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thursdays-fallen-angel · 6 years

Note

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” For spn ship of your choice.

ghost hunting!au, hs!au, est.; 2.5k

(this turned out to be so much longer than I expected but?? oh my god??? thank you for prompting me to write this??!)

A single beam of moonlight falls across the broken wood floor, illuminating the dust motes in the air. Elsewhere in the house, some part of the foundation cracks and settles, and there’s the unmistakable sound of a small animal scurrying through the walls.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Cas hisses over his shoulder. He’s been in a constant state of disbelief since he was talked into it, and yet, here they are.

Creeping through an actual haunted house. In the middle of the night.

Hunting for ghosts.

Behind him, Dean laughs. It’s almost too loud in the otherwise-silent house, and Cas turns to glare at him, squinting against the light of Dean’s flashlight.

“Can you be quiet?”

Dean keeps his flashlight raised as he comes closer—a necessity for the camcorder he has in his other hand—but when he’s near enough, his face becomes visible beyond it. Unsurprisingly, he looks like he’s having the time of his life.

“Come on, Cas, we have to let the ghosts know we’re here!” He shifts his grip on his camera, but doesn’t once uncenter it from Cas’ scowl. “If we don’t bother them at least a little bit, why would they bother showing up? We’re doing this in the name of science, and that means we can’t hold back.”

“Now you’re talking out of your ass and you know it,” Cas says, which only results in pulling another laugh from his boyfriend. He turns back away (partly to hide the fact that his lips are twitching toward a smile) and shines his own flashlight through the gloom of the condemned house. They had entered across the back porch—a risky endeavor, considering the wood that makes it up is rotted almost beyond recognition, but since the front door is chained closed, the back door was their best option—which means they are now in the cramped remains of a sitting room. The ceiling is low and sagging, the walls are covered in graffiti and god knows what else, and across from them is an opening to another room filled with impenetrable darkness.

Cas hates it.

Damn Dean for convincing him to do this.

No matter how terrible the house is, however, knowing that he is on camera gives Cas an illusion of courage he wouldn’t have otherwise. So long as this is being recorded, he refuses to look like a coward.

He’ll still bitch, though, of course. He thinks he’s earned that right.

He shuffles forward across the uneven floor, careful not to put his weight on any one spot too quickly. Supposedly, the house has an unfinished basement where most of its horrors have been known to take place—and he is far from eager to see it. And judging by the splintered hole in the far back corner of the room, Cas suspects it’s far too easy to accidentally get there.

Dean follows on his heels, following Cas’ path exactly as it is slowly proven to be sturdy enough to support them. It seems like no time at all before they’ve reached the next room. It’s far larger than the first room, which is reflective of the size of the house (it’s practically a mansion), but also more than a little terrifying, considering the beam of Cas’ flashlight doesn’t reach the far wall.

Dean turns his camera into the never-ending darkness and lets out a low whistle. “Well, damn. That looks fun. You ready, babe?”

Cas takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders. “I hate you so much,” is all he says, and then he starts to walk.

Dean says smugly, narrating for the camera, “He loves me.”

Cas raises his free hand up to be level with his head and flips Dean off.

As they pick their way across the room, the darkness doesn’t become any easier to see through. Cas tries to make their path as straight as possible to the other side, but there turns out to be too much broken furniture and other assorted debris for that to be realistic. They go extra slow to compensate, Cas quietly pointing out dead animal carcasses and used syringes and needles as he steps around them.

At what Cas suspects is the halfway point across the expansive space, Dean clears his throat. “So, Cas. Ghost hunter extraordinaire. Hottest guy in school. Why is this house haunted?”

Cas sighs heavily, but decides to humor his boyfriend by recounting the local legend. He isn’t exactly a fan of the whole ‘talking to the camera’ thing, but, well. He knows it will make Dean happy. And since that’s the only reason he’s currently in this haunted house at all…

“This house,” he begins, louder than his gut instinct tells him he should be for the sake of being heard, “was originally on a plantation owned by one of the city’s founders. He was the first mayor, but only a few years after he was given the position, he and his family were killed in a fire that destroyed nearly half of the house.” He stops to kick a pair of empty beer cans aside, and eyes the camera. Even in the dark, Dean’s grin is blinding, his pride at the effort for dramatic tension clear. “It was suspected that his slaves were responsible for the incident, which means he almost certainly deserved it.”

Dean breaks into a coughing fit to cover a laugh. It’s a poor effort, and Castiel snorts his own amusement. Distracted now, neither of them attempts to continue walking.

“Is that all?” Dean prompts. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Cas shakes his head. “The house was rebuilt, and several families lived in it over the next hundred or so years. There was always a pattern of bad luck and early deaths, but the next worst thing to happen was Mordechai Murdoch. He was one of the first serial killers in the state. He kept his own daughters chained up in the basement until they died of malnutrition, and is believed to have killed at least fifteen other people, likely in this very house.”

At that exact moment, a gust of wind rushes around and through the house. The entire structure creaks and groans, and something upstairs shrieks.

Cas grits his teeth and tries to pretend that he did not startle in Dean’s direction—although they very much did jump together, as they’re now touching from shoulder to hip—but Dean, meanwhile, swears and swings his camera back and forth across the room. “Jesus Christ, did you hear that?”

Cas forces himself to huff, ignoring the blood that rushes in his ears. “It was just the wind, Dean—”

“No, you dumbass, not the wind!” Dean’s head is on a swivel, and for the first time since they pulled up to this godforsaken house, there’s genuine fear in his eyes. “There was something—”

Something scrapes across the floor behind them, prompting them both to spin. Their flashlights chase the sound, but as Cas can’t say he is surprised to discover, everything looks exactly as it had when they passed by a few moments ago.

Dean says, voice barely above a whisper, “What the fuck.”

Cas bites back a variety of I told you so’s, and puts a hand on Dean’s back. “We should keep going,” he suggests. It’s the absolute last thing he wants to do, but now going back toward their exit seems even worse than getting further in. They’ll see a bit more, let whatever the odd noise was clear out, and then make their escape.

