Sweet Like Cinnamon~

It started off as a way for you to bring the outside in, surrounding the bunker with flowers. But once Dean grumbled about them, you kept them restricted to your room.

Cas didn't realize it, but he missed having the flowers around, a constant little reminder of you, and how you brighten his days without even trying.

You notice. You like to keep out of the way more often than not, which has resulted in you accidentally spying on your little family.

You didn't mean to of course, but from the way you make yourself small to your quiet nature, they don't often notice you.

You watch as Cas holds a wilted daisy, staring at it longer than most would.

But Cas was never really like anyone else.

From then on, you always came back from your walks with extra flowers, specific ones you'd picked just for him. Cornflowers, bluebells, a few miniature ferns and a stray dandelion every now and then.

The first time you give them to him, you're too nervous just to walk up to him, though you feel more than comfortable in his presence. Instead, you leave them next to the book he's reading when his head is turned.

You watch happily from the side as he furrows his brows before smiling slightly at them.

The second time, you tuck them in his coat pocket. He'd taken it off for whatever reason, looking strange without it. You ducked in, pulled the pocket back and dropped the flowers in before leaving in the same rush.

You didn't see his face that time, but you didn't have to to know he smiled once again, this time even more so.

It became a tradition of sorts, until he caught you.

You were just leaving another bouquet behind when you felt his grip on your wrist. You flinched immediately and it softened, but he didn't let go.

He pulled you back gently, not forcing you, just guiding you to him.

You don't meet his eyes, fixating on his tie instead, the dip to it, the way it sits so casually around his neck.

He's bad with words, not knowing what to say, when to say it. So instead, he wraps his arms around you, a little awkward, but full of love.

He holds you close and you nuzzle into his warmth. After a while, it's just quiet enough that you can hear the faintest purr, involuntary sure, but it came out for a reason.

That reason being you.

Taglist for all of my writing - 33

@craftytacopiecash @meryuniverse @aliljaybird @macbaetwo

@scarletluvsdanno @twentyonetornmyheart @neospacedoctor @valkyra-black @dean-winchester06

@something0193 @ursamajor17 @colorfulavenuecollection @fairytailnerd1024-blog @daithideolishmer19

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@kmystery @fandomwriter013 @dafidiblogwriter @whitemelanin @ta1itha

@wendichester @samanddeanswife @casanddeanswife

:･ﾟ⛧ He's not sitting by your side, he doesn't have an arm loosely around your waist, he's not cool or suave or nonchalant. He's desperate.

:･ﾟ⛧ If he is sleeping, it's almost terrifying for him. Because for those few hours, he can't make sure you're okay. He can't fend off any threats. He can't save you.

:･ﾟ⛧ Which is why he doesn't sleep much. He chooses not to so he can make sure you're safe.

:･ﾟ⛧ After a tough fight or when you beg him to, he'll sleep, but only in the bunker. That's the only place he's ever felt safe enough to let his guard down.

:･ﾟ⛧ But when he does sleep? He's so soft.

:･ﾟ⛧ He curls up into you, burrowing his head against your chest, sometimes nuzzling up into the crook of your neck. His arms wrap around you tight, pressing your body against his, often close enough that, with his angelic abilities, he can hear your heart beating and the rush of blood through your veins, reassuring him that you're okay. His legs curl up, often intertwining with yours.

:･ﾟ⛧ With this position, he's always on his side and some days, when he's really feeling absolutely terrible, he lets his wings out. You gently run your hands over his back, slowly working your way up to his wings. When your fingers ghost across the base, he winces. This high, broken sound. Utterly heartbreaking.

:･ﾟ⛧ You let your hands rest there for a moment, allowing Cas to adjust to the feeling, then you start moving again. Slow, steady, light. His breath hitches when you press a little firmer, and when you fully rest your hand against the base? He buries his face further into your neck, both hurt and loving the feeling of your gentle, caring touch.

:･ﾟ⛧ You're always careful, fingertips ghosting up the length of his wings, combing through the feathers, the ones that aren't scorched. His breath fans across your skin, shaky and broken, fingers curling into your back. And sometimes, when he fully lets himself go, you can hear the softest of whimpers.

