can feel dean’s smile against his mouth; feel the way dean melts into the kiss as his hands fumble across cas’ chest before tangling in his hair. they kiss and kiss and kiss, tongues dancing and bodies aligning, and when they finally break apart, both breathless and starry-eyes, cas pants out “still as good as the first time?” and dean grins, fingers dancing over cas’ skin as he leans down to kiss cas again and he murmurs against cas’ mouth “no… it’s even better”
one day cas leaves a lil note for dean in the cupholder of the impala and when dean picks it up and unfolds it his heart does a little flip flop in his chest when he reads ‘when you find this note, come and kiss me.’ and dean is immediately scrambling out of the impala and he catches up with cas in the hallway of the bunker and he pushes cas up against the wall and kisses him breathless. dean sneakily slips the note in cas’ trenchcoat pocket as he breaks the kiss, murmuring against cas’ mouth, “I found your note” and cas beams and leans in to kiss dean again. it’s an hour later when cas finds the note stashed in his pocket, and he immediately makes his way towards the kitchen where dean is cooking dinner and cas nudges dean back against the kitchen counter as he kisses him long and slow and deep. dean shivers and pulls cas impossibly closer by his tie and cas laughs softly against dean’s lips as he says “I found the note” before they’re kissing again. and somehow it becomes a Thing for them. that same little note gets passed around every day, sometimes placed in the laundry room or the dean cave or tucked inside a book or placed in the handle of the coffee mug. there’s always a whisper of “come and kiss me” and far far too many kisses that leave them both weak in the knees and breathless
✧･ﾟ:it looks good on him. The ease of a life without danger, the peace of a world where he sleeps through the night with you tucked into his chest, then wakes up in the morning and makes a real breakfast, in a real kitchen, with a real job and a sense that this isn’t going to end.
✧･ﾟ:there are parts that he resisted at first. The hair was an issue. He’d shave every morning with the same military focus he’d had on the road, and make you cut it in the bathroom the same way you used to in the bunker. But then he’d sleep in, snoring and cuddling you like a teddy bear, and the stubble grew, and grew, and grew. You didn’t remind him of the haircuts. He glared at himself in the mirror sometimes and rubbed his jaw, but then you kissed right over his beard and ran your fingers through his hair, and he melted in a second.
✧･ﾟ:“i look old,” he grumbled one morning, holding you over him in bed. You giggled and kissed the tip of his nose. He scowled, squeezing your sides. “I ain’t joking, baby, I look like I’m damn near fifty-“
✧･ﾟ:“that’s because you are near fifty, De,” you murmured. “And I think you look very handsome.” You pet the top of his head, and he leaned into your touch. “Distinguished.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” he grunted, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your wrist, and you raised your brows.
“I think it means I like it, dummy.”
And that had made him falter. He’d looked at you like he wasn’t sure to trust it. And you knew he didn’t. He’d spent too long, thinking comfort was the one sin he wasn’t allowed to afford. So you’d just kept smiling. You kissed him deeply, and he melted, cupping your face and rolling you over with a satisfied half-grunt.
Maybe he was getting old. With the gain of a real grocery store down the street, he’d turned into a little of an obsessive housewife in the kitchen, and you were being served new dishes every single night. Without the hunting, he gained a little weight, but the mechanic work meant he gained muscle with it. You catch him frowning at the mirror after a shower, and you’re sure a part of him doesn’t recognize the man across the sink.
But you do. It’s the same man you loved when he was sharp and rough like sandpaper. The same man who’s heart you had to spend years unwrapping from the barbed wire, who you loved with every sting and groveling apology and mistake. He seems to think you’re going to leave, now that he’s gone all fuckin’ soft.
You just count it as a long winter that’s thawed. A spring that took a while to bloom, and now, a rich, eternal summer. And you’re not about to run, right when you can start reaping your rewards.
He feeds you better than you’ve ever fed yourself. He holds your hand in the house, like he’s trying to put some claim on you over the walls. He laughs loudly at stupid parties you have to attended, and charms all your neighbors, and stares at babies and cribs when he thinks you’re not looking, his fingers digging into your hip with a quiet, long buried longing.
The nightmares still come, but he slowly talks about what he can. He doesn’t go to therapy—that was a long shot anyway—but he lets you drag him to the doctor, and takes his stupid heart meds with a grumble and kiss of your forehead, as if you’re the only reason he’s bothering to keep himself upright and kicking. He makes friends that aren’t his brother, and doesn’t even fight with Sam anymore. He drinks a little less and drives a little slower. He knocks out watching TV, but still manages to wake up long enough to carry you to bed.
And bed alone is a reason to love him like this, just a little extra. A sliver that grows from the everything about his handsome, gentle face being inches from yours, the scent of his evergreen aftershave surrounding you better than any drug, massive, calloused hands tracing over your body like, even after all this time, he still finds himself awestruck at your beauty.
“My girl,” he rasps against your lips, and you believe it.
