Sweet Like Cinnamon~

“You never had to learn?”

“No. Fortunately, Jimmy Novak was already wearing his tie. I don't remember if I had ever taken it off.”

“Hm,” you hummed, thinking back. “No, Angel, I don't think you ever did. It surprised me when you came one day without it. It was like seeing an entirely different person.”

Castiel smiled, handing you the tie. “I think you're exaggerating.”

“Maybe a little bit.” you winked.

To say you had more practice with ties than Castiel did was a vast understatement. Growing up hunting, your dad and Dean would usually pose as FBI and, for some reason unknown to you, chose to go the formal route with clothing—suits, ties, the whole ordeal. Dean even bought his own cufflinks one time.

With that, you were made to learn how to tie... well, ties by the ripe age of seven. Dad always said it was necessary and important to know. Which, thinking back on it, was ridiculous, because he never learned until your seventeenth birthday, and Dean still hadn't learned. Sam could do perfectly well on his own.

At the rate the four of you were going, hunting every free second you had, you've started keeping stocks of already knotted ties in a bedroom drawer. Dean said it was unnecessary and a waste of good practice. You still don't know what he meant by that.

And, some way, Castiel seemed to have found the one tie you've forgotten to knot.

“C'mere,” you gestured, climbing on top of a desk in the corner of your room. “Stand between my legs.”

Castiel did as told, because he always listens to you, and placed his hands on your legs. You wrapped the tie around his neck, pulling him close, making his wings twitch. “I think I quite like this position.”

You laughed. “Yeah?”

“Hmm,” he pretended to think, inching his way a little closer, just as you finished up tying the knot. His hands moved up and gave the outside of your thighs a squeeze. “Yes, honey, I believe I do.”

“Gosh, Cas,” you whispered, stifling another laugh. “You sure know how to talk all sweet.”

He was closer now. You could feel his breath on your lips, and it was almost as if you could feel his grace humming beneath his vessel. It was intoxicating.

Your hand slid back up, gripping just below the knot of the tie and pulling him harshly towards you, straight into a breathtaking kiss. Below the sound of Castiel grunting into your lips from the force, there was a distinct ripping sound.

“I think,” you sighed, pulling away. Cas moved a hand to your neck, stroking your cheek with his thumb as he watched you with content. “We may have popped a stitch.”

“We? May have?”

You smiled. “Hush. Luckily I have some more in a drawer. I hope you didn't love this one...”

“I think I can get by without it.”

♌︎ 𝖑𝖊𝖔

7 / 12 ⭑ your warmth draws him in, but your drama occasionally makes him stare into the middle distance for help. ๋࣭ ⭑ cas likes your loyalty. he likes your courage, your generosity, your way of making people feel chosen. the issue’s that you can be a little theatrical, and cas doesn’t always know when he’s supposed to respond seriously or simply let you sparkle. you call him “angel” with flair, and he takes one long, grave pause before saying, “yes. that is accurate.” you adore him. he’s trying his best.

♍︎ 𝖛𝖎𝖗𝖌𝖔

1 / 12 ⭑ you make sense to him: precise, helpful, observant, and quietly devoted. ๋࣭ ⭑ cas loves useful people. not in a cold way—in the sense that he understands love when it becomes action. you notice details, organize chaos, research thoroughly, correct mistakes before they become disasters, and offer care through competence. he’d trust your judgment quickly because you don’t waste words. you say what you mean. you fix what you can. to cas, that kind of devotion is practically holy.

♎︎ 𝖑𝖎𝖇𝖗𝖆

5 / 12 ⭑ you make human interaction look graceful, and cas studies you like a field guide. ๋࣭ ⭑ cas likes the way you move through people. you can soften a room, calm an argument, charm a witness, and somehow make everyone feel less strange. he doesn’t fully understand the mechanics, but he respects the result. you teach him social cues without making him feel stupid, and that earns you a special kind of trust. he may still answer your teasing compliments with alarming sincerity, though, so proceed carefully.

♏︎ 𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖎𝖔

6 / 12 ⭑ he trusts your depth, but he isn’t fooled by how much you hide. ๋࣭ ⭑ cas sees the shadows in you and doesn’t flinch. that’s why you work. he likes your loyalty, your intensity, the way you don’t waste affection on people who haven’t earned it. but he also knows when you’re testing him, and cas doesn’t always enjoy emotional traps disguised as silence. still, if the world turned ugly, he’d trust you to stay. maybe not softly. maybe not easily. but fully.

♐︎ 𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘

11 / 12 ⭑ he likes your spirit, but you make him deeply concerned for traffic laws, sacred objects, and general consequences. ๋࣭ ⭑ cas admires your freedom. he does. you remind him that choice can be joyful instead of only painful. however, you also keep saying things like, “what’s the worst that can happen?” and cas has seen the worst. repeatedly. with paperwork. he enjoys your honesty and your humor, but he may quietly stand closer to you on hunts because he doesn’t trust you not to touch the glowing cursed thing.