:･ﾟ⛧ He's such a precious little Angel. For the whole night, even when he's in the deepest of slumbers, he never once lets you go. If you move a lot in your sleep, his leg finds its way over yours, stilling you, keeping you steady.

:･ﾟ⛧ And if you try to pull away? Think again. He's holding you so tight you have little crescent shaped indentations on your back and arms from his finger nails. Never so much that you're uncomfortable, but just enough that you can't leave him.

:･ﾟ⛧ On the rare occasion he wakes up and you're not there, he's immediately panicking. Where are you? Are you okay? Did someone take you? He'll kill them. He doesn't care who they are, they're dead. Then you come out of the bathroom and you can hear this funny sound, like a heartbeat returning to a normal rhythm after beating so fast it nearly burst.

:･ﾟ⛧ He'd rush towards you, immediately checking you over for any kind of damage, even a damn paper cut.

"Are you hurt?"

"…no?"

"What happened to you? Where were you?"

"Aw baby, were you worried?"

"I always worry for you"

"Angelface, that's precious and I adore you for it, but I had to pee"

"Oh, you're sure you're not in danger?"

"Pretty sure yeah"

"Very good" He'd give you a little smile, taking your hand "Back to bed then"

:･ﾟ⛧ Speaking of, he adores cuddling whether you're going to sleep or just waking up. He's clingy, that's been established, but he relishes in those moments right when you both wake up, the world still quiet and hazy, nothing but the two of you in your warm, cozy bed.

:･ﾟ⛧ He's never softer than in the early mornings he spends with you. He lets his hands and lips wander, caressing, pressing kisses all over your face, down your jaw and over your shoulders, everywhere he can reach without having to move.

:･ﾟ⛧ He whispers Enochian against your skin, promises, vows to love you until he draws his last breath, because even after you're gone, hell never stop loving you with his entire being, vessel and celestial alike.

Taglist for all of my writing - 33

@craftytacopiecash @meryuniverse @aliljaybird @macbaetwo

@scarletluvsdanno @twentyonetornmyheart @neospacedoctor @valkyra-black @dean-winchester06

@something0193 @ursamajor17 @colorfulavenuecollection @fairytailnerd1024-blog @daithideolishmer19

@am-i-the-villain-co @mameeta @bblessed @maximum-uwu @bbywonu

@eatlembasbread @lightningdth @waywardbeardetective @t-bird510 @luchios666

@kmystery @fandomwriter013 @dafidiblogwriter @whitemelanin @ta1itha

@wendichester @samanddeanswife @casanddeanswife

Castiel doesn’t bring people to parties. He just doesn’t. He meets people there and asks those who know Jimmy to keep that name under lock and key. His face, however, is a different story.

Cas doesn’t have problems with the recordings— girls with their cutesy flip phones shoving them up his shirt or guys with their kodaks taking snapshots of his face after taking a mouthful of the guy on top of him. His barrage of questionable desires outweigh a little bit of exhibitionism, ignoring the obvious fact that he finds the thought of a camera hot. It makes him feel like a celebrity or someone important, like a local camboy who does it purely for the love of the game.

You are no exception to the local camera crew. You’ve been to St. Delta a few times to understand how things tend to go, and maybe you felt kind enough to torment the local toy with a flashing red light.

And there he is.

Castiel’s not busy, surprisingly. His head is poking out of the bathroom door, hair a soaked mess, eyes red from a very strong smoke. Balthazar has Castiel by the hair, yanking him back against the bathroom sink trying to calm him down.

“You can go play in a minute! You’re filthy, Castiel, it’s a bad look even for you.”

“Calm down baby boy…” Gabriel says mockingly, almost like a stern parent. He’s got a camera in his hand too, and it’s crammed directly in Castiel’s flushed face. He gives Castiel an encouraging pat on the back. Castiel laughs at the camera, a little dazed.

“What’s the word?” Balthazar takes a towel to Castiel’s face and wipes him off.

“Hm…”

“I don’t hear words.” Balthazar snaps his fingers in front of Castiel’s face. It’s common to see them go back and forth about these things, but it’s only out of concern for Castiel’s reckless behavior. He can’t stop his behavior, but he can make sure nobody’s out to hurt him.

“Honeybee…”

“Are you using it?”