Dean melts back into Cas’ hand and, thankfully, catches his logic. He visibly draws himself up, taking strength from his boyfriend’s touch, and then sets off in the direction they were initially headed.

They make the rest of the walk in a suffocating silence, the only sound being the creaking of the floorboards under their feet. It feels like a miracle when they finally reach the end of the room—and also incredibly relieving, since it means they are no longer out in the open—but unfortunately, what they find is less than reassuring.

Ahead of them are three, clear options.

There is a half-broken staircase leading up to the second floor. To the left is an opening to what seems to have been the kitchen. And then to the right, beneath the stairs, is a crooked door tagged in spray paint as ‘basement’.

For a moment, the two of them are utterly still. And then Dean turns his camera between their three options, then directs it back toward Cas’ face. All of his bravado has returned. “Rock paper scissors, winner picks where we go?”

Cas gives him a flat look. “No.”

Dean smiles, a bit of wicked amusement overtaking his residual fear from before. “Alright, then, so we’re in agreement that we’re going downstairs? The basement is where Old Man Murdoch hid all of the bodies of the people he killed, right? That sounds fun.”

“No,” Cas repeats. “I will not let us be murdered in a basement. And furthermore, I don’t trust any stairs in this place. We will be staying on this floor and not break our legs, thank you very much.”

Dean pouts, but from the way he huddles slightly closer to Cas, Cas can tell that his boyfriend isn’t truly upset with the decision. It’s subtle, but it unifies them enough that Cas feels slightly less horrified of what they’re doing.

Slightly. For the moment.

They advance into the kitchen where, as soon as they’re across the crumbling threshold, the temperature seems to drop significantly. It’s practically frigid in the room, and Cas tugs the zipper on his hoodie up a few more inches to combat it. He takes a few steps further into the room, wary of every shadow, and lets out a long breath as he steels himself.

His exhale fogs up in front of his face, impossible to miss thanks to the perfectly-aimed beam of Dean’s flashlight.

At that moment, the sound of footsteps reverberates through the ceiling above them. Cas’ breath catches, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Dean turn his camera upward, chasing the sound. They keep themselves completely silent as they listen; the footsteps seem to start further toward the front of the house, then pass directly over the kitchen en route to the back.

It feels like an eternity passes before the steps are no longer audible. When it happens, Dean reaches out and grabs the sleeve of Cas’ hoodie and whispers fervently, “Holy shit, there’s someone here! We have to get out of here, right the fuck now.”

Cas could not possibly agree with that statement more. Except—“Dean, I don’t think the next floor is sturdy enough to support anyone. Look at the ceiling, it’s rotten.”

Dean sweeps his flashlight across the ceiling like he needs to see the proof for himself, even though it should be obvious from the way the entire house is sagging and falling apart, then momentarily blinds Cas by turning both the light and the camera directly into his eyes. “But there’s someone up there!” he insists. “Don’t tell me you didn’t fucking hear that, Cas, that floor they were walking on was not rotten!”

Cas waves Dean’s flashlight away and blinks the brightness out of his eyes. “I heard it, Dean, but there’s no way—”

He cuts off with a strangled sound. He hadn’t been able to see it when he was blinded, but now that his eyes are readjusting to the darkness, he can make out a figure, standing over Dean’s shoulder.

As he stares at it, Cas feels the blood drain from his face.

It can’t be a person, it can’t, not in this condemned house where every sound is amplified tenfold and no reasonable human being should want to creep their way through it, anyway, and yet—

But of course, the alternative explanation for what is very clearly a humanoid figure standing right behind them isn’t exactly more reassuring.

“Cas? Babe?” Dean holds the camera on him, but for once, Castiel doesn’t even notice. “Cas, what happened?”

Cas’ jaw works silently, unable to form words. Eventually he settles on pointing, unable to get anything out beyond a choked, “Dean.”

Dean spins around, the beam of his flashlight swinging wide—and then he swears, and drops the camera to the floor. He scrambles to recover it almost immediately, while Cas grabs protectively at his elbow to steady him. The figure still looms, taller than them both and menacingly mysterious, and whatever it is they may be facing, he’ll be damned before they do it while separated.

Dean manages to pick the camera back up. The two of them press together, clutching at one another, and when they raise their flashlights up again, they see a flash of an angry, half-formed face with burning eyes.

And then just as quickly as he appeared, the man is gone.

“Where’d he go?” Dean demands. He starts to step forward, but only stops because Cas keeps a hand locked tight around his elbow. “What the fuck was that? Was that—?”

There are more footsteps upstairs, a rush of them this time, and what sounds like someone banging their fists against a closed door. First it sounds like it could be the chained-up front door, then it sounds like it’s echoing up from the basement, and then in an instant, Cas realizes exactly where it’s coming from, and a cold chill runs down his spine.

“The basement door.”

Dean looks at him, horror in his eyes.

All around them, the house only gets louder. There are footsteps, banging against the door, and thanks to a return to the wind, an inhuman shrieking sound that fills every room. Cas stands rooted in place, utterly terrified, heart in his throat.

Beside him, Dean says, “Fuck it.” He throws down his flashlight, grabs Cas’ free hand with his own, and yanks him along to sprint out of the house, back the way they came. They pay no attention to the hazards they were so careful about on their way in, and pass by everything else that is now happening without a second glance.

When they break free of the house, Cas swears that fresh air has never felt so good in his lungs.

They don’t stop running until they’ve reached Dean’s car, parked a hundred or so yards away from the house. Their hands remain linked while they collapse against the hood and pant for breath, a reassuring point of contact now that they should be safe.

When they’ve recovered, their hands slip apart. Dean still has his camera in his other hand, and though he lifts it back up in an obvious attempt to act like nothing is wrong, there is a haunted look in his eyes, and his had trembles just slightly.

“So, uh. Cas.” Dean clears his throat and glances over his shoulder toward the house, now gone quiet. “I’d say that went… well. Wouldn’t you?”

Cas drops his face into his hands and laments, “Why can’t any of our dates just be normal.”