You believe it with the way you’re all but consumed by him, drowning you in his weight and heat. Thick biceps keep your legs shoved apart when he buried his face against your drooling pussy, his beard scraping and tickling your inner thighs. His tongue works you open and flicks against your clit. You tug his hair with a whimpering pleas, and he moans, deep and rich and hungry. Your eyes roll back in your head, the vibration against your cunt almost too much before you’re coming apart on his face, and he doesn’t let up until you’re trembling and gasping for air.
Dean kisses you with your arousal still clinging to his beard, and sinks into your cunt with low, strained growl of need. You hug him tight, barely able to do anything but take it. The girth and size of him was always right on the better side of too much. Now, with the extra strength, you fall into a mess with barely a few strokes. Dean handles you like a doll, flipping you onto your stomach and dragging your ass up in the air, folding his body over yours and kissing your open, gaping mouth.
“So fuckin’ perfect, baby,” he grunts, cock drilling into that gooey, needy spot with every stroke. “Takin’ it so good f’ me, my sweet girl-“
“De- Deean-“ You whine. “Please- Need to cum- Need it so bad-“
Dean grabs your neck with one hand and turns your head, kissing you deep and messy. He splays his hand over your tummy, pressing up into where his dick is splitting you in half, and the extra pressure is too much to bear. You cum with a scream, and Dean buries himself deep inside you with a low, rough groan. Sticky ropes of cum paint over your walls, your thighs, the mattress as it dribbles out of your over-stuffed cunt.
Dean kisses you slowly, in no rush to clean, in no rush to move. He rolls onto his back and you curl into his side, fitting against him perfectly and blinking up at him with worshipful, glossy eyes. He swallows, brushes the hair from your brow, and takes your chin between his fingers. He tips it up and kisses you slowly, savoring every time, satisfied hum from your lips.
Sometimes he still thinks he doesn’t deserve this, but he’s certain that you do. And if you’re happy with him like this—bigger and mushy and comfortable—then you can’t possibly be wrong. For the first time in his life, he really has all the time in the world. And he doesn’t plan to waste a second of it. Not when he has you.
✦Dean Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!✦
✦Author's Note: request! i would give him such a happy lifeeee put me in coach✦
it has come to my attention that I never explicitly pointed out that CAITH takes place in summer 2004, it’s hinted at a lot, but in case you were wondering, it starts at the beginning of June 2004.
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Hi! Absolutely love CAITH. I’m not a WIP reader generally (I was planning to wait until it was all out to read it) but my partner started it and then nagged me until I did, too, so now we’ve been enjoying Trailer Park Tuesdays (and our special Trailer Park Friday yesterday) together, reading lines out loud and talking about our thoughts and predictions and whatnot. While I’m dying to just get to finish (I’m a binge-reader), there’s definitely something special about week-to-week, and this story and your writing are both incredible and worth the wait <3
If you don’t mind, I do want to ask what year this takes place in? I think you’ve mentioned that Dean is 20 or 21ish (in a comment you responded to on ao3 and then posted to Tumblr, you mentioned Cas is 44ish and there’s 23 years between them). In canon, Dean was born in 1979, so that would made the year 1999-2000.
My partner and I were talking about this, because there was a throwaway line a few chapters ago where Dean mused that he should make Cas a CD on their old dusty computer, and we were debating whether or not it made sense for their family, in their tax bracket, to have a computer, even a ‘dusty old one.’ While home computers were becoming a thing in the 90s, they were more a middle-class thing. Poorer classes weren’t liable to have them until later in the 00s. I know personally, my middle-class family didn’t have a home computer until like 2006, and my dad worked with computers for his job. We didn’t have a computer that could burn CDs until like 2008.
But! In the most recent chapter, Dean says he was in ninth grade when Matthew Shepard died. Matthew Shepard died in 1998, and ninth graders are usually 14-15 years old, so Dean would have had to have been born in like 1984ish for that to be true, and the fic would take place in like 2004. If this takes place in like 2004, then it makes a lot more sense for them to have a home computer, maybe even something second-hand.
None of this actually really matters, and if the answer is just that it’s not that deep, that’s totally fine! My partner and I just like analyzing things to death for the fun of it. We’re having the best time reading CAITH, and literally both started cheering when we got our surprise Trailer Park Friday. Hopefully this doesn’t come across as critical or nit-picking or anything, because genuinely, details like this don’t have to matter at all – we're just curious and like to speculate.
I hesitated to send this because I don't want to come across as, like, thinly-veiled snark or something, so if this reads too critical or negative, please feel free to ignore, because Trailer Park Tuesdays deserve only the most positive of vibes!
I hope you continue to enjoy writing this story, because we’re absolutely enjoying reading it!
Hello! Jumping the queue for this one 😅 CAITH takes place in the summer of 2004! I don’t think I say it outright, but it’s hinted at by being post GWB jr’s invasion of Iraq of (Spring 2003) and with some of the music choices like Nelly and Gorillaz, more recent music for 2004. Also with a few of the shows the guys are all watching. The N64 they play on is a little outdated, and Dean laments getting them a newer ps2 but can’t afford it.
