all the destiel

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for @profoundnet​‘s 100 word challenge.

     Weight braced by the ropes that bind, Dean allows himself to give in. To descend. To fall with dirty fingernails anchored against Cas’s chest. In return: the most gorgeous music. He’s fucked to Zeppelin a hundred times or more, but the chords and riffs he pulls from the angel are more precious, more beautiful. 

     He descends into the moment, headfirst, a swan dive. Plunges into water, comes up drenched in sweat and shivering in pleasure as clothed hips grind desperately against his companion’s cock. This, and this, and this. Just so. Fingers curl into the rope, wrists tug at his restraints. He remains bound, shackled to his high, and to his love.

     To give. All of himself. His everything. Arms above his head, just as Cas had asked. He can be good, too, from time to time.

for @profoundnet​‘s 100 word challenge.

      You remember huskin’ corn down in Indiana. Dad was gone a lot that year. Job didn’t pay for shit, but helped you get by when the money was tight. And money was always tight. 

      You spent fifty cents tryin’ to win your pops a watch out of one of those claw machines. You don’t say ‘I love you’ in families like yours. Practical gifts are permitted. A bottle of beer, a candy bar from the grocery store, given’ your kid brother the last bowl of Lucky Charms.

      You didn’t win the watch. You won a medallion instead with an angel on it. Said ‘angels are watching over you’, same thing your mom used to say before she died. You tossed the coin in the river. Used it to make a wish. The angel hears you, but it’s not your time yet. The world isn’t ready for you.

for @profoundnet​‘s 100 word challenge.

     He’s a star, and you’re his satellite. He’s lost, somewhere out in the vastness of the universe, and you’re sending signals to find him, never knowing if they’ll reach him. They are prayers and they are desperate.

     Your hands bleed from wringing them, and from clawing at the Earth to demand he comes back to the home he never knew he had. The one with you. The one where you erase the last few chapters, and when he tells you he loves you, you say it back. When they wrote your story, you always knew it would be a tragedy, but you’d hoped they’d spare him the same.

     Breaker, breaker, one, two…

     Breaker, breaker, one, two….

- the stolen century

Tonight is one such night, his thoughts a jumbled mess. Watching the stars has always calmed his mind, and tonight is no different.

Castiel loses track of how long he stays there, deep in his own mind, until the silence is broken by careful footsteps.

“Thought I’d find you up here,” Dean says quietly as he sits down.

To Hold In Your Hands (T, 6k)

Castiel has never wanted an angel.

He does just fine on his own, has for a long time—since he was old enough to hold a shotgun and make a salt circle. He’s proud of what he’s been able to achieve without angelic help, and the longer he can keep hunting solo, the better.

But judging by the summons he’s just received to the Men of Letters’ bunker, his time is up.

He can’t avoid his future angel partner any longer.

(aka. five times that Dean saves Castiel’s life, and five times that Castiel slowly learns angels aren’t as bad as he’d thought)

reverse!verse, angel dean, hunter cas, enemies to friends to lovers, hurt/comfort