#profoundnet #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel ficlet #deancas #ghost hunting au #ghost hunter!dean #ghost hunter!cas #sorta #hs!au #prompt fill #makenna's writing #amirosebooks #replies

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ladyofthursday · 6 years

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Destiel + 21 please?

So this is actually the third (?) iteration of this prompt. I didn’t like either of the previous versions and then I went out for drinks with a friend and this idea emerged from that. I hope you like it!

Jealous Kiss:

“Hey there handsome, can I get you anything special?”

It’s the weekend before valentine’s day, and the cocktail bar is dimly lit and full of small groups and couples enjoying an evening out. It’s not really Dean’s sort of place, with its plush booths and artsy lighting and stylish bar, but Cas has been dying to try it out and Dean couldn’t face saying no. There isn’t currently a queue at the bar, given how early it still is, and Cas is now leaning against it, chatting to a young man in a fitted, black staff shirt.

“Oh, I’m not sure, I haven’t look at the menu yet,” replies Cas, to the barman’s sweet tones, picking up the smart looking menu booklet and starting to thumb through it.

“Not a problem,” the barman answers, his tone making Dean’s skin crawl. “What sort of thing do you like?” He’s got blonde hair, that’s been swept into some sort of fancy ass style and an easy, flirty smile and all of that would be fine, if he didn’t look like he wanted to eat Castiel alive. Not that Cas has noticed, he’s adorably oblivious. Instead he’s smiling sweetly and openly, utterly captivated by the man’s careful attention. He probably thinks the guy is just being friendly. Too friendly in Dean’s opinion.

The barman’s name tag reads Niall. Dean vows instant death and destruction to him.

Nobody makes a move on Dean Winchester’s boyfriend.

“Well, I like vodka based drinks,” Cas says, pausing to look a Niall’s carefully fashioned smile.

“How about Baileys?” Niall asks, leaning across the bar and flashing stupidly white teeth.

“Oh, yes. That’s nice too.”

“Hmmm, and what about something creamy?” Niall adds, definitely giving Cas the once over as he adds, “you look like the sort of person who like sweet, creamy drinks.”

Cas blushes. Dean swears internally. He’s being utterly cut out here by some irritating twinky barboy.

“That sounds delicious.”

“Perfect, I’ve got just the thing for you!” With a wink, Niall starts pulling bottles down and begins mixing things in a silver cocktail shaker. He chats easily with Cas, who starts telling him about the Italian place they went for dinner and about how delicious the food was.

“That’s the Italian place just round the corner right? Sexy Mama?”

“Yes, the gnocchi was divine as were the profiteroles I had for dessert,” Castiel smiles, turning to look at Dean as if to encourage him into the conversation. “Don’t you think so Dean?”

“It was pretty good,” Dean adds, not really thinking but more planning the destruction of Niall, who turns to look at Dean for the first time, giving him an appraising look. Dean draws himself up to his full height and goes to put a hand in the small of Castiel’s back. Only his boyfriend has moved slightly down the bar, where the accursed Niall is now pouring out his drink.

He slides the thick, creamy looking drink across the bar and leans in close to Castiel. “This is a Screaming Orgasm,” he says, soft and seductive, clearly pulling his best moves out of the bag. Cas blushes again. “Taste it for me? I want to know what you think.”

Cas takes a sip through the straw, closing his eyes as he swallows, a tiny moan of happiness escaping his lips. “That’s delicious.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Niall says. “They’re my speciality. Let me know if I can get you another one. Or maybe, a real one.” He adds a final wink as Dean steps up to the bar.

“If you’re quite finished, I’d like a whiskey sour,” he snaps, noting the eye roll from barboy. “Why don’t you go find us a booth,” he adds, turning to Cas with a soft smile, “I’ll pay for these.”

Once he gets his drink, from a much sulkier Niall, he joins Cas in a plush booth on the other side of the room. The seats are soft and offer a perfect view of the bar, plus with the added bonus of being able to snuggle in right next to his boyfriend.

Dean slides up to Cas, putting an arm around his waist and pulling him close. Cas, however, doesn’t seem particularly impressed – rolling his eyes and shooting Dean a look that suggests Dean is in trouble. He’s not quite sure why though.

“Why were you so rude to the barman? He was just being friendly,” Cas asks, a cold edge to his tone as he sips the drink Niall made him.

“Cas, he wasn’t being friendly, he was flirting with you. A lot.”

“No he wasn’t, he just asked what drink I wanted, helped me choose one, asked about dinner, gave me a screaming…” Cas’s voice trails off and he does the mental maths, and even under the low lights Dean can see an adorable flush spreading across his face.

“Oh,” Cas puts the drink down, pushing it away and looking down at his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Dean smiles, lifting Cas’s face up and looking deep into his beautiful blue eyes. “Don’t be sorry, not your fault he’s a dick.” He leans in close, a little smirk on his lips. “Not your fault your so goddamn gorgeous.”

“Not my fault either, that my boyfriend gets jealous,” Cas smirks, tapping Dean on the nose like a cat.

“Hey! I’m not jealous!” Cas rolls his eyes again, and Dean grins. “Well… maybe just a little.” He leans in and pulls Cas into a fierce kiss. He can taste the creamy tang of Baileys and Kahlua on Cas’s tongue as he pushes inside his boyfriend’s mouth, feeling Cas practically melt in his arms as Dean kisses him over and over.

When the pull apart, they’re practically panting, and Dean has to admit his pants are a little tighter than they should be for so public a venue. It’s worth it though when he looks over at the bar and spots Niall fuming.

Dean shoots him a wink and pulls Cas in for another kiss. (Author’s Note: Yes a ‘Screaming Orgasm’ is a real cocktail. It’s made with vodka,Baileys, Disaronno, Kahlua and cream)

#ladyofthursday writes #kiss prompts #profoundnet #destiel #deancas #jealous kiss #established relationship #kiss #cocktail bar #destiel fanfic #prompt fill #spn fanfic #snarkysnartes #valentine's day #jealousy

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profoundnet · 4 years

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Cracktober: A Profound Art Challenge

Cracktober is a Promptober list hosted by the Profound Bond discord server. Here are some of the guidelines for creation/sharing of Cracktober fills:

- You can use the list however you choose, but fills shared on server or reblogged by the tumblr must be Destiel/Gen

- If you post your fill on tumblr, please tag #profoundnet and #cracktober so we can reblog them!