As for the computer, they have a windows 98 desktop computer that is mostly for Sam and school, since he is in all honors classes and it’s hard to get out to the library. I like to imagine Bobby helped with this one, and even though it’s for Sam, John still thinks it’s his. As for burning CDs, at this point you would not need the internet or anything like that (although they absolutely do have dial up, and could download stuff at speeds that would seem archaic to us) but in general you would just upload your own person music collection to the computer and then select songs from your pre-owned library for a mix tape/burned CD.
I hope this clears stuff up! So happy you and your partner are both enjoying this together, that is truly so sweet. I hope I can give you more things to speculate on! Thanks for taking a chance on a WIP :)
If you are interested in supporting my published works you can buy my book on amazon.
I have had multiple people asking if I have a kofi and I do! Tips are never necessary but always appreciated. I am a disabled and chronically ill creator who is currently looking for work while planning a large cross country move, so anything I get goes directly into living costs, or helps cover things like food, medicine, and care.
Put My Finger On Your Tongue 'Cause You Love To Taste
☁︎ Paring: Sam Winchester x GN!Reader
☁︎ Summary: Every time you walk out the door, Sam aches for you.
☁︎ Warnings: SMUT! dom!reader/sub!Sam, male masturbation, voyeurism, cum play, praise/encouragement(?), corruption(?), mild comedy
☁︎ Word Count: 900
☁︎ Rating: Explicit/16+
☁︎ A/n: Title is from Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood. So, my first foray into writing smut! Please be kind lol but I hope this is okay <3
꧁ Read my rules and send a request! ꧂
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The second you, Dean and Cas left, Sam's eyes flicked to the door, waiting to hear the car start up and drive off. He was up instantly when he heard that screech, gravel crunching under its tires.
He fucking hated himself for it, but every time you left, he found himself achingly hard. Sure, he was hard when you were around too, but it got worse when you walked out the door, worse when he could do whatever he wanted without you being any the wiser.
He clenched his jaw when his hand slipped away from the lore book he was supposed to be reading, always the nerdy kid staying at home while everyone else went out and had fun. But little did you know, he was having a whole world of fun by himself - fun and shame, really more shame at this point but he still felt that tinge of relief when all was said and soaked- done.
His breath caught when his own fingers slid beneath the band of his boxers, grazing his already leaking cock. He pulled himself out, enough precum pouring down his shaft to more than sufficiently lube up his hand, fuck he needed you.
His hand wrapped around the base, moving up and down in slow strokes, working himself up to the thought of you.
Sam looked back in his mind to earlier that night, when a ghoul shoved you out of the way and towards him. You landed on top of him, pausing for what he almost thought could be a moment, back up again like it never happened, like you didn't strandle his lap when he was already desperate for you, like you weren't the cause of the pain inside him now, and the pleasure.
He always found something about you to fixate on when he touched himself, usually the way you'd look at him. He didn't need an accidental half lap dance to get hm going, though it did work this time, every other night he just needed you. Everything about you pushed him further to the edge, the little smile you offered him every morning, those times when he was so tired he opted to sit in the back, but you didn't want him to feel lovely so you joined him, everything sweet and perfect and pure about you.
And look at what he was doing with those thoughts.
He was disgusting, taking your kindness and turning it into a kink, but in the moment, every damn moment, he managed to be shameless too.
He'd let out all manner of sinful sounds, whines and pleas, cries of your name to touch him, to keep going, to never fucking stop.
You did stop though, in the doorway.
You stopped when you saw Sam, face flushed bright red, sweat slicking the edges of his hair, mouth dropped open around a pathetic moan.
You tried to speak, to make your jaw move and voice work, but all you could do was stare. Until he saw you.
"Fuck, shit I-" He stammered, reaching for the blanket before he could speak, covering himself with whatever was closest.
Your fucking sweater.
"S-Sam I-I'm so sorry" You forced out, feeling heat speed up your cheeks "I didn't mean to-"
"No I um, I sh-should've, I'm sorry I just-" He stopped, he didn't know what the fuck to say, neither did you.
"Did you say my name?"
Well that wasn't it.
"Uh, yeah I-"
Or maybe it was.
"I-I'm so sorry, I just- I-"
"Keep going"
That certainly wasn't the response he expected.
"W-what?"
"If you're okay with it" You rounded the corner of his bed, stalking towards him "Keep going"
He couldn't speak, he could barely keep his fucking eyes open, stinging, was it even fucking real? Were you? He'd had so many dreams like this, dreams where you'd catch him and have your own fun, toy with him however you chose, God he really was pathetic.
He reached back down, moving your sweater away, grasping himself once more. He slid his hand up the length of his cock, eyes locked on yours as you watched the movement, seemingly mesmerised by it. He continued, picking up in speed, panting along with his movements.
