Sweet Like Cinnamon~

he likes the blue one best because the sleeves cover half his hands, even though he insists that isn’t the reason. he likes sweatpants after exactly one suspicious hour of pretending they are “structurally confusing.” he likes fuzzy socks so much that dean catches him standing in the hallway one morning, sliding one foot slowly across the floor just to feel the texture, and has to leave before he laughs himself sick.

you don’t laugh.

well... not where cas can see.

tonight, he appears in your doorway wearing the blue hoodie, grey sweatpants, and the soft white socks you bought him because he kept staring at them in the store with the grave wonder of a man witnessing divine revelation in aisle four.

“may i come in?” he asks.

you lower your book. “cas, you live here.”

“yes,” he says. “but this is your room.”

your heart does that small, helpless fold it does around him. “come here.”

he doesn’t hesitate after that. he crawls onto the bed with more focus than grace, mattress dipping beneath his weight, and then he simply lowers himself on top of you. all of him. chest to chest, hips heavy over yours, arms sliding under your shoulders as he buries his face in the side of your neck and lets out a long, quiet breath.

you go still for one second, surprised by the sudden warmth of him, by how completely he gives himself over to the contact.

then your hands come up to his back. “comfortable?”

his answer’s muffled against your skin. “extremely.”

you laugh softly, fingers moving into his hair. “you’re crushing me a little.”

he lifts his head immediately, concerned. “should i move?”

“not yet.”

his expression softens so much it almost hurts to look at, and then he settles again, more carefully this time, cheek pressed near your collarbone. he’s heavy, warm, solid in a way that makes the whole room feel quieter.

the bunker hums around you, pipes ticking somewhere in the walls, but cas melts against you as if there’s nowhere else in creation he’d rather be.

after a while, he shifts. “i would like to try another position.”

you bite your lip. “another cuddle position?”

“yes,” he nods solemnly. “it is important to be thorough.”

so you let him be thorough.

he turns onto his side and pulls you against his chest, one arm around your waist, chin tucked over your shoulder. then he changes his mind and lies on his back, guiding you carefully until your head rests over his heart. then he wants your legs tangled together. then his forehead against yours. then your hand in his because, apparently that counts too.

between each adjustment, he kisses you. your temple. your cheek. the corner of your mouth when he misjudges and then looks so pleased with the accident that you kiss him properly. his lips are soft and slow, his hand cupping your jaw with that gentle seriousness he brings to everything he loves and doesn’t fully understand yet.

“you’re very affectionate tonight,” you whisper.

his thumb brushes your cheek. “i am happy.”

oh. as simple as that.

you blink at him, suddenly too full of something warm and breakable. “yeah?”

“yes.” his gaze moves over your face with quiet certainty. “i like being here. with you. in soft clothing.”

a laugh slips out of you, small and wet around the edges. “that’s very romantic.”

“i intended it to be.”

you kiss him again before he can look worried about getting it wrong, and he sighs into it, hand spreading over your back, socks brushing clumsily against your ankle beneath the blanket.

later, when he settles on top of you again, lighter this time, face tucked back into your neck, you hold him there and feel him smile against your skin. he stays that way until your breathing matches his.

@bitchinwallaby requested ⠀ ݁⠀ 𓂂　 I crave for Castiel fluff, can you pretty please supply?I just want him to be happy and living in the bunker with reader. He should have comfortable clothes, right? No more stiff business wear. Just soft hoodies, comfy sweatpants, fuzzy socks. Mmmm. I want him to be a cuddle bug. He'll crawl on the bed and lay on top of reader with his whole weight, bury his face in their neck and just melt. Blissful. He'll move after a while, assume some other cuddle positions hehe, he wants to try them all. Soft touches for both him and the reader. And kisses, lots of kisses.

Part of moving out was to get rid of the confines that came with Chuck’s dedication to his faith. While Jimmy himself has never actually abandoned his faith in the pursuit of a higher education, it’s definitely taken a step to the left to make way for other things.

What wasn’t supposed to happen was for him to receive a call from Chuck asking to meet a girl back at home.