- Writing fills (Destiel/Gen) can be added to the ao3 collection

- In-server folks will have the option to submit their fills in November for a Cracktober masterpost!

You do not have to be a server member to use this prompt list, however we definitely recommend joining to share your work directly and chat with other people doing Cracktober or any other prompt list :)

Happy Promptober - let’s get cracking!

(art by @pallasperilous)

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #prompt list #cracktober #spn

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nickelkeep · 4 years

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I wrote a lot of Destiel this year! LOL! These are the 26 Fics that I’ve written live on the @profoundnet Discord Server! (18+ Server, no hate, you can join here.) Listed in chronological order, like the other master list, they’ll be labeled with AU or Canon, ratings, and any necessary warnings. Because there’s so many, I’ll list the prompt that I used for it, and the person who suggested it (if someone did and they’re on Tumblr!)

Personal Quality Assurance - AU - 8,516 words - Explicit The OG prompt. Cas makes Dildos. Dean purchases one. Sexy meet-cute.

More Than a Feeling - AU - 5,284 words - Explicit For PB’s Favorite Fairy, Aleeliah: Dean and Cas like to travel. They fill up the Impala, grab their things... And get discounts by pretending to be a couple.

Like the Angel - AU - 9,605 words - Explicit TW: Homophobic Language For Umbrie: Imagine Teacher!Cas with a student who has a crush on him. The crush’s rival? Mr. Winchester, a classmate’s dad.

Bring Me Healing - AU - 5,978 words - Explicit For @darmysasagiri: The succubus and incubus root words are not gender-based but succubus=bottom incubus=top. So the idea is drunk wizard/mage Cas or Dean summons a succubus and gets power-bottom-succubus!

Some Pacific Wind - AU - 10,858 words - Explicit TW: Heavy Dom/Sub, Subdrop For @hartlessfiction: picture prompt from Tumblr that read:"There's a gay bar in my city and they're trying to get a new roof. So their slogan for the donations is 'Like all good bottoms, we've worn out our top' and I just felt that I needed to share that."

Edge of Paradise - Canonverse - 3,184 words - Explicit For Aleeliah, again!: Combination of a PB botstat (Dean is watching Dr. Sexy, Cas has his fingers in Dean’s Mouth, Sam has just walked in on Cas and Dean Boning) and their own personal request of Cas in panties.

Faithfully - AU - 7,043 words - Explicit TW: Alcohol Use, mentions of recreational drug use. For @drawlight: Fact: Dean is desperately, horribly, absolutely in love with Cas. Also Fact: He should never have agreed to play Never Have I Ever while drinking. Especially not when the questions turn to sex and love and the questions start to hit a little too close to home.

Nothing You Confess - Canonverse - 5,204 words - Explicit For @mishalocked24: (Based on their twitter post) *No-lines episode for Cas. Dean is focused on a book, looking for a spell to lift the curse* "I love you." Cas says for the first time, staring at his profile. "I always have. I always will." Dean turns a page. "I love you, Dean." Cas closes his eyes; Dean can't hear him.

Paradise by the Dashboard Light - 6,768 words - Explicit For arielaquarial: Based on their own misadventure of trying to pull a dent out of their car and not having a plunger for the hot water/plunger trick, but using a dildo instead.

What About Us? - AU - 9,417 words - Mature TW: Infidelity (not Dean/Cas) For @elizasugarcane: Based on the Twitter Exchange where two ladies found out they were dating the same guy, dumped his ass, then ended up together. Destiel-fied.

Stay With Me - AU - 7,080 words - Explicit TW: Implied Homophobia Self-service Fic! Based on the news that “There Was Only One Bed!” happened in real life and added in the news about people trying backtrack and become Revisionist HIstorians with the Lovers of Modena.

Something So Magic - AU - 5,176 words - Teen TW: Brief Animal Attack/Animal Fight scene For @cryptomoon: I asked for a random prompt, and Crypto asked for Dean getting adopted by a cat. So how about some Familiar!Cas?

‘Cause My Monsters Are Real - AU - 7,091 words - Teen For @jemariel: photo prompt, but it's one people are familiar with: 'our humans are sleeping in bunk beds and we have to share the space under' aka: 'there's only one under-the-bed.'

And These Monsters Can Fight - AU - 6,325 words - Explicit Also for @jemariel, the continuation of ‘Cause My Monsters Are Real.

Carry Me Home - AU - 7,083 words - Explicit For Lily on PB: Cas watches a youtube vid on how to fix something around the house. Then because it was such an easy fix that he thought would be really hard and the youtube vid was so good AND the guy in the youtube vid is super hot, he binges the channel before going to the hardware store to get the supplies to fix the problem.......guess who owns the store?

Like a Burning Flame - AU - 8,259 words - Explicit TW: Dom/Sub, Bad BDSM Etiquette For @unforth: a simple and sexy prompt, Uniform Kink and Panty Kink.

To Confess - Canonverse - 8,491 words - Explicit For @idaaeri and @darmysasagiri: Darmys asked for Fake Relationship/Getting back together. Ida gave me the idea of Case Fic. (Funny story, I flipped this trope before I wrote the actual trope.)

Talk to Me Now - AU - 9,031 words - Explicit For @notfunnydean: A Craig’s List “They Were Roommates” image prompt, and Dean asked for it to be an Enemies to Friends to Lovers fic.

Stuck in the Middle With You - Canonverse - 5,749 words - Explicit For @canadduh: They shared a video of two guys stuck in a finger trap, and asked for it to be Destiel-fied.

What I Thought I Knew - AU - 7,549 words - Mature TW: Dub-Con Kiss For Destielr, on PB: Based on the gif from Looking where Kevin pushes Patrick, who is working, against the wall and kisses him.