"That's it baby" You muttered, eyes still fixed on his cock, gushing out precum, running over his knuckles "Doing s'good Sammy"
Your words flipped a switch deep inside him, his hand spend up, hips bucking up into his first until he let out a scream of your name, white ropes painting his chest, reaching so far up to his chin.
His chest was rising and falling fast, heavy, trying to suck in as much air as he could, head bobbing against the pillow hard to keep it up straight.
"Fuck" You let out with a breath, getting that little bit closer.
You swiped two fingers through the cum sticky against his skin, bringing them up to his lips.
"Open"
His lips parted and closed again around your fingers, tasting salt and depravity on them as he sucked his own cum clean off.
You smirked, withdrawing your hand, giving yourself the same little taste, and Sam could've sworn he stopped breathing.
"You're pretty tasty Sammy" You leaned down, licking a stripe of white up his chest before leaving a quick peck to his nose, reaching over to grab your sweater as you pulled back, stepping over to the door "Glad I forgot this"
Taglist for all of my Supernatural writing - 49 + more in reblogs!
Omg thank you so much!! But dw, there was plenty of practise first, you don't wanna see the chopping and changing 7k Destiel x reader I've had in my drafts for the past year lol
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Anon requested: Priest!Sam or Priest!Dean who jerks off in the confessional booth while you confess your sins -🫎
A/N: Giving Priest!Sammy a bit of love
They call it a dog collar.
He's never known why, he's never cared to.
But right now he gets it- he's a fucking mutt.
He's already got his belt undone, the small clink of metal hidden by your voice.
He feels the guilt eating at him, like he always does. That festering guilt that tells him he's wrong, perverted. It's not gonna stop him, not when he's got you only inches away.
He can only see your outline, your lips parting as you talk, your chest rising and falling when you take a breath. Your modest white dress- pure.
He wants to ruin you. Wants to cut your pretty white dress off your body, wants to push his crucifix into your hands and make you beg for forgiveness as he fucks you. He can picture it, the way your palm would bleed as you clutch the cross. He wants to press his tongue to it, lap at your blood like a dog licking its wounds.
He stuffs the bottom of his shirt into his mouth, half to muffle his moans and half to stop it getting ruined by the sin he's about to commit.
His hand goes into his pants, a tight hiss only just suppressed. It's disgusting how hard he already is, just from hearing your voice- just from picturing you on your front as he mounts you, just from imagining his hand wrapped over your mouth to stop you making a sound. No- no he'd wrap it around your throat, he'd make sure you can't make a sound.
For a moment there's silence. You've stopped talking. You're waiting for him- for his voice, for his encouragement, for his forgiveness. But he knows that's not everything. Pretty, innocent girl like you- you have more sins to spill.
"Keep going-" he murmurs, voice hitched, his shirt tumbling back down his body. He pulls it back up, biting down on the fabric hard.
You wouldn't suspect the illicit acts being performed only a touch away. You never could- sweet Father Winchester who reads sermons from the heart and has eyes like a doe. He could never be so twisted, so desperate to corrupt.
When he cums he'll make sure you hear it. It's more fun that way- if you go home with doubt on your mind and the memory of his groan on your lips. He wants you to picture it, he wants you to think about it tonight and sin against your own fingers. It's the only way he can be sure you'll end up right back here, right where he wants you.
Put My Finger On Your Tongue 'Cause You Love To Taste
☁︎ Paring: Sam Winchester x GN!Reader
☁︎ Summary: Every time you walk out the door, Sam aches for you.
☁︎ Warnings: SMUT! dom!reader/sub!Sam, male masturbation, voyeurism, cum play, praise/encouragement(?), corruption(?), mild comedy
☁︎ Word Count: 900
☁︎ Rating: Explicit/16+
☁︎ A/n: Title is from Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood. So, my first foray into writing smut! Please be kind lol but I hope this is okay <3
꧁ Read my rules and send a request! ꧂
Masterlists | Pinned Post | Schedule | Taglist Form | Author Recs
The second you, Dean and Cas left, Sam's eyes flicked to the door, waiting to hear the car start up and drive off. He was up instantly when he heard that screech, gravel crunching under its tires.
He fucking hated himself for it, but every time you left, he found himself achingly hard. Sure, he was hard when you were around too, but it got worse when you walked out the door, worse when he could do whatever he wanted without you being any the wiser.
He clenched his jaw when his hand slipped away from the lore book he was supposed to be reading, always the nerdy kid staying at home while everyone else went out and had fun. But little did you know, he was having a whole world of fun by himself - fun and shame, really more shame at this point but he still felt that tinge of relief when all was said and soaked- done.
His breath caught when his own fingers slid beneath the band of his boxers, grazing his already leaking cock. He pulled himself out, enough precum pouring down his shaft to more than sufficiently lube up his hand, fuck he needed you.
His hand wrapped around the base, moving up and down in slow strokes, working himself up to the thought of you.
