normfii

⟢ his heart swells and flutters all in one, whenever you press close to him. he loves being a safe place for you, someone comforting and capable of being just as quiet. you'll sweep against his side, or tuck a hand over the crook of his elbow, and he's got to remember that human vessels have to breathe. it can be difficult around you.

⟢ whenever you do want to talk, however often that may be, he really is ready to listen. he wants to. he loves your voice, a pretty dulcet in his ears that he'd like to hear repeating. he'll sit while you stand between his legs, a gentle hand on your waist, just to say that he's present.

"i'm listening," he'll assure. "keep talking, please."

⟢ but silence is just as perfect. he loves to sit with you, lay beside you, read with you, all in that comfortable quiet. hold your hand, petal his fingers over your knuckles, give you this soft affection that helps to ease your mind.

"i enjoy this more than you know," he tells. "you're wonderful."

Crashing at a motel wasn't ideal but it'd be another fourteen hours to get home and Dean was insistent that he drive his car and no one else so, motel it is.

Though the life of a hunter isn't exactly cush, you never really enjoyed the whole sleeping in motels bit. It was hard enough for you to fall asleep in the comfort of your own bed where you had dozens and dozens of gimmicky (and not-so-gimmicky) sleep aids to help you fall asleep on your indulgently soft pillow top mattress, satin pillowcases, and weighted blanket. Motels, understandably, had none of that. Most mattresses were rock hard, and the abysmal quality of the sheets, blankets and pillowcases meant that what little sleep you could reliably get at home was little more than a pipe dream here.

Admittedly, this motel was pretty nice, Dean must've opened a new line of credit or something because the mini suite he'd put you all up in came equipped with two beds and a pullout sofa, a small kitchenette (equipped with a functioning stove and oven!), a dining nook that divided the open concept kitchenette from the rest of the room, and a bathroom that didn't have any suspicious stains in it (which was a low bar but one that was not consistently cleared).

In every sense, you should be overjoyed. You should make like Dean and be face down, passed out on the bed (still in his outside, nay, his hunting clothes, which was...something). You just needed to sleep for a few hours and then you'd be on the road again to meet up with Sam and then head home, that's all.

You kept repeating the words in your head like an unhelpful motivational speech as you stared blankly at the ceiling. It was nearly four and here you were, staring at the ceiling. You'd tried everything, closing your eyes, counting the same dumbass sheep, counting to the highest number you could think of (not that high, it's boring) and nothing worked. You chance a glance at Castiel, he's laying on the sofa bed, he's facing away from you, curled up in the same way that a fetus might in the womb. He let you have the bed, stating that it's more comfortable, but honestly, you would've taken the couch if only to spare him the discomfort of having to fit the length of his body onto a bed designed for those significantly shorter than he is.

The sight of him all curled up sleeping, brings to mind the argument you had with him just a few short hours ago. Some part of you is still upset with him but the rest of you is just tired, body aching and mind desperate for some sort of relief--a reset.

Mentally throwing in the towel, you get out of the bed--slowly and quietly, not that you'll think you'll wake either man, btu still--and make your way out of the room.

You're not quite sure where you got the habit from but on nights you can't sleep--that is to say most nights--you'd go for a walk to clear your head and hopefully tire yourself out. It never really worked but it was better than sitting in bed staring at the ceiling while waiting for the sun to rise. The only reason you'd stopped going for walks is because Castiel would keep you company whenever you couldn't sleep. You'd turn on the TV, set it to a random channel and the two of you would just talk. His dry wit and genuine confusion at the portrayals depicted on screen never failed to make you laugh and the angel had somehow managed to endear himself to you, finding a spot right in the brightest corner of your heart, snuggling up and basking in the warmth.

The mind is such a funny thing. It has such a succinct way of instilling guilt, brokering no room for misunderstanding as shame and embarrassment flow through your head at the reminder of the way you acted towards Castiel. With a sigh, you swore to apologize to him first thing, he probably wouldn't accept it knowing him but you still want him to know that you're genuinely sorry.