Slice of Your Pie - AU - 6,955 words - Mature TW: Severe Homophobia, Gender Issues, Straight up Sexism. Many people on PB requested another fic based on the “Alone on Thanksgiving” Craig’s List Post.

Shiver - AU - 5,714 words - Explicit TW: Car Accident A part of @notfunnydean‘s 2019 SPN Advent Calendar. Prompt was Blizzard. Of course, they get snowed in.

Chandeliers of Hope - AU - 6,921 words - Mature TW: Drinking, Recreational Drug Use A part of @notfunnydean‘s 2019 SPN Advent Calendar. Prompt was Mistletoe Kiss! I wanted a Christmas themed D&D Game. Shenanigans ensue.

A Cold, Dark Winter’s Night - AU - 7,813 words - Explicit A part of @notfunnydean‘s 2019 SPN Advent Calendar. Prompt was Secret Santa.

You Make it Feel Like Christmas - Canonverse - 7,473 words - Explicit A part of @notfunnydean‘s 2019 SPN Advent Calendar. Prompt was Last Minute Christmas shopping.

Auld Lang Syne - AU - 7,071 words - Teen Self-indulgent Fic, with a side of New Year’s Eve. (I asked my readers if they wanted a New Year’s Fic.) Based on the Thai Cornetto Ad. Holy Crap. Twenty-six fics. The series is continuing into 2020, so I hope you’ll join in!

#profoundnet #master list #spn fic #destiel #deancas #nickel writes #nickel's story time #writersofdestiel

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javocjovian · 4 years

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Gossamer Wings

Title: Gossamer Wings Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22486564 Rating: E Ships: Destiel focus, implied background Sabriel (Gabriel lives) Tags: Top!Castiel/Bottom!Dean, hurt/comfort, angst, loss, fluff, Castiel’s wings, wing kink, healing sex, comfort sex, Destiel focus Summary: Set in Season 12, Dean struggles to cope with Mary’s betrayal after she confesses to working for the British Men of Letters. Luckily, an angel is watching over him. Word Count: 4836

This fic was written for the @profoundnet scavenger hunt, based on the following bot prompts:

- Dean is cleaning his gun - Cas is preening his wings - Sam has genital herpes

- Dean is feeling vulnerable - Cas is polishing his angel blade - Sam just walked in on Cas and Dean boning

Happy 2nd Birthday, PB!!!

Beta-ed by @banshee1013

Gossamer Wings

Despite the bunker being occupied by two people and an angel, it was unusually quiet. It had been that way since that morning, when Mary left.

For a while the silence felt explosive. It reverberated like an unearthly presence after Mary’s departure, but after it faded a much worse silence took its place—a black hole had opened up, producing a heavy, suffocating silence like the kind at a wake, or a funeral.

This funeral was a different kind than Dean was used to, however. This was the funeral of a person still living, and in a way the funeral of Dean himself. He could feel pieces of himself beginning to rot, corroding away as if dissolved in acid, polluting his mind and his memories with doubt and resentment. It was a slow, brutal death. A death deserving of a slow, brutal silence.

Although Dean bore the brunt of this insatiable void, exposed to it on a level Sam never could have been, Sam was united with Dean in this silence. He supported him without flinching and Dean appreciated it more than words could express. Or perhaps words could express it. Perhaps they were words for only a mother's ears, to be purged and healed by the gentlest of love. How cold and uncaring irony was.

Castiel arrived late in the afternoon. Sam filled him in on the landing, and no more words were spoken. The only sound was the occasional, sloppy clatter of metal on the table as Dean cleaned his gun.

Castiel didn’t dare break the silence. He joined Dean at the table as if answering a silent prayer. Aside from a nod of greeting, Dean didn’t look at him. Castiel could see Dean's world shifting in his eyes and he knew at once he needed to stay. He decided it would be best if he didn't sit around staring at Dean, however, so while Sam disappeared into the catacombs of the bunker Castiel opted to polish his angel blade.

Even if he couldn't express it, Dean was grateful for Castiel's presence. He knew Castiel hadn’t come by for more than an update on Kelly Kline, so when he took out his blade Dean felt a part of his world resolidify under his feet.

For the first time since Mary's rebirth, Dean felt as though he had something sturdy to latch onto. Something immovable to stand sentry amidst the void threatening to break apart his world. Dean couldn’t think too hard about it, though. The thoughts clouding his head were too blurry to commit to and yet so heavy that they seemed to press against his skull and weigh him down. The silence helped. Cleaning his guns helped. The illusion of productivity kept his mind in survival mode, leaving the thoughts to simmer in a cloud of noxious nothingness, not existing and yet existing far too much.

Castiel tried to think of something to say—some way to pierce through that cloud and comfort Dean—but he saw no good way to do it. So instead he kept polishing his angel blade. Eventually it was so shiny he had to angle it to keep from casting light into Dean's eyes, although Dean might not have noticed. Perhaps this silence was what Dean needed. Castiel did not know. Perhaps he should speak. Perhaps Dean was waiting to hear words of comfort.

Just as Castiel was resigned to speak, Sam returned with a duffel bag over his shoulder. Castiel sighed in relief.

"Hey." Sam looked exhausted.

Dean didn't look up. "Hey."

"I gotta uh… go find Gabriel. Take care of a thing," he said quietly.

Dean grunted.

Sam shot a Cas an appreciative look and headed up the bunker stairs. His footsteps clambered against the metal steps and echoed across the cavernous ceiling.

Castiel watched him leave in vague concern, but he didn't ask questions. The Winchesters had never been prime examples of healthy coping mechanisms. Far be it from Castiel to stop Sam from going off on his own, especially if Dean didn't have issue with it. Castiel listened to Sam's footfalls fade and the heavy door swing shut.

The silence grew louder.

When Castiel could no longer pretend the polishing was making any difference, he slipped his blade into his coat. He almost dropped it for being so clean.

Dean hadn't noticed. He'd was already dismantling a second gun.