Sam looked back in his mind to earlier that night, when a ghoul shoved you out of the way and towards him. You landed on top of him, pausing for what he almost thought could be a moment, back up again like it never happened, like you didn't strandle his lap when he was already desperate for you, like you weren't the cause of the pain inside him now, and the pleasure.
He always found something about you to fixate on when he touched himself, usually the way you'd look at him. He didn't need an accidental half lap dance to get hm going, though it did work this time, every other night he just needed you. Everything about you pushed him further to the edge, the little smile you offered him every morning, those times when he was so tired he opted to sit in the back, but you didn't want him to feel lovely so you joined him, everything sweet and perfect and pure about you.
And look at what he was doing with those thoughts.
He was disgusting, taking your kindness and turning it into a kink, but in the moment, every damn moment, he managed to be shameless too.
He'd let out all manner of sinful sounds, whines and pleas, cries of your name to touch him, to keep going, to never fucking stop.
You did stop though, in the doorway.
You stopped when you saw Sam, face flushed bright red, sweat slicking the edges of his hair, mouth dropped open around a pathetic moan.
You tried to speak, to make your jaw move and voice work, but all you could do was stare. Until he saw you.
"Fuck, shit I-" He stammered, reaching for the blanket before he could speak, covering himself with whatever was closest.
Your fucking sweater.
"S-Sam I-I'm so sorry" You forced out, feeling heat speed up your cheeks "I didn't mean to-"
"No I um, I sh-should've, I'm sorry I just-" He stopped, he didn't know what the fuck to say, neither did you.
"Did you say my name?"
Well that wasn't it.
"Uh, yeah I-"
Or maybe it was.
"I-I'm so sorry, I just- I-"
"Keep going"
That certainly wasn't the response he expected.
"W-what?"
"If you're okay with it" You rounded the corner of his bed, stalking towards him "Keep going"
He couldn't speak, he could barely keep his fucking eyes open, stinging, was it even fucking real? Were you? He'd had so many dreams like this, dreams where you'd catch him and have your own fun, toy with him however you chose, God he really was pathetic.
He reached back down, moving your sweater away, grasping himself once more. He slid his hand up the length of his cock, eyes locked on yours as you watched the movement, seemingly mesmerised by it. He continued, picking up in speed, panting along with his movements.
"That's it baby" You muttered, eyes still fixed on his cock, gushing out precum, running over his knuckles "Doing s'good Sammy"
Your words flipped a switch deep inside him, his hand spend up, hips bucking up into his first until he let out a scream of your name, white ropes painting his chest, reaching so far up to his chin.
His chest was rising and falling fast, heavy, trying to suck in as much air as he could, head bobbing against the pillow hard to keep it up straight.
"Fuck" You let out with a breath, getting that little bit closer.
You swiped two fingers through the cum sticky against his skin, bringing them up to his lips.
"Open"
His lips parted and closed again around your fingers, tasting salt and depravity on them as he sucked his own cum clean off.
You smirked, withdrawing your hand, giving yourself the same little taste, and Sam could've sworn he stopped breathing.
"You're pretty tasty Sammy" You leaned down, licking a stripe of white up his chest before leaving a quick peck to his nose, reaching over to grab your sweater as you pulled back, stepping over to the door "Glad I forgot this"
Taglist for all of my Supernatural writing - 49 + more in reblogs!
★ Plot: When Dean's too harsh to you, Cas decides he's had enough, and he shows you a new side of himself.
★ Run Time: 500
★ Warnings: meanish Dean (coming from a place of love, but wrong), a lil emotional vulnerability, quiet comfort
★ Commentary: Thank you so much @mythandmemories for your help with this and your fantastic Angel theory!! And I hope you like the title, it seems fitting lol.
꧁ Read my rules and send a request! ꧂
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Dean was going off at you after you slipped up on an in and out hunt. It should've been easy, you'd done this twenty times without fail, until now.
Castiel watched from across the room, he'd usually leave around about now, but after healing you, he wasn't at his strongest so he thought it best to stick around.
He'd never seen you like this, not on top of everything, just sitting there and taking the abuse. It wasn't that bad really, but Cas hated seeing you being treated this way, even if he got worse almost daily.
He had enough, raising two fingers to Dean's forehead without warning, knocking him out in seconds.
"What-"
Before you could ask, he stretched out his arm to you. It took a moment, but you took his palm, following him outside. He took you up to the roof of the motel room you were holed up at, staring up without words at first.
"Dean" He started, standing closer to you than usual "He upsets me more than I tell him. Not as much anger anymore, but I don't feel like I'm enough for him. He's very judgemental and he lashes out at the people closest to him when he doesn't mean it" He turned to face you, stoic and serious as ever, but starting to soften around the edges.
"You're enough"
"Thank you, Castiel" Your eyes met his briefly before looking back at the sky, intertwining your fingers with his once more "So are you. To me, and Dean"
"Thank you" He wasn't entirely sure he believed you, but he wanted to.