Your insomniac adventure takes you to the edge of the inner courtyard, you're at the set of rooms on the complete opposite side of the building from your room. You've passed a cropping of bird poop, a trash bag filled with what appeared to be a week's worth of food waste, and a nice pool/jacuzzi situation on your way here. Your curiosity has rewarded you with the sight of an ice machine. Before you can assess whether or not your excursion was worth it, you hear the telltale sound of muffled footsteps approaching you. Ducking into the nearest hiding spot--a small alcove created by the overhang of the two connecting corner walls-- you pull out your weapon, a small hunting knife made from silver, as you mentally curse yourself for not bringing your gun.

The shadows peek around the corner, the light of the wall sconces outside each room isn't nearly bright enough to give the shadow of the figure a distinct impression. Just as you're getting ready to drive a knife into the kneecap of whoever comes around the corner, a familiar voice calls out your name.

"Are you there?"

Your posture instantly loses it's rigidity, you relax--partially in relief and partially in confusion-- what the hell was he doing here? "Cas? What are you doing up?"

Lo and behold, who should round the corner but Castiel, looking a bit more disheveled than usual. He's forgone his usual trench coat leaving him in nothing more than his usual business slacks and a button down shirt missing it's tie and with two buttons undone. His hair is mussed from what you're certain is sleep though he lacks the distinct tired look in his eyes that someone fitfully woken from sleep would have.

"I sensed that your presence was no longer in the hotel room so I came looking for you."

"Oh."

The two of you stand there for a moment, lacking the words to continue the conversation leaves you both off-center and awkward.

"Were you craving ice?" "I'm sorry."

The both of you go silent again, beginning the back and forth repartee of deciding who gets to speak first.

"I'm serious Cas, you can go first."

"I was wondering if you had a sudden craving for ice again. Though I don't believe this hotel has bubble ice, which if I remember correctly, you have declared as the superior ice shape."

The serious consideration with which he assesses the ice machine behind you combined with his mutterings about how he's "not sure how one arrangement of crystallized water molecules can be superior to another" cause you to let out an embarrassingly pitchy giggle.

The full force of his attention shifts to you at the involuntary sound and you cover your mouth in shame as your eyes widen in shock. It takes a few seconds for you to be sure that your body won't betray you again (well, any more than it already has) before you speak, "I'm sorry I don't know where that noise came from."

"Are you feeling well? That noise obviously came from you."

You choose to ignore his comment, "And also, I'm sorry for getting upset with you earlier."

"You do not need to apologize--"

"No, no, I do. You said no and you have your reasons", you struggle to meet his eyes, piercing a blue as they are, "I shouldn't have gotten all pissy with you just because I was jealous of vampires that got to have angel grade melatonin."

You hesitantly look back at Cas, fear of rejection restraining your movements more than anything, only to find the softest smile gracing his expression. "I'm not certain that 'Angel Grade Melatonin' would be approved by your government's Food and Drug Administration. Can you imagine the headache regulating it would cause?"

He lets the smallest of laughs escape. It's rough, unpolished and unrefined, as though it needs to be expressed more before deciding the kind of laugh it wants to be. The easiness in his expression (and maybe the slight bit of sleep deprivation) cuase you to burst into laughter too--whether it's at Castiel's joke or the idea of the US government trying to regulate angels--something about the moment bubbles up inside you and spills out, easy and free flowing like a fountain.

Castiel is insistent about you getting your ice, he claims that he wants to try it with you to try and understand the rationale behind your ice ranking, but honestly you think he just likes seeing you happy.

You've convinced him to roll up the legs of his slacks to dip his feet into the jacuzzi with you while you watch the sun rise. After a few moments a shuffling, trying to find the best spot to enjoy the jacuzzi (jets included!), the sunrise, and each other's company, you've settled on a position.