In the silence, an odd thought came to Castiel—He hadn't cleaned his wings in a while. Years, perhaps. They didn't work anymore, but his wings had once been a source of pride for Castiel, and he used to take care of them meticulously.

He didn’t have naturally extravagant wings like Michael, or elegantly wild ones like Gabriel. Even Lucifer’s had a dark allure, despite their light, almost alien-like glow. By contrast, Castiel’s wings took work to keep vibrant and strong, but Castiel was happy to expend the energy. His had been on par with Naomi’s and even Joshua’s, all because of effort.

Perhaps, even though Castiel’s wings didn't work, there was still use in taking care of them. Admittedly, he’d been unable to stand the damage done to them, damage he blamed himself for when the Metatron took his grace, and he’d let his wings fall into disrepair. But maybe the act would absorb him like it once did.

Castiel got up and moved to a more comfortable chair away from the table. He was resigned to make some noise, but it hadn't disturbed Dean. Castiel let his gaze linger on Dean for a second, then turned to his wings.

Unfurling them was like taking off a heavy coat after a very, very long day. He stretched them out and was surprised by how good it felt. They didn't hurt any more, but Castiel never presumed they would feel good again. Not like before Metatron, before the Leviathans even.

A few celestial feathers fell to the ground and vanished, but Castiel could only expect that. At least Dean couldn't see his wings. Dean had never seen his wings. Nothing beyond shadowy, incorporeal impressions anyway. The thought filled Castiel with a kind of grief; albeit nothing, he was sure, compared to Dean's.

Castiel curved a large, spindly wing over his shoulder and began to pick at the broken and fading feathers. He winced a little every time a feather had to plucked, the healthy ones surrounding it swelling slightly. It was a necessary pain. For the health of the whole wing some feathers had to be removed. Castiel remembered how he used to think that way. Now every feather seemed precious, especially as he had lost so many. But the moment Castiel removed them they fell to the ground and vanished into specs of light.

For the first time in a while Castiel met Dean's eye, and for a moment he thought Dean wanted to speak. Castiel waited, almost holding his breath, but Dean looked away and resumed cleaning his gun. For fear of saying the wrong thing and making Dean flee, Castiel said nothing and began tending to his other wing.

They fluttered over the table briefly, an ashy shadow of their once magnificent, inky blue splendor. This wing still hurt a little, but he knew it wasn't from the fall. Dean's body had long been rebuilt, losing him the handprint that had once immortalized his rescue from Hell, but Castiel's wing still bore the matching scar.

It had been a coincidence, really, like Castiel being assigned to Dean in the first place. He had used his wing to shield them both when Castiel lifted Dean out of the sulfur and brimstone. Dean had reached up to grip his wing and the wound shone like daybreak. It fueled Castiel's grace, healing him, but a scar remained—A human handprint. Dean didn't remember this of course, and Castiel saw no reason to put that on his shoulders. The scar had long faded anyway. The mark that had once been baby white was now icy black, a shade lighter than the surrounding plumagem but it still stood out to Castiel.

Again, Castiel saw Dean looking at him and again Dean lowered his eyes.

Worried his moving around was bothering Dean, Castiel stopped preening. His wings settled back down, the feathers deflating slowly. He found himself staring at the color. He'd always been fond of blue, although he had been jealous of that one parrot in the Amazon jungle. He had the most lustrous, shimmering emerald feathers. He’d turned his eyes to Castiel, black like shiny stones, and cawed as if to say "you would look better in green". Cas assumed he was being mocked and flew away, but perhaps the parrot had been correct, as parrots often were.

Castiel realized he'd been staring, but he found Dean staring back. Castiel had been absentmindedly stroking his clean, even feathers. It felt good, even now, but it was obviously bothering Dean. Castiel dropped his arm sheepishly.

"Cas," Dean spoke at last. His voice was raspy with disuse, or overuse, he wasn't sure. "What are you doing?"

Castiel cleared his throat."I uh… my wings. They were uneven. I was just fixing them." He flushed slightly, realizing how unimportant it was.

Dean wasn't cleaning his gun anymore. Castiel wondered when he'd stopped.

"I can see that," Dean said.

"I'll stop, if it's…" Castiel said automatically, but then he paused. Dean could see that? Did he mean he could actually see his wings or was it just a turn of phrase? Castiel's brow furrowed. A part of him didn’t want to know, but his lips formed the question before he could stop them.

"Can you… see them?"

Dean's emerald eyes lingered on Castiel before returning to the gun. "Yeah. I can."

Castiel's expression melted. His wings shrunk, as if being compressed by the unspoken void in the room.

"Ever since we went to Heaven," Dean said. "Sam says he can't see them anymore, but…"

"You still can?"

Dean shrugged noncommittally.

Castiel tried to mask how thunderstruck he was. He swallowed thickly and looked away. Dean gave him the courtesy of resuming his cleaning.

"Kind of hard to miss when you're over there preening."

Just like that, Castiel felt his embarrassment begin to fade. There was a note of teasing in Dean's voice. Castiel sighed. "I didn't realize."

Dean glanced at him gently. "Don't worry about it."

Castiel watched Dean put the gun back together, doing everything in his power 'not to worry about it'. But he was failing. Every embarrassing moment came back to him as if someone were injecting the memories into his brain. All the times Castiel's wings failed him, how ragged they looked this past year, all the times he and Dean were alone together… Castiel may have been hard to rile up but wings were the most expressive part of an angel. Oh the frailties they had betrayed. Even now, Castiel became increasingly aware of every little breath and twitch that fluttered through his weak and pitiful plumage. Castiel's face felt hot. He could see that parrot again, whistling smugly at him.

Dean set the reassembled gun down at last. It gleamed as brightly as Castiel's angel blade buried in his pocket.

For the first time in hours, Dean got up. Castiel expected him to go to the kitchen (he hadn't eaten anything greasy in far too long) and anticipated a moment to himself, but Dean didn't leave the room. He walked over to Castiel.

Castiel looked up at him, feeling unusually ruffled. Without explanation, Dean sat on his lap. Castiel's arms came up automatically, holding onto Dean as Dean leaned down and kissed him.

