not that bad

Attention Destiel lovers and authors: if you missed signing up for the Destiel AU Reverse Big Bang, now is your chance to still participate in this round of the event!

We have four art submissions still looking for an author. You can view the pieces available in the Claims Gallery.

Writers are expected to complete a story with a minimum length of 10,000 words, while artists will complete an additional art piece + title banner. Please review the bang's full schedule and rules, and if you're interested in claiming a piece, send the mod team a DM here on tumblr or email [email protected].

Be sure to include your discord handle when you message or email us, and if your claim is successful we'll send you an invite to our server.

Coming to you on September 14

Ningyo

Written by ani_ona with art by grandle @niceworkhuggybear

Rating: Explicit

Word count: ~10k

Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel 

Ships: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: No archive warnings apply, Established Relationship, (nearly) Human Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Emotional Sex, Post Canon, Case Fic, Growing Old Together, Angst, Humor, Canon-Typical Violence 

Summary: While on a retirement vacation in Hawaii, Dean and Cas unexpectedly stumble upon a case, even though they don’t hunt anymore. As a result, they will have to face not only a brutal, gruesome crime, but also their own insecurities, fears and buried emotions. 

Clint’s a shivering, dripping mess on the welcome mat that Steve had insisted on, sniffling pathetically as rain drips off the end of his nose.

“I know you’re still mad at me,” he says, before Bucky can even react, “you’re just the only guy I know who lives nearby.”

He’s clutching at his ribs, and there’s that moment of terror, ‘cos if there’s anyone in Bucky’s life that’ll get themselves killed by accident, probably saving some old lady from a mugger or some other horrendously noble shit, that person is Clint goddamn Barton. There’s a tiny squeaking, though, a shifting movement, and a tiny bedraggled ginger kitten pokes its head out of Clint’s zipped sweatshirt.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bucky says, blankly, and scrubs a hand across his face before hopelessly stepping aside.

Clint doesn’t go further than the entry, rainwater spattering onto the newspaper that’s set there for Steve’s boots. Bucky holds out his hand, expecting Clint to strip off his soaked sweatshirt; instead he gets a handful of damp fluff and grumbles, its tiny accusing blue eyes hating on him for not being food shaped.

“The fuck am I supposed to do with this?” he asks, while Clint hauls off the outer layer of clothes, leaving him in a gray shirt that’s damp enough to cling to him, and Bucky’s mad at him, this is an important thing to remember. “The fuck am I supposed to do with you?” he asks, despairing.

Clint steps out of his shoes, and his sock’s got a hole in it in the heel, and Bucky turns around and heads straight for the bathroom because he’s mad, okay. He pulls a towel off the heater and coils it into a nest for the kitten, then grabs another for Clint, turning to find that the man’s followed him in, that he’s close enough to touch.

“You need to remind me why I’m angry at you,” Bucky says, his eyes flicking between the rainwater beaded on Clint’s eyelashes and the bitten-red of his lips.

“I - er -” Clint says, his pupils wide and dark and his voice low.