"Why are we here?" You asked, a slight chill curling around you.
"Look over-" He extended his arm, pointing up and a blank spot between stars "-there"
"Yeah?" You followed, soon seeing a little flash of white light "W- what was that?"
"Angels form through supernovae, and sometimes, you can see a light echo millions of years later. For more common spuernovae, there aren't many, but when Angels form, the light rebounds many times, resulting in scattered echoes over a much longer time frame. That's where I was created, among others"
"Y- Cas" You turned to face him, a marvel of creation standing right next to you "That's incredible"
"It is" He hummed softly "I come out here when inside is too much. It helps, to look up at the stars and see how everything has evolved and changed during my existence. More has changed in the past few years I've known you, Dean and Sam than in millennia, it can be- overwhelming. When I feel out of place, I do this. You're welcome to join me whenever you need to, your company is calming"
You weren't sure what to say, it's hard to respond to something like that, so you just looped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a firm hug, lingering in his embrace.
"You're not out of place, Cas" Your voice was a little broken, but okay "You make it all easier"
"Thank you" He responded, quieter.
He was starting to believe you.
Taglist for all of my Supernatural writing - 49 + more in reblogs!
Hi! Sorry in advance if I came across an outdated post, but I saw one on my feed from you asking for small smut ideas, how about Castiel with a fixation on boobs? Please and thank you, of course 🙏
Oh and also, rules page said to add this, so here! 🦞
Okay so I hope you know I LOVE this prompt!! If you like this, you may also like these little mini-drabbles: bloody spit kink & yoga - only briefly mentioning reader's chest but it's all I have for now, more shall definitely come though!
Explicit/16+ - Cas has a fixation on tits, there's a lotta boob talk here lol
Cas adores every single part of you. He loves you for you. But some part of him fixates on your tits.
It's nothing crazy, he just feels strangely drawn to your chest during sex.
If you're too sore for him to fuck you "properly" but you still want to get him off, because you're such a kind and generous person, he'll fuck your tits every time. He's not opposed to your thighs at all, but there's something different about you breasts, something that makes his orgasm crash through his vessel in another, beautiful way.
The poor little sweetheart worries about you giving him head. He doesn't want you to hurt yourself and it looks more painful than it is when you gag around him. He doesn't realize you enjoy it until you tell him, and then he's still not sure because it can't be fun for you. Surely.
But when you do suck him off, he always pulls out and cums on your tits. If you really want to taste him, he'll shoot ropes down your throat, but just every other time, he feels something almost human when he sees his seed dripping down your chest.
He loves leaving little love bites to the tops of your boobs, where they're bound to be seen if you wear something too revealing. He's happy for you to wear whatever you like, but after Dean's gaze lingers a little too long and you get a few comments from old drunks at a bar, he's sure to lay him claim. He always gets his own over his neck to match, he sees it as a much better version of couples t-shirts.
It may have started with porn, or when you first showed him this side to relationships. You began slowly, guiding his hand to your chest, letting out a soft little sound when his thumb brushed over your nipple accidentally, making him determined to learn how to pull more sounds from you.
He was the perfect student too, but that's a story for another day.
He learned fast though, tongue and teeth toying with you, bringing you to a whining peak with your hand fisted in his hair, tight, holding him against you.
And even outside of sex, the attachment was still there.
When your back was pressed up against his chest, either on the couch or in bed, a hand or two would find their way to your chest, just gently resting, your breasts being his own little arm rests. Occasionally, stress balls, but not around Dean. He gets strangely weirded out when Cas starts groping you out of the blue. Odd.
Possibly is favourite of all though has to be when you're laying in bed together and you tug him up to rest his head on your chest. You card your fingers ever so softly through his hair, peppering kisses to the top of his head, so soft and cozy and perfect. Everything he's spent millennia watching other people have.
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compatibility readings are officially open again—but this time, they come with a little twist. ♡
love, actually, is all around 🤍 @notmeolive 𝓍 dean winchester
read below the cut to discover the brand-new format, featuring a whole lot of pining, affection, jealousy, intimacy, and terribly domestic love~
𝑭𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑬𝑨𝑺𝒀 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻
۫ ꣑ৎ 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 .ᐣ
your romantic trope with dean is immediate attraction wrapped inside a stubborn slow burn. there’s no stage where either of you is completely unaware of the chemistry. your leo sun and moon make you warm, expressive, loyal, and difficult to ignore, while dean’s aquarius sun and mars are drawn toward people who feel vivid and entirely themselves. you aren’t mysterious because you hide; you’re mysterious because he can’t predict what you’ll make him feel next.
dean notices the physical attraction first. his leo rising means he’s naturally responsive to confidence, warmth, and physical presence, and your curvy figure, expressive brown eyes, and the red in your hair catching beneath sunlight become things he notices almost immediately. your scorpio mars gives you an intensity underneath the sweetness that catches him off guard. you can smile at him perfectly innocently and still leave him wondering whether you know exactly what you’re doing.
you’re the first to realise that the attraction’s become genuine emotion. your cancer mercury makes you very sensitive to what people don’t say, while your virgo venus notices love through details. you learn his habits, recognise when he’s exhausted before he admits it, and begin quietly making his life easier. you tell yourself that you’re simply thoughtful. meanwhile, you have memorised precisely how he takes his coffee and which painkillers work best for his shoulder.
dean knows he wants something to happen first. you understand that he matters first. he spends longer convincing himself the attraction’s temporary because admitting otherwise would mean accepting that you’ve become someone he could lose.