It's still dark, the slightest bits of pink have made their wispy entrance and the sky has shifted from the blackest blue to a deep purple in response. He calls your name, softly as to not disturb the moment, "Truthfully, I'm hesitant to put you to sleep using my grace for my own selfish reasons."

His blatant admission, catches your attention immediately and you scoot a bit closer to hear him better, keeping your eyes trained on him all the while. "I enjoy our late night talks, I'm not always able to be around nor am I always able to spend time with you", he pauses, thinking about the next word he's to say, "it's true that I'm hesitant because I'm not sure what effects my grace may have on you, but...when it's just the two of us late at night, I feel like I have all the time in the world with you."

The spot in your heart that's changed shape to make room for Castiel gleams impossibly brighter, almost burning in it's fervor. The dawn stretches into the sky, the tapestry of night tearing away readily to make way for daylight. The lights that illuminate the jacuzzi and pool are no longer as hideously green against your brown skin and Castiel is there. Like always, he's there; steady, soothing, calming, there.

You blink a bit slower as a yawn slips out, "'S ok Cas, 'm not mad. Know 'm great company."

"If you'd like, I can use my grace. It's a long drive and I doubt that Dean will bother you--I'll make sure he turns his music down."

"You'd do that f'r me?"

His brows furrow, a non-verbal "of course" in Castiel-ian--Castiel-ish?

You nod and in no time at all a sweeping calm runs over you. It's the most relief you've felt in years. You think you mutter good night to Cas at some point but honestly, his grace hits like anesthesia, a very disorienting blink and it's done sort of feeling.

The last thing you remember before completely surrendering to the world of dreams is a firm hold and a gentle sway, like the swaying cradle of a dreamy rock-a-bye lullaby.

Thank you for requesting anon! I hope you liked it, thank you to everyone else for reading, if you'd like to see more, please feel free to send me an ask.

Sam and dean hadn't noticed him, or if they had they hadn't made it known. Not that he minded, he was too busy staring at you.

when a gleam of light reflected from your chest it caught his attention, only for it to disappear seconds later, then re-appear again.

He was confused for a moment, wondering if you were human, if he had missed something, how could he have missed something?

But, before he could question it, you turned on your side, now facing him fully and it was then he realized that your chest wasn't glowing, you were not some supernatural creature.

You were wearing a necklace.

An angel necklace. It didn't look like one of course, not really. But he had seen the little statues humans put up for Christmas, or the one some brought with them to church every Sunday.

He couldn't be mistaken.

You were wearing an angel necklace.

After that, any time cas would pop in, he checked to see if you were wearing it. You always were. During research, during hunts, in your sleep. He was almost positive you never took it off.

The one time he brought it up to you was when you prayed to him. He showed up before you could even finish your prayer. He stood right in front of you and watched as you continued to pray, holding the charm on the necklace like it was providing some sort of comfort.

He made himself known, and took care of the problem playing your mind. Only when he was sure you were okay did he finally ask…

"What does it mean to you?"

You looked at him in wonder. His head was tilted to the side like it did every time he was trying o understand something human. "What does what mean to me?" You asked.

"Your necklace, it's an angel." He answered " Does it represent your faith?"

You looked down at the necklace laid against your chest. And back at cas, his expression was intense as if he was trying to understand its meaning before you told him.

You didn't know what to say, to be honest you weren't even sure why you wore the necklace, it was pretty, and it grounded you. And every time you touched it you thought of Cas.

"I guess" you answered with an unsure shrug.

"I wasn't aware you relied on faith." He said. You laughed to yourself. "It's not… like that. It represents my faith, but not in angels, not in heaven. It represents my faith in you" you reply quietly.

Cas blinked rapidly as if trying to understand your words. His eyebrows drew together "you have faith in me?" He asked "even after everything I've done?"

