i always come when you call

through heavenly battles

on every hunt

at roadside diners where…

if he sits at the right angle

the plug gets pushed up against his prostate, rubbing with just the right amount of pressure

and the silky blue thong can barely contain his quickly hardening cock

until finally dean notices his pink cheeks and how he’s squirming in his seat and makes an excuse to go to the men’s room

cas meeting him there not a minute later and getting pushed up against the door in seconds

dean dragging him to the sink counter by his tie, growling in his ear to “bend over” and tugs his pants down to his ankles

the cold air hits his bare ass cheeks for a moment of reprieve but then dean’s pulling aside the thin strap of the thong and sliding the plug out slowly

pressing his hard cock against the cold porcelain sink is the only thing cas can do to keep from coming right then when dean replaces the plug with his own thick cock, bottoming out in one thrust

neither of them last very long, not with dean pounding into him from behind and cas whimpering at every slap of ball against his ass

but it’s only when their eyes meet in the mirror in front of them that they finally find their release; cas spurting stripes of come over the sink and his shirt, dean spilling deep inside cas

dean gives him a second to breathe before pulling out and sliding the plug back in to keep his come “where it belongs” 

cas, breathless and shaking from the aftershocks, tries to pull his slacks back up but dean gets their first, hoisting them onto his hips and doing them up gently before pulling him into a soft kiss, his hand carding soothingly through cas’ hair

Only Dean has ever made his heat feel like this. Has him wanting to roll around in his alpha’s come, burying himself in that scent until it was so ingrained into his skin that people would believe that there never existed a Castiel without a Dean. 

It is more than the mating bond or the pheromones of his heat. This is all Castiel. He craves this stretch and burn of being used even when he is too proud and too anxious to ask for it. He obsesses over the feeling of Dean’s teeth on his skin, assuring him of his alpha’s claim—sharp and animal and liberating. The neediness of it, his wanton moans and pleas, has Dean’s eye bleeding red over green in the space between two breaths. It turns him into this equally wild, animal thing. He meets Castiel’s every wish, anticipating the cloying sweetness of Castiel’s heat scent and making is so good for Castiel. 

there was a really hot gif on my dash and

Dean is Not a morning person. It’s okay, because Cas isn’t either, and most of their mornings are spent in mutual grumbling, swearing, and groaning. The campus store Cas works at opens at six, and Dean has to be into work by seven, so there’s not really much time for….extracurricular activities in the mornings.

Except for today. It’s one of those clichéd Lazy Sundays, where the light streams in through the cracks in the curtain and, like an asshole, wakes Dean up before nine a.m. He’s about to roll over and go back to sleep when he spies Cas next to him, sleeping just as deeply as he always does.

He’s never really taken the time to appreciate Cas in the mornings, too distracted by the fact that it’s five in the morning what the fuck, but now that Dean’s looking, Cas is beautiful. His long eyelashes rest against his cheeks, his hair strewn across his forehead and down into his eyes, and his lips, chapped and pink, are open ever so slightly. Cas’s brow furrows momentarily and he shifts, but he doesn’t wake up. Dean can feel himself smiling as his hands find Cas’s hips under the duvet, feeling the soft material of his own worn t-shirt covering Cas’s skin.

cas’ thick thighs bracketing dean’s soft hips 🙊

cas grinding and bouncing so good that his cock keeps slapping his soft tum 🙊

dean reaching for cas’ cock but cas slapping his hands away and shaking his sweet flushed sweaty face, dropping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut bc every nerve ending feels exposed and raw and on fire right now and cas just wants to chase this feeling for as long as he can 🙊

he’s reached that final stretch, that last whistle drop before the explosion, every roll of his hips hitting him just right yes dean and it’s like his entire long existence is being carefully whittled down by dean’s hands and dean’s mouth and dean’s dick and dean’s love into very specific, small points of sensation and emotion and it’s so close to being too much that cas’ eyes are wet with it, with what he’s sharing with dean, with what he feels 🙊

it’s hearing dean’s own overwhelmed pants, feeling dean’s reverent touches, that bring disbelieving grunts and soft moans from cas’ mouth 🙊

knowing that dean is deriving pleasure from this - is enjoying bonding in this vulnerable, carnal way with him - making cas fall out of rhythm 🙊

for @nestingangels, my cas-in-crop-tops princess || 1.2k of bottom!cas filth

The ancient window air conditioner broke three weeks ago, right at the end of the last heat wave at the end of July. Dean, certain that the worst of the summer heat was over anyways, never bothered to fix it. Since both of their student budgets meant buying a new one was out of the picture, their twelfth-story downtown apartment burns as hot as a fucking sauna as temperatures skyrocket in the middle of August, and Kansas City breaks a new record for hottest day of the summer.