Castiel was surprised to say the least. He had been prepared to not so much as move for the next few days if need be, but for what felt like the millionth time he was met with the humbling fact that he knew nothing about human grief.

Still he knew enough to know that this wasn't usually how humans coped. So when Dean broke the kiss, Cas murmured, "Dean?"

Dean didn't respond. He just leaned against Cas with his hands on Castiel's, his eyes closed, their foreheads pressed together. Dean’s body was so warm. Castiel could feel his sides expand softly with every breath.

Inappropriate as it was, Castiel was struck by the beauty of Dean's grief. He couldn't help but admire every vulnerable, human line in his face, so close to Castiel’s. If Castiel’s wings had a face it would resemble Dean’s. Castiel reached up and stroked his cheek, his fingertips brushing through Dean's short hair.

Dean kissed him again, and this time Castiel kissed back. It was a slow, lingering kiss. The sound filled the silence like water lapping against the shoreline. Castiel could have sat forever in that silence, but guilt was beginning to creep into him. Dean was so very warm. But it was his duty to protect Dean, more so now than ever before, so when the kiss broke Cas asked again, more persistent this time, "Dean?"

Dean finally looked at him. His eyes were tinged with pink, yet the green shone more brightly than ever.

"Do you... want to talk about it?" His voice was barely audible, but Dean heard him.

"No," he said brusquely. As if to keep Castiel from asking any more questions, Dean kissed him again.

Castiel wasn't sure what they were doing could be called kissing anymore. They were barely moving at all, just brushing their lips together, breathing against each other.

Castiel had a hard time breaking away this time. This was the most affectionate Dean had ever been with him, and it made Castiel very happy. So happy that he realized his wings had puffed up, despite their newfound desire to hide behind his back. The resulting spark of self-consciousness urged him into speech.

"Dean," Cas spoke again. "I think… ah."

The words died in his throat as Dean reached up and gently touched his wing. Castiel inhaled softly. Dean looked transfixed by the rippling blue and black, like a deep sea or the furthest reaches of space. Castiel’s eyes fell closed.

"Does that feel good?" Dean asked, observing him.

Castiel nodded silently. He wouldn't call an angel's wings erogenous, but touching them was something only a lover would do. And Castiel was reminded that Dean was in fact his lover.

Castiel opened his eyes and saw Dean's gaze had begun to smoulder. Guilt was overridden by more animalistic drives, and Castiel pulled Dean into a kiss. Dean met him gladly, opening the kiss and leaning into him fully. He sat completely on Castiel's lap, feeling the inside of Castiel's wing while Castiel’s arms wrapped around him. The kiss became insatiable, but it wasn't until Castiel felt Dean roll his hips into him that Castiel stopped.

Castiel took hold of Dean's hips and Dean stopped with difficulty. He freed Castiel's lips, looking winded and confused. Castiel's heart sank.

Castiel swallowed, trying not to let Dean's lingering taste overtake him yet again. "Dean," he mustered. "Is this really want you want right now?"

The resulting look of annoyance was hard to endure. Dean studied him, then finally said, "Yes, Cas. It is."

Castiel didn't believe him. "It's just…" He stopped. He could tell at once that bringing up Mary was the wrong thing to do, so he searched for other words. They came to him with surprising ease. "Dean. You know I would do anything for you," he said seriously, "But I need to know that this is really what you want."

Dean's annoyance began to fade. Castiel watched him in resignation, but when Dean refocused on Castiel his irritation had been replaced by something Castiel rarely saw—vulnerability. Dean didn't want this—he needed this. So when Dean swallowed and said, his voice quiet but certain, "Yeah, Cas. I do," Castiel didn't hesitate.

Guilt sturdily replaced by duty, Castiel brought his hands up to Dean's face and pulled him into a deep kiss. Dean melted. He kissed Castiel over and over again with growing desire. No inch of Castiel's skin went unkissed. Then he leaned over Castiel and kissed his wing.

Castiel's chest (and his feathers) swelled. Self-consciousness gave way to pleasure as Dean lavished his wings with affection, but it quickly became too much. Castiel pulled Dean back down and took him into a hungry kiss. Soon they were making out on the chair and Dean was rolling his hips against Castiel's stomach. This time Castiel didn't stop him. Instead, his hands dropped to Dean's ass.

Without warning Castiel stood up, lifting Dean with shocking ease. Dean felt a jolt of arousal as he was handled like a rag doll. He grabbed Castiel’s jaw and the kiss turned fiery.

Castiel carried him the short distance to the war table, never once breaking that kiss, and sat Dean on the edge. Castiel pulled Dean's shirt off, revealing scared yet firm skin dusted with freckles. Dean quickly reciprocated, getting Castiel out of his coat. It fell right through Castiel's wings as if they weren't there, yet Dean could see them growing in size, puffing up like a stormy, frothy sea. He unbuttoned the top of Castiel's shirt and kissed the bare skin of Castiel's neck.

Castiel sighed and undid the rest of his shirt on his own. Dean's arms wove around his back to the base of Castiel's wings and gave them an experimental rub. Castiel groaned.

Castiel leaned forward, toppling Dean onto his back. Dean saw Castiel eyes—shockingly blue and electrified—and he felt a second jolt of arousal that sparked into flames as Castiel yanked Dean's pants and boxers off in a single motion. Dean swallowed a moan. He always enjoyed when Castiel used his inhuman strength in bed, and this time was no different.

"Cas," Dean panted gruffly as Castiel began feeling up Dean's nude body. His hands were coarse and calloused, but Dean loved it. The contrast between his gentle touches and his firm hands drove Dean wild. He spread his legs on either side of Castiel's hips, shameless in his nudity and hungry for more.

Castiel began removing his own pants, and Dean was happy to see that he was just as erect, if not more, than Dean. He watched hazily as Castiel leaned over him, his wings spreading high above them, and took both of their erections into his hand.

Dean's lips parted in a silent groan. Castiel began stroking them together and Dean's hips seemed to lift of their own accord.