"We've all done bad things cas, doesn't make your heart any less pure."

cas looked stood up from his seat "it makes me… happy, that your faith is in me" he said before the sound of his wings fluttering softly and then he was gone. You blinked rapidly at the sudden departure of the angel.

"I think you just flirted with cas… that was definitely angel for telling someone you trust them"

"Go away Dean"

 Eventually cas came back around, he had apologized for his sudden departure and made no effort to flaunt the new bracelet on it. But you noticed because you always did.

His bracelet had two charms. A star, because he always noticed that at night you never failed to look up at the stars, and next to it was your initial.

When he caught you looking at the new peive of jewelry he leaned in close to you but not too close.

"I have faith in you too" he whispered with a small smile.

𖦹 ₊˚⊹⋆ Castiel handles you like a doll. He’s never done this before, and all he has as a guide is that brain full of cheap sex tapes. What he does know is that any good starting point is putting you on his lap while he lays back in bed. Angels are bulbs of light with no tangibility, so feeling your weight as you straddle him is orgasmic in itself. Grazing his fingers under your clothes, opening your mouth to stick his thumb in, and grabbing your hair by the roots, his touch is like exploring the functions of a new toy. The more comfortable you both get, the bolder he becomes. It’s your first time too, and he wants to make it right. Clothes get shed and fingers hook under panties, not stopping until he’s knuckles deep inside you. His toy has buttons to press, and damn it if he doesn’t find every one of them.

𖦹 ₊˚⊹⋆ Castiel can’t help it when his wings stiffen up. Like a boy in ill-fitted clothing, the body he’s wearing is something he still needs to adjust to. He hates being teased about his ‘wing boners’ when it happens— it’s so obvious, and it makes moving around or focusing impossible. Rubbing his back like a bird causes the horrible rush too, alongside loud groans and pleasure-filled wines. It does take a lot of wing rubbing to get him off though, making him restless and erratic when he can’t get off. Causing his sexual frustration does lead to extreme payoff though. As if all his sexual knowledge is suddenly unlocked, you don’t leave bed. Not until he thinks it’s sunk in that sex with him makes you a monster fucker.

𖦹 ₊˚⊹⋆ Castiel likes it when you can see what he's doing. Eyes are important. After all, he's been fucking you with them long before he got the chance to even hold your hand. He hates any position where he can’t see them, and will only compromise if there’s a mirror he can’t use to look at you. Understanding complex human emotions is already difficult. If you look hard enough, his fantasies of you might be visible through his pupils: your body enveloped in his dark blue bedsheets, quietly whimpering from how tired you are from being beneath him. He likes to imagine the day he makes you see stars— that when it happens, those stars you imagine will be the color of his eyes.

𖦹 ₊˚⊹⋆ Castiel is still learning— dirty talk isn’t his strong suit. Unless you find it hot to hear intense imagery of your own body painted by his words, it may be better to clasp a hand over his mouth. Suppose it takes time to understand that “your areolas are visibly pleasing” doesn’t land as well as something more sensually vulgar. What he’s also learned is his strength in comparison to you. The first time he’d ever been ridden, he grabbed your waist and pulled you up and down himself. It’s scary knowing how easy he could pick you up and throw you around with his otherworldly strength, and he uses it to his advantage from then on.

𖦹 ₊˚⊹⋆ Castiel makes up for everything with his oral fixation. Angels don’t need to breathe, which becomes very useful when learning how to navigate your body. He can practice kissing for hours, letting the “natural calling to the human body” draw him towards sucking and biting like he’s always known how to do it. When he gets his head between your legs? “It is of importance to create proper stimulation beyond methods of penetration. I believe you call it foreplay…”— He’s not leaving until he gets exhaustion gets the best of him. He loves keeping his face buried in you, nose nudging you softly in between lifting his head up to see your reaction. When it happens too often he insists you force his head down like the cheap pornstars he learned from, and to keep it there until you’re satisfied.

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