۫ ꣑ৎ 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 .ᐣ
you become unusually attentive around dean. you don’t throw yourself at him, because your virgo venus wants proof that someone’s serious before you risk looking foolish. instead, you remember everything. you save him the better slice of pie. you notice when he hasn’t slept. you pretend not to watch his face when he laughs.
your leo moon gives you away, however, because your expression changes whenever he enters a room. you brighten. even when you’re irritated with him, you become more alive. sam notices long before either of you admits anything.
dean becomes more playful. his sagittarius moon and venus make teasing one of his safest ways to build intimacy, so he talks to you constantly, invents little arguments, and finds reasons to pull you into whatever he’s doing. his capricorn mercury keeps him from saying anything too revealing, but his behaviour becomes embarrassingly consistent. he always saves you the passenger seat. he checks where you are whenever a room becomes crowded. he chooses the diner booth beside you rather than across from you.
what gives him away is the way his body remains turned toward you. even while speaking to somebody else, part of his attention stays fixed on where you are.
you both suspect the attraction is mutual, but neither trusts the evidence. you worry his flirting is simply part of his personality. he mistakes your carefulness for friendly affection. everyone around you is forced to endure weeks of painfully obvious nonsense.
۫ ꣑ৎ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬
your first major romantic moment comes through an argument. your cancer mercury needs emotional honesty, while dean’s capricorn mercury tries to turn emotions into practical problems he can control. when he’s frightened, he becomes quieter. when you’re frightened, you need him to acknowledge why.
dean initiates the kiss, but you force the confession by refusing to let him hide behind sarcasm.
the motel door shuts harder than necessary.
“you don’t get to disappear for six hours and come back acting normal,” you snap.
“i was handling it.”
“alone! again!”
his jaw tightens. “you want me to say i was scared?”
“i want you to stop pretending i don’t matter enough to scare you.”
that silences him. dean crosses the room slowly. “livie, you matter enough that i don’t know what the hell to do with it.”
“you could start by not running.”
his hand settles around your waist. he waits there, watching you. “tell me to stop.”
you shake your head.
the kiss begins carefully, almost cautiously, before weeks of frustration take over. his mouth becomes hungrier when you pull him closer, but his hand never stops holding you as though the tenderness matters just as much.
𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑰𝑵 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑶𝑾𝑵 𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑼𝑨𝑮𝑬
۫ ꣑ৎ 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫
you love through remembering. your virgo venus expresses affection through useful, thoughtful acts: cleaning a cut properly, packing something dean forgot, saving food for him, or replacing an empty bottle before he notices. you make people feel loved by paying attention.
dean’s sagittarius moon and venus show affection through shared experiences. he wants you beside him in the impala, sitting across from him in diners, and laughing with him during the rare moments when life’s easy. when he invites you along, he isn’t merely asking for company. he’s making room for you inside his life.
the misunderstanding comes because you sometimes need reassurance spoken plainly, while dean believes returning to you should be evidence enough. he assumes that if he keeps choosing your company, you must know how he feels. you assume that if you take care of him, he must understand how deeply you care.
eventually, you learn to say what you need instead of hoping he notices. dean learns to text when plans change, tell you when he’ll return, and occasionally say “i missed you” without disguising it as a complaint.
۫ ꣑ৎ 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬
dean’s primary pet name for you is “sweetheart.” his sagittarius venus makes it sound playful at first, something dropped into conversation to test your reaction. over time, it becomes much softer. when he’s teasing, he stretches the word out. when he’s jealous, it becomes clipped and pointed. when he’s frightened, it escapes him almost breathlessly.
“sunshine” appears occasionally because your leo moon makes your presence difficult to separate from warmth. he usually uses it when you’re being dramatic or when you have somehow made an awful day bearable.
you mostly call him dee. your cancer mercury gives names emotional weight, so the way you say his real name often feels more intimate than a nickname. when you’re exhausted, affectionate, or scared, “amor” sometimes slips out. he pretends he not to be affected. he totally is.