Dean's was clearly enjoying the stimulation—Castiel could feel precum beading at the tip of Dean's head—but rather than pacify Dean as this act often did it only seemed to frustrate him.

"Cas, Cas…" Dean breathed, "I appreciate the effort but…"

Somehow, Castiel understood. "You want me to fuck you," he said, his voice breathlessly blunt.

Dean's cock twitched. It was so rare to hear Castiel talk like that. It sent shivers down Dean's spine.

"Yes," Dean practically whimpered.

Castiel let go at once. He parted Dean's legs, reached down, and slipped his fingers between Dean's thighs, then his eyes glowed blue. His wings lit up in patches, like lightning arcing across the night sky, and Dean realized what he had done. He’d lubed Dean up using grace. Dean made a rather unmanly noise. Castiel had never used his power like that before.

Realizing he had aroused Dean into stunned silence, Castiel took over completely. His wings flared, shielding them from the harsh bunker lights, and he pulled Dean’s hips close. Dean spread his legs in anticipation, and within seconds Castiel was sliding in. Dean silence broke and he moaned in bliss.

Castiel filled Dean to the brim, gave him a second to adjust, then pulled out and did it all over again. Dean's head dropped onto the table.

Castiel enjoyed watching Dean's body shake and his jaw stiffen. He liked seeing Dean's cock, an unusually gorgeous one for a human, dribbling precum with every thrust. He loved the sounds Dean tried and failed to hide, and the way his body moved, as if milking every last bit of pleasure from the motions. He loved everything about this one particular human.

"Cas, oh Cas… harder."

With Dean's encouragement, Castiel began doing just that. He fucked Dean senseless on the war table, drawing groan after groan from Dean’s lungs. Truth be told, it was a little harder than Castiel thought would be comfortable, but Dean had always enjoyed a little too much. Castiel maneuvered his hips to find that angle Dean loved, and sure enough Dean’s back arched and he began cursing.

“Oh fuck, fuck’s sake… there, Cas. There…”

Dean's legs came up over Castiel's ass and Castiel scooped Dean up in his arms. Dean was panting and swearing into Castiel's shoulder, muttering his name repeatedly. Castiel had never heard such a beautiful prayer.

In Dean's rapturous haze, he reached around Castiel's back and clumsily massaged his wings. Castiel's body trembled and he groaned. Dean had only ever heard Cas groan a few times, so there was no way in Hell Dean was letting go of that spot. He raked his fingers through the inky feathers and Castiel bucked into him hotly. Dean moaned, spurring Castiel on.

Castiel’s wings may have looked damaged and battle worn seconds ago, but it that moment they shone brighter than any of the Archangels’. In that moment, Dean couldn't tell that Castiel had lost a single feather. He was the most magnificent angel Dean had ever seen, feathers glowing like a neutron star.

“Cas, oh Cas,” Dean's voice cracked and he began sputtering, "gonna come…"

Castiel's eyes were closed now, but he nodded feverishly. “Then come Dean,” he rasped, not letting up.

Dean didn't stand a chance. His breath hitched, his body shuddered, and Dean felt his pleasure burst at last, expanding throughout every muscle and even into ones he didn’t know he had. He gasped and moved his arm to stroke himself as he came, spurting with every thrust. Soon his head fell back and his body shudder. He couldn't keep his eyes open. He heard Castiel grunt and spasm, then come to a staggering halt deep inside his body, and Dean knew he was coming, too.

Dean was still muttering Cas’s name, hardly aware of himself in that moment. His body was ringing so powerfully that he couldn't move. Castiel seemed unlikely to move, either. He was laying atop Dean, his chest expanding against Dean's with every satiated breath. Dean let go of his wings and put his arms around his back. Castiel was heavy and warm, and the weight felt good.

Dean’s voice came back to him as he caught his breath, and soon he was panting out, "Oh my g… Cas. Where did you learn that?"

Castiel picked his head up to look at Dean. He looked windblown, but answered simply, "The pizza man."

Dean stared at him for a second, then laughter slowly rumbled through him, shaking Castiel gently.

Although Dean rarely laughed after sex—it seemed a worrisome thing to do—Castiel was relieved to hear it. Dean's eyes glittered as he smiled at Castiel.

"Damn. Cas, that..." Dean started to catch his breath. "...that was amazing. I've never felt so good in my life."

Castiel smiled back.

Dean lay on the table, still chuckling to himself as Castiel got up. He pulled out gently, only then realizing his error.

As if reading his mind, Dean said, "Don't worry about it. I gotta shower anyway." He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Yes… I suppose you can't be impregnated."

Dean chuckled, "I better not. But I appreciate the effort." He shot Castiel a roguish look.

Castiel smiled a little wider. He leaned over Dean once again and wove their fingers together. He kissed Dean's bruised knuckles, enjoying the smile it brought to Dean's face. But like an odd note in a familiar song, Castiel realized something wasn’t right.

Dean wiped another tear from his eye. His smile had changed.

"Dean?" Castiel said, beginning to see that Dean was in pain, "Did I hurt you?"

Dean took a quick breath. "No, no Cas. You're good." He was telling the truth, but still, more tears were forming. "Shit," Dean murmured, wiping his eyes again.

Castiel suddenly understood. He didn't say anything, he just lay gently atop Dean, holding his hand and caressing his fingers. He kissed his hand, closing his eyes patiently. Dean was grateful.

Dean wiped his eyes again, focusing on the feeling of Castiel’s lips on his fingers. It calmed him, and at last Dean took a shallow breath and murmured, “Sorry, Cas.”

Castiel opened his eyes—They were as blue as a warm summer sky. Castiel reached up and wiped a stray tear from under Dean's thick eyelashes. "Don’t be.”

Dean gazed at Castiel appreciatively, even more so as Castiel ended the conversation by leaning down and kissing him.

After a few lazy moments, Castiel could feel Dean's comfort returning. Dean began gently stroking Castiel's wings and smiling slightly.

“Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Castiel hesitated over Dean’s lips, but