♑︎ 𝖈𝖆𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖓

3 / 12 ⭑ you’re controlled, reliable, and difficult to impress, which makes cas respect you immediately. ๋࣭ ⭑ cas likes that you take responsibility seriously. you don’t make promises lightly, and when you commit to something, you follow through. he understands duty. he understands restraint. he understands carrying too much because somebody has to. the two of you might not be emotionally fluffy at first, but there’s trust. quiet trust. the kind built through showing up, not talking pretty.

♒︎ 𝖆𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘

8 / 12 ⭑ you intrigue him because your mind works strangely, and cas has a soft spot for strange things. ๋࣭ ⭑ cas doesn’t mind that you’re different. honestly, he may prefer it. you ask odd questions, challenge assumptions, and look at the world sideways enough that he feels less alien around you. the problem’s emotional distance. when you detach, cas may not know whether you need space, comfort, or an exorcism. still, he appreciates your independence. he just wishes human feelings came with clearer instructions. same, babe.

♓︎ 𝖕𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖘

12 / 12 ⭑ he’s moved by your empathy, but worried you’ll let the world take too much from you. ๋࣭ ⭑ cas likes your kindness. deeply. but he also sees how easily you blur the line between compassion and self-sacrifice, and that hits a nerve for him. you want to save everything. every ghost, every victim, every broken person with sad eyes and a tragic backstory. cas understands that instinct too well, which is exactly why it worries him. he’d be gentle with you, protective even, but liking you would come with a lot of concern and one very serious angel stare.

♈︎ 𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘

9 / 12 ⭑ you confuse him, alarm him, and earn his respect in the same five minutes. ๋࣭ ⭑ cas likes your bravery, but he doesn’t understand why you keep choosing violence as a first language. you say, “i’ve got this,” right before doing something deeply unsafe, and he watches with that severe little squint like he’s trying to decide whether this is courage or poor survival instinct. still, you’re honest. you act when people need help. he trusts that part of you, even if he’d prefer you stop sprinting toward danger like it owes you money.

♉︎ 𝖙𝖆𝖚𝖗𝖚𝖘

4 / 12 ⭑ you feel calm to him, and cas is quietly fascinated by how steady you are. ๋࣭ ⭑ you don’t rush him. that matters more than you realize. cas likes how grounded you feel, how you can sit with silence without making it awkward, how you offer practical care without needing a dramatic reaction. you’d hand him a cup of coffee, remind him to rest, and not laugh if he took your advice too literally. he finds your stubbornness confusing, yes, but familiar. angels aren’t exactly famous for flexibility either.

♊︎ 𝖌𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖎

10 / 12 ⭑ you make him curious, but you also make him feel like he has missed four conversations happening inside one conversation. ๋࣭ ⭑ cas likes your mind. truly. he just needs a moment. you jump from topic to topic, joke too fast, flirt in a way he may or may not recognize three hours later, and ask questions that make him tilt his head like a confused bird of prey. he enjoys you more than he understands you. unfortunately, you also keep saying things that aren’t literal, and cas is one double entendre away from needing sam to translate.

⊹ she likes taking you for early walks behind the roadhouse, when the air is crisp and bites gently at your cheeks, turning her nose a blooming pink. grass sways dull green in a hush. she'll tell you about the dreams she had last night and gives you a chance to greet the day at your own pace.

"we had a dog in my dream," she murmurs. "hm. we should really get a dog, i think."

when you head back inside, she brews you a thermos of tea and kisses light at your shoulder as you drink.

⊹ after a long, exhausting, anxiety-riddled day, she invites you readily across her body in bed, coaxing your face to her chest. she'll stroke down your hair and whisper reassurances in an attempt to ease your mind.

"we're okay," she says, fingers sweeping the length of your arm. "s'okay, and tomorrow will be a heck of a lot better, baby. i'll make sure of it."

⊹ patience is a trait she only ever displays with you. she never gets frustrated or snappy when you're having trouble articulating a reason for feeling anxious and doesn't invalidate you for not having one. she'll sit with you, rub tenderly up your spine as you breathe, and won't judge one bit.

"y'don't have to talk," she assures. "not unless you want to. okay?"

"don't need a reason to feel this way. i'm staying, angel."

You’d been on your laptop a bit too long, the past half hour spent searching questions about angels. How to care for them, how to make them happy. You’re doing your due diligence on account of Cas’s silence in regard to his needs.

“Do angels like their wings touched?” — search.

It must’ve sounded too much like caring for a bird, as the article headlining your search is about that very thing. It catches your eye and you move your mouse to the link.

Click.

Do birds like being pet?

“When petting your bird, avoid rubbing or petting under their neck. This area can trigger mating behavior and make them view you as a potential mate, leading to sexual frustration, especially during their hormonal season. Birds have their sexual organs located in their back and under their wings.”

You wonder if it’s the same for angels. The article has to be linked for a reason.

Walking past Castiel later in the day, you slyly rub your hand against his back. The shiver that runs up his spine is instant— and frustrating. His shoulders heave, eyes bursting wide with want, picking up on your invitation and ready to accept. Before he can reach out to grab you, you’re already gone.

The article was right.

You do it again and again: gentle pats, back massages, small strokes to his wings, taunting the tent in his pants that forms every damn time. He wants you so badly but you won’t give it to him without a tease. It feels as inhumane as it is hot. Cas knows it too.