Today, they’ve been trying to keep cool in other ways. A solitary fan oscillates back and forth, blowing warm air around the tiny studio apartment. A lime green cooler full of ice, popsicles, and beer sits closed on the kitchen counter. Most notably, however, they’ve been walking around in as little clothes as possible since they woke up, which is likely what brought them here:

Dean’s sweaty ass sticking to the leather couch that Naomi Novak kindly offered up for a small fee as their move-in present, and said-woman’s youngest son riding his dick in nothing but a blue crop top with “PIZZA” written across the chest.

they can’t stop touching each other, watching each other, eyes wide and hands worshipful as the weight of what they are doing settles over them.  it’s never just sex with them, of course, but there’s something particularly special about this.  they breathe as slowly as they move, hips rolling and breath ghosting over each other’s mouths.  they’ll have a family soon, a new life growing when they both thought themselves capable only of destruction.  but that’s part of what’s so profound, isn’t it - they are always proving each other wrong.

dean’s eyes are the first to wet.  he squeezes them shut, buries his face against cas’ neck, and cas’ throat feels thick, suddenly, as he clutches at the broad stretch of dean’s shoulders and feels the muscles there flex and move as he fucks into him.  cas presses his face against dean’s, holds him tighter and whispers (”please,” perhaps, or “i need you” - or maybe just “dean,” that one word always so heavy and expansive from his mouth).  castiel is still new to this, at feeling without fear or barriers or distance, but dean, as always, gently guides him, hushes him and holds him and loves him until the feelings start to melt and build and overwhelm him spectacularly.

dean comes and cas finally cries.  cups dean’s face in his palms and nods, again and again, though he isn’t sure what it is he’s agreeing to.  dean kisses him then, keeps moving and touching and kissing until cas is crying out too.

the fire is down to a faint flicker by the time dean is finally able to pull himself away.  they are both a sight - hair mussed and matted, faces flushed and relaxed, tired but so content.  cas turns to sleepily watch dean slide out from under their pile of patchy quilts, smiles when he hears dean hiss as his bare feet touch the cold floor.  dean fusses with the fire until he’s satisfied and is soon with cas again, curving around his back and pulling him back against him.  his hands resettle on the softness of cas’ stomach, touch as reverent and impatient as cas feels.

Castiel, Claire, Mary Winchester, past mpreg, vaguely medieval fantasy

The sound of horses in this part of the woods isn’t unusual, but as far as Castiel knows, the next hunt is weeks away. The Duke may be neglectful and distant, but he’s always let Castiel and the other guardians of the park know in advance before anyone is expected to pass through his land, if only to ensure that they will have supplies and food waiting for them as is necessary.

That Castiel can hear horses approaching now could mean that these are intruders, perhaps foolish marauders passing through, or even poachers. Castiel puts down the dough he’d been working on and stands up, quickly scanning the room for things that such thieves might want to take from his cottage. The firewood, perhaps, or maybe the spun wool, put aside for market day.

ok here it is proper and finished lolol…another commission for riseofthefallenone lmao sorry i’m taking so long with these TAT

Castiel can barely breathe. He’s nearly sobbing and his body is shaking. Tears drop from his eyes, sliding down the sides of his head and into the sheets he’s been sweating on for the last twenty minutes. No human being should be able to fuck for twenty minutes straight, but Dean hasn’t pulled out once. The thrusts have slowed, Dean has loomed over him and ground into his ass in circles, but his dick has been firmly in Castiel’s ass the entire time. 

The stretch feels so good, better than any toy or any dick he’s had from guys his own age. Young guys can fuck like rabbits, but this is so much better. It’s like he’s been hunted and Dean’s taking his time enjoying the kill. He’s going to die like this. The paramedics will find his eighteen year old body dead in a thirty-four year old’s apartment, covered in come and smiling about it. It’s not a bad way to go, all things considered. 

Dean’s hands go from his hips to the bed by his shoulders, caging him in. Castiel takes a deep, shuddering breath and lifts his legs higher up Dean’s sides. The change in angle makes Dean growl, and his arms begin to shake. 

“Fuck,” Dean grits out. 

He goes down to his elbows and starts slamming his hips against Castiel’s ass. Castiel whimpers and claws at Dean’s back, delighted in the hiss and the way Dean bites his neck.

“Gonna come, Cas.” Dean’s voice is thin and breathy, and Castiel wants to hear it like that again and again.

“Please. Inside me, please.” Castiel locks his ankles together behind Dean’s back. 

Two more hard thrusts and Dean stills inside him, his cock swollen and as hard as Castiel’s ever felt it. Dean pants and moans as he bathes Castiel’s neck in kisses.