۫ ꣑ৎ 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡
dean’s most common touch is his hand at your waist. he loves your shape, but the gesture isn’t only attraction. it’s also his quiet way of keeping track of you. in crowded rooms, his palm settles against your lower back. walking past you in the bunker kitchen, his fingers brush your hip even when there’s plenty of space.
when he becomes protective, his hand moves to the back of your neck or closes firmly around your waist as he guides you behind him. he never treats you as incapable, but he needs to feel that he’s placed himself between you and danger.
when he needs reassurance, he becomes subtler. he links two fingers with yours beneath a diner table or rests his knee against yours in the impala. it’s his way of checking whether you’re still close without having to ask.
the unexpectedly intimate gesture is brushing your hair away from your face. he always pauses when the red highlights catch beneath the light. sometimes he simply looks at you for a second too long, fingers still resting near your cheek, as though he’s forgotten what he intended to say.
dean’s clingier, although he’d object loudly to the accusation.
your leo moon is comfortable admitting when you want attention. dean’s sagittarius moon values freedom, but once he becomes emotionally attached, he starts seeking your presence constantly. he follows you from the library to the kitchen under the excuse that he needed something. he sleeps better when part of his body is touching yours. he becomes irritable during long separations and then claims he’s merely tired.
after difficult hunts, the clinginess becomes physical. he sits close enough that your thighs touch, puts his head in your lap, or hooks his fingers through one of your belt loops while standing beside you. he never says that he needs reassurance. he simply arranges himself around you until his breathing settles.
you ask for closeness more openly. dean needs it more deeply.
۫ ꣑ৎ 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲
your jealousy is quieter than dean initially expects. your libra rising keeps you pleasant in public, but your leo moon needs to feel proudly and unmistakably chosen. when someone flirts with dean, you become extremely polite. almost suspiciously polite. later, however, you ask very specific questions.
your scorpio mars means jealousy becomes serious when you sense dishonesty or ambiguity. you can handle attention from other people. what you can’t tolerate is feeling as though dean enjoys keeping you uncertain.
dean’s aquarius side dislikes possessiveness in theory. unfortunately for him, his feelings for you aren’t theoretical. when somebody flirts with you, he moves closer, places a hand at your waist, and joins the conversation wearing a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. he becomes competitive without admitting it.
playful jealousy can lead to teasing and particularly affectionate behaviour afterward. genuine conflict happens when either of you deliberately tries to provoke the other. you both have too much pride to enjoy being made publicly uncertain.
you need dean to say that he chooses you. dean needs you to show that nobody else receives the version of you that belongs inside the relationship.
𝑩𝑬𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑳 𝑫𝑶𝑶𝑹
۫ ꣑ৎ 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲
the sexual attraction is immediate, but acting on it takes time. your scorpio mars makes desire intense and focused, while dean’s aquarius mars is attracted to tension, unpredictability, and discovering what makes somebody lose control. together, you create the kind of chemistry that makes an accidental touch feel suspiciously intentional.
dean notices your waist, thighs, mouth, and the contrast between your softness and confidence. you notice his hands, shoulders, voice, and the way his expression changes whenever you challenge him.
the tension builds through prolonged eye contact, arguments that end with both of you standing too close, and touches that last slightly longer than necessary. dean creates the first genuinely sexual opportunity, but you give the unmistakable permission to continue.
you need to feel desired openly. praise affects you more than you admit, especially when it’s specific. dean needs to feel genuinely wanted rather than merely allowed. your directness gives him that certainty.
the motel room is dark except for the bathroom light. dean’s hand rests on your stomach, completely still. “you sure?”
you guide his palm lower. “i would tell you.”
something in his face softens before he kisses you again. he undresses you slowly, mouth following every newly exposed inch, pausing between your thighs until you pull him closer and say his name.
when he presses inside you, the first movement is slow enough to make your breath shake. you wrap your legs around him, asking for more without hiding behind sweetness.
“i got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your mouth.
the pace becomes deeper and rougher, but never careless. control passes between you naturally: his hand holding your hip, your fingers in his hair, each of you learning when the other wants tenderness versus intensity.
afterward, dean brings water and checks whether you’re sore. you talk first. then he pulls you against his chest and refuses to let you disappear into the bathroom. he falls asleep with one hand spread over your hip, as though even unconscious, he needs proof you’re still there.
𝑰𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑵𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑺𝑼𝑨𝑳
۫ ꣑ৎ 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 .ᐣ
you fall first. dean falls harder.
your virgo venus makes you recognise love while it’s still forming. you notice changes in your own behaviour and understand what they mean. dean takes longer because admitting love means accepting responsibility, vulnerability, and the possibility of loss.
he returns to the bunker after a hunt you missed and finds the entire place wrong without you. the kitchen is too quiet. the garage feels empty. there’s nobody in the library telling him he’s been staring at the same page for ten minutes. your absence changes the shape of his safety.
once committed, dean becomes more consistent than either of you expected. he tells you where he’s going. he makes decisions with your existence in mind. he starts speaking about future plans and automatically includes you.
falling harder doesn’t make him suddenly fearless. it makes him accountable. you become someone he doesn’t merely love, but someone he actively builds his life around.
compatibility reading ༯ how does it work .ᐣ ༯ get yours !