“No…”

He gives Castiel’s shoulders a squeeze and a once over to make sure he’s not on the verge of passing out. “You gonna let the locals tape you like this? You look like you offer services behind dumpsters…but I suppose you’re not above that.”

“Yeah.”

Gabriel takes another picture of Castiel before kicking him out of the bathroom.

It doesn’t matter what led up to it, but you’re in it now. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, Castiel’s head in your lap, looking up at the camcorder in your hand. He blinks in tandem with the red light flashing in the corner— being so close to it hurts his tired eyes now that he’s sobered up a bit. Someone’s busy kissing and biting Cas’s neck for him to really care about what you’re doing though.

“Do I look good…?” Castiel murmurs, tilting his head up to look at you better, and to allow the stranger better access to his body. He waves at the camera with his pointer finger as if he knows who you are.

“So pretty.” You smile.

“What’re you going to do with it?”

You set the camera down next to his face, head dipping beside his ear. He smells like weed. Strong. It does well to cover up the smell of Castiel’s stench of sweat and sex. “Home video. For when you’re too busy getting passed around like a 2$ slut to give the paparazzi some attention.”

Castiel’s eyes widen. He realizes that he’s never actually thought about what people do with the videos of him. He thinks about playing up the filth, making it gross and unbearable so you’d rather vomit at the sight than go home and cum to it.

“You have me now.” He quickly offers himself up, adjusting his head on your lap like he’s ready for your next command. Your eyes dart from his to the person getting busy between Castiel’s thighs as if to say: ‘Do I really?’

You don’t even want to touch him anyway. Filthy is a kind way of describing the man on your lap: half naked might be a better descriptor. “Do you want me to stop?” You pick the camera back up to record his body, what people are doing to him, then his face where he’s decorated in blush.

Castiel freezes. As much as he’d like to convince himself otherwise— he doesn’t want to disappoint you. He wants to be good for you. He likes it.

You do either sweep of his body while he thinks: that toned body of his clenching its abs, the sweat and cum mixing on his lower abdomen to create a shine around his tattooed groin: a church and the frat’s Greek letters, in blue.

“N-no.” He murmurs, eyes locking with the camera lens, knowing when you go home and watch it back you’ll have to make eye contact the nervous wreck in him. “But if you do anything to yourself with it…don’t be gentle. It’s not what I’m used for.”

He stares at the blinking red until you’re satisfied.

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"You're getting blood all over my new dress!" You snap at him when the thrusts of his knife into the poor guys neck makes a splatter that hits your dress.

James sighs taking his knife and wiping the blood off of it with a handkerchief, the shiny ornate blade catching the light perfectly. It was a gift from you on your 46th anniversary together. James adored it, you hadn't seen him murder someone without it.

The man tied to the wooden chair thrashes for a second. James couldn't help but smile as the man gurgled what sounded like a prayer as his blood fills his lungs and mouth.

"Your God is not going to save you now" James mocks using his knife to push the man's chin to look up at us, his face was bloody and whatever recognizable features on his face were now long gone. You hum nodding, pouting your bottom lip out mockingly.

"Poor thing believes he'll be saved.." you sigh while gently pushing the man's bloody brunette hair out his face before tilting his head all the way back to expose his neck.

You take your knife gliding the sharp tip across the subtle stubble on his neck before plunging it deep into it, it caused the man to scream and pass out due to the ammount of blood that poured out of him.

"Where is your God now?" You snarl with an eye roll as you dig the knife deeper into his neck.

James groans turning to face you fully, "darling, you are just heavenly when you take someone's life." He smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. He buried his face into your neck kissing the small traces of blood on your soft skin.

"And you dear, are just as devilish." You tease leaning back into him. Your hands finding his on your body.

"Am I now?"

"You no you are, james. No need to tease," You smile kissing him, your hand finding his perfect black hair and running through it.

Jame kisses you deeply tasting the faint blood on your lips that splattered, it took everything out if him to not just take you right than. He's a classy man after all and has to have some self control.

"You will be the death of me, dove" He murmurs against your lips. his hands finding you hips and pulling you flat against him.

"You love me." You tease, barely pulling away to look at his face before stealing another quick kiss.

"You know i do."

James dark eyes flicker across your face, his thumb rubbing gently on your hip as he seemingly studied your face. A small smile forms on his pale face as he cups your cheek pulling you in for another kiss.