But one thing you forgot to read on that article are the consequences to sexually frustrating a creature.

“If your bird starts seeing you as their mate, they may become aggressive, regurgitate food, pluck their feathers, or scream loudly.”

The next time you try to feel up Castiel’s wings, he makes sure you can’t walk away. Cas picks you up by the arms and throws you to the floor. You land painfully face up, only for him to grip you by the neck and flip you over. He mounts quickly, animalistic in nature, and aggressive in character.

“N-no. No more. You asked for this. You wanted this!” He roars. “Take your clothes off.”

You gasp for air.

“I said take them off!”

You hands fumble the buttons on your top, while Cas takes his own shirt and coat off. Once you’re naked, he makes haste to knot his tie around your hands.

“What garbage on the computer gave you the idea that your actions were acceptable?” He’s straddling your prone body, leaning forward until his head is against the ground beside yours. He looks at you for a serious answer, but not a word can be formed at the sight of his shrunken pupils.

Castiel can hardly control his emotions. You’ve been casually jacking him off for days, all of that foreplay leading up to this very moment. He exhales shakily through his nose, consuming your body with his wings and pushing himself in with no hesitation. You gag from how full you feel, trapped under a ruthless mating press. It could be 200, even 300 pounds of pure muscle, changing pressure from your lumbar to your shoulder blades as his wings flap angrily to steady you.

Everything is hot and sticky and reeking of sex, Castiel spilling out days of pent-up frustration that you caused.

“Do you feel good about yourself?” He moans, finally falling limply next to you amidst a searing orgasm. He pulls the knot and frees your arms. A wing drapes your body and a pile of tar colored feathers coat the floor around you.

It’s impossible to say a word. All you can muster up is enough energy to stroke the wing covering your used-up body.

“I see.” Castiel murmurs, climbing onto you once more. “You didn’t learn your fucking lesson.”

the room’s dim, lit only by the lamp on your nightstand and the weak strip of hallway light under the door. the bunker’s quiet for once. you’re sitting on the edge of your bed with castiel standing between your knees, coat already discarded over the chair, tie loose, hair a little messed from your fingers. he’d kissed you until your thoughts went soft around the edges. until you forgot to be careful.

then your shirt rode up.

his eyes had dropped to your stomach, to the light brown stretch marks curving over your skin, and your whole body had remembered itself too quickly.

“sorry,” you say, reaching for the hem.

castiel catches your hand before you can pull the fabric down. “why are you apologizing?”

you huff out a laugh that doesn’t really make it. “i don’t know. habit, i guess.”

his brows draw together. upset in that castiel way. as if the world has given him another human rule that’s both cruel and unnecessary, and he’s deciding whether to personally argue with it.

“you believe this is something to hide.”

you look away. “cas.”

“answer me.”

“it’s not—” you stop, annoyed with yourself, with the heat rising in your face, with how stupidly vulnerable it feels to be looked at by someone who never learned how to look casually. “my skin isn’t smooth. it’s not even. and i know you don’t care, but i care sometimes, which is embarrassing.”

castiel is quiet for a moment. then he kneels. your breath catches because he does it slowly, reverently, hands settling on your thighs as if he has all the time in creation and wants to spend all of it right here. his gaze lifts to yours first, asking without words.

you give him a small nod.

he pushes your shirt up a little more, careful enough to make your throat tighten. his fingertips touch the stretch marks on your stomach, tracing one pale-brown line and then another, following the soft paths over your skin as if they aren’t interruptions but details. important ones.

“these are part of you,” he murmurs.

you swallow. “yeah. unfortunately.”

his eyes sharpen, gentle but firm. “not unfortunately.”

he bends his head and presses his mouth to one mark, then another, the kisses slow and warm and so lacking in hesitation that your body doesn’t know what to do with it. your hand drifts into his hair, not pulling. just holding on.

“cas,” you whisper.

“your body has carried you,” he says against your skin. “changed with you. protected you. endured with you. i don’t understand why that would make it less beautiful.”

you close your eyes.

the praise should make you want to hide more. somehow, from him, it doesn’t. it settles low and deep, a little too tender to brush off with a joke.

his hands move over your hips, your waist, the soft fullness of your stomach, never once avoiding the places you expect him to skip. he touches you with open palms, with patience, with something almost devotional in his face when he looks up at you. not hungry in a careless way. hungry with attention.

“there’s nothing wrong with the way you look,” he says, and his voice is so steady it almost makes you angry, because part of you wants to argue and part of you wants to believe him so badly it hurts. “not here.”

his thumb brushes over your side.

“not here.”

another kiss, lower on your stomach.

“not anywhere.”

your eyes burn, and you laugh a little because crying during foreplay feels… very you, actually. “you’re making this really hard to be insecure about.”

castiel’s mouth softens against your skin. “good.”

you look down at him, at the serious line of his face, at the blue of his eyes gone dark with tenderness, and for once you don’t reach to cover yourself. you let him look. you let him touch. and when he rises to kiss you again and his hand is still spread over the marked softness of your waist, you almost believe your body was never asking for forgiveness in the first place.