“She can be good for you, Jimmy. You’re both going after the same degree, she’s been at the church as long as you. You— you just need to meet her.”

As much as he doesn’t want to, Jimmy makes his way back home for the holidays in time for Sunday service. The state of the church reflects the people there: wealthy. Church bells chime at 8am and the masses rise in tandem with the sound. Jimmy’s in his best suit and tie, topped off with his trench coat to atone for the chill that accompanies the stone building. With his hair is styled and face clean shaven, he looks fresh. Clean. Put together.

Like a good little servant.

The morning ends with a reservation for breakfast at the tea house down the way. Jimmy stands around shyly, looking for a seat where he won’t have to speak to anyone— maybe a table with chatty old folk or a group that’s already well established.

He takes a seat at the first empty table he sees and throws his coat over the back of the chair, head down to look at the lightbulb reflecting off the plate. Then he feels a tap to his shoulder.

“Um, Jimmy?” You say gently. It’s hard to tell if he’s scared or in a bad mood.

He lifts his head. Jimmy’s nose is pink from the cold and he looks much more handsome in person.

“Hello.”

“Chuck sent me over here…he says we should meet?”

“Oh. You know my daddy?”

“Yessir.”

“I’m sorry.”

You giggle. “He’s a smart man, at least on paper. He wrote a letter to me about you.”

You sit beside Jimmy and pick up a menu. The table fills with random churchgoers and the soft chattering does something to ease the awkwardness of your first encounter. Jimmy doesn’t know what to say…you are pretty, and you seem smart, but the lifestyle that he lives would probably send you into a coma.

“He says we’re getting the same degree.” You add. “Religious studies. Chuck suggested I go back with you to take a tour of your campus. I’m looking to get my master’s too, and he says you put a lot of thought into where you wanted to study.”

Jimmy nods and gives you a shy smile.

He orders a pb&j, a tea, and a ginger ale. The food isn’t going to be the cheap grocery store quality he enjoys, but it does the trick. You order your own sandwiches and tea and Jimmy starts getting curious about what Chuck’s been saying about him. He straightens his posture and leans in towards you.

“Is that all he says about me?” Jimmy asks. When the tea arrives he drinks it with a splash of milk, stirring four times and tapping the spoon to the lip of the cup delicately. Going to fancy restaurants and keeping up appearances at home isn’t something he missed.

“He says you call sometimes, and that he’s surprised you showed up.”

Jimmy sighs. You seem so good-natured, it hurts knowing you’ve been tricked to think well of him. The sandwiches arrive soon after: dainty, finger sized things with the crusts cut off, served on cute ceramic plates and guaranteed to make you leave hungrier than when you arrived.

“I don’t think a campus tour would suit your tastes.” He replies honestly. “The culture is different from here.”

“You talk about it like I’ve never been let outside before.” You scoff.

“Some families are like that. Then you have to run away to discover what you enjoy, all on your own.” God knows Jimmy did, but he’s not sure of God approves.

“Mine isn’t like that.” You look Jimmy up and down. “I know what I like.”

Both of you stop to pray before eating.

Chuck’s mansion is decorated head to toe in gaudy decorations and religious decor like the words ‘church’ and ‘Tuscan’ were the only two descriptors he gave the interior designers. Jimmy is forced to stay at Chuck’s to ‘catch up with the community’— funny when Chuck hardly interacts with the community outside of the church— but Jimmy’s since retired to his room where his personal bathroom is connected.

The look that you gave him…there’s only a few others places he’s seen that look, and none of them were given while he was sober. Jimmy strips down to his pants and undoes his belt. Staring into the brass bathroom mirror, he splashes water on his face to get rid of the guilt.

He shouldn’t be thinking about people like that. A day without someone treating him like meat and he’s already aching for someone to grab him and do whatever they want until he’s purple all over. It only makes itself worse knowing his thoughts wander to a girl he’s just met.

He can’t help that it’s what he wants.

A smoke will get him in the mood for a distraction. He pops open the bathroom window, sits on the toilet, and takes in the mediocre taste of something pre-rolled. His frat brothers would’ve helped him out if they were here— a group to hold him down and coo in false sympathy while he’s whining for a hand on his cock.

Joint in his right hand, his left starts to rub the ache out. He feels light headed and happy, more like himself and less like Jimmy Novak. He lets the joint sit between his lips while he builds a steady rhythm rocking his hips against his palm. He whines, spreading his quivering legs in between deep breaths and long pumps like a desperate animal. He wants to go back to school.

“Unh…ah….shit….” It hurts to rub himself while dry, but it’s the only good pain he’s going to get until the holiday’s over. His head hangs loose on his neck and the smoke starts tangling in his hair. Jimmy’s never considered himself the sexually frustrated type, but he’s also never been away long enough to really know until now. When it hurts too much to keep rubbing dry he spits on his palm and keeps going.

What if Jimmy did take you on a campus tour? Do what Daddy wants from him by leading you around the nice parts of campus, take you to the cafe (for food worth actually worth eating), and introduce you to his brothers at Delta Psi-O. You wouldn’t have to know what he does at night, and Chuck might get off his case about coming back home to meet potential partners.

His eyebrows scrunch up and he squeezes his eyes shut. Blood rushes straight through his body at the thought.

He’s good. He’s so so good. He does what people ask of him and he’s so good for it.

It’s what people tell him at school at least.

The throbbing in his hand only grows when the joint in his mouth is gone. Fond memories flood back and he misses his real home. He misses Balthazar, he misses Gabriel, he misses the strangers that don’t mind when he’s gross, he misses—

“Jimmy?”—

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You push the door open and see Jimmy sitting on the toilet lid shirtless. His pants are on but the zipper is wide open, doing nothing to cover up the mess he just made in his hands. His eyes blow wide and he looks around in confusion like a helpless animal. He can barely choke out a sentence:

“Y-you’re not supposed to be here.”

Why aren’t you going away? Why are you just standing there? The whole room reeks and he looks like he’s just run a marathon.

You swallow the gob of spit that forms in your throat, heat flushing your cheeks and ears.

“Jimmy?”

Jimmy whimpers a bit. At this point people would be calling him Castiel and ripping off the rest of his clothes. “Y-yeah?”

You wave the smell of smoke away from your nose to no avail. Chuck was right when he wrote about Jimmy being suitable as a partner— but he probably wasn’t thinking about this side of it. Jimmy’s sweating bullets knowing at any moment she could run downstairs and tell the whole world that he’s a disgusting pervert. He wipes at the snot and sweat on his upper lip waiting for an answer.

“Can I help?”

Jimmy’s whole body convulses in shock. He’d cum again if he wasn’t putting all his energy into holding himself back. You shut the door and sit on the lip of the bathtub in front of the toilet, watching his poor attempt at saving face. When Jimmy can finally calm down, he sits still like he’s waiting for a command.

“Help…?” He wines through gritted teeth. He can’t bear to look at you.

“I’m not touching you if that’s what you’re asking.” You laugh at the sight of him squirming. “Not there at least. I’m helping myself to a piece of you.”

All you do is watch. Make him sit in the uncomfortable quiet of his own soft panting, sweat and snot dripping onto the tile floor. He’d cum when you caught him in the act and you don’t feel inspired enough to let him finish twice.

Jimmy bites his tongue before he can tell you he thinks this is hot.

“I need to have a shower.” Jimmy finally spouts. “If you’re not going to do anything, I’d like to do that.”

You do think about it.

“Okay.” You get up, not without taking another long look at him. “When are you going back to school, Jimmy?”

“Um…tomorrow. Night.”

Your face softens. “Can you let me know if you change your mind about the campus tour? I know I don’t need your permission, but it would be nice for someone to give me a thorough overview of the whole place. And teach me about the culture, of course.”

You talk as if the position he’s in is something normal. Jimmy only nods and thanks you when you give him a towel.

“It was nice meeting you Jimmy.”

“…likewise.”

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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.

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