I cum (hahah get it?) with ideas
What about a fic where Castiel needs help w pin feathers/smth wing related and will only accept help from reader?
If you cant tell he’s my all time favorite character
I LOVE YOU AND UR WRITINGGG
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Castiel x Reader | moody convo, Cas is nude, flirting, foreplay, play fighting nicknames (Duck and Goose) | [16+ rec.]
Note: Love this, love you, love Cas…that’s all ! ! <33 🪼
Clothes cast aside a plush hotel bed, sparkles of early morning streetlights are all that light the room. Castiel flexes his back and his shoulders tense amidst his grip on the wooden headboard. You lay beside him, still dressed, eyes squinted in a half-asleep kind of peace. You got lucky with Cas: his friends preferred motels over places like hotels. But after meeting you, he developed a taste for the finer things in life— “precious things need precious housing” is what he’ll say despite your assurance that one night in a motel room won’t kill you. Getting him to believe you always felt like a wild goose chase, except a bop to his head didn’t have him running in circles.
You turn to Cas, reaching out to touch his sensitive back. “Mh…morning Goose. Why’re you up so early?”
His head slowly turns to look at you, back muscle flexing like a flinch despite his face frozen with stoicism. His back has loose feathers poking from the surface of his skin, like he’s holding back his wings from freeing. “It’s summertime. Good morning, Duck.”
You drag your nails down his back and he flinches again. You pull your hand away. “Did something happen?”
“Apologies.” Cas murmurs carelessly. “I’ve been preoccupied with distractions.” His tongue drags lazily over his bottom lip in a fit of uncomfortability rather than attraction and a low sigh escapes.
You force yourself to sit up to inspect closer. His face gives you nothing to assume. “Nothings going to get better if you don’t say anything.”
Cas shifts in his spot like he’s embarrassed by what he has to say. Most likely he’s trying to figure out how you’ll react to whatever he’s about to say— he likes to be perfect like that.
“Are these hurting you?” You glance back at the split and roughed-up feathers protruding from him. He groans a little, nose scrunching and head tilting aside. “So that’s why you’re grumpy…Sam or Dean didn’t help you while you were out?”
“I did not want them to.” He relaxes and you press your fingers on the tender flesh around his feathers, easing out yet another soft groan from the angel.
“Pruning is…an intimate thing. It’s a responsibility that I cannot place in the hands of boys as reckless as them.” He takes your hand and brings it to his cheek, moving his whole body to face yours. “I said I would only accept your assistance.”
You bring his face up close and kiss his nose, then his lips.
Suborn angel. As if managing him wasn’t hard enough, he’d found yet another standard to raise. “You’ve got a lot of attitude for someone who won’t get dressed this morning, Goose.”
“Humans often fail to meet my standard. I doubt being particular counts as attitude.” Castiel kisses back hungrily, tired eyes half-lidded in focus. “My clothes…segues into my secondary proposition—”
“—I know what you’re going to say.” You manage to blurt between his affections.
He suddenly stops and presses his forehead flat against yours. He’s a little sweaty from emotion, his cold, sterile, body smelling like wind and soil. “And?”
“I can help you. So long as you let me take care of this first— and you stay undressed.” You pull him forward, moving aside until he’s belly down on the mattress. His wings have started to show themselves by this point, and Castiel can finally begin relaxing. You haul yourself onto his lower back and straddle him, watching his wings twitch with excitement.
You thread your fingers delicately through the rough feathers, working your way up to the puffy redness of his skin. His wings flutter every time you pull out a feather and set it aside.
“I tend to stray away from revealing myself during molting season,” Castiel admits. “My appearance renders itself distasteful.”
You pluck out a particularly painful feathers and he sucks in air through his teeth. “You’re so particular about everything. You know I don’t care how crazy your wings look.”
“Good angels look presentable for their partners.”
“And how many angels have partners?”
Castiel impatiently wiggles beneath you, wanting an answer. You tug out another painful feather with a laugh. The angel buries his face into your pillow in an attempt to look strong, arms tense from holding the soft material against himself.
“Good angels stay still during preening.” You stick a feather in his hair, and his hips stiffen.
“I am a good angel.” He murmurs, just short of a whine. The combination of your scent on the pillow and the warmth of your voice is just too much. You know what’s going on in that thick skull of his, and you plan on making the most of it.
“I know you are.” His hair becomes a victim of your sweet affection, getting combed and pet while the swelling on his wings diminish. A heavy, earth-felt shudder runs up and down him— he’s caught on. “You’re so good.”
“Ducky…” he takes a breath, everything smelling like you and forcing the blood to rush through him faster.
He tries to sit up and you push him back down. “Ah ah- you asked me for help and now you’re getting it. If we stop now, then your wings are all you’ll be complaining about today.”
“Mh.. but my proposition—”
You pick out the last of the tattered feathers, all of them piled high at the foot of the bed, ready to be trashed. The swelling on Cas’s back has gone down and he’s calmer than before.
“How do you feel?” You push your hips forward and rub against his back teasingly. You know the second your hips lift from his back that you’ll be under him, receiving his thank you for carrying out something as sensual as the last half hour. So until then it’ll be nice to hear him speak.
“…Good.” He hums simply. “I regret relaying my preference for you however— I find it uncomfortable not being your carer.”
“It goes both ways, Goose.”
You lean down to give him a kiss: getting back a slow, erotic response incapable of being human. Your hands hold him down by the wrists and you settle higher up on his back. The sun is all the way up and street lamps start turning off.
“Duck…” Cas pants. “My proposition.”
“Had you lead with this action my feathers would’ve flown off naturally.”
“I don’t lie, Ducky. …Can we do this at every hotel we visit?”
“Hm.. sure. I love you too much.”
“That concept doesn’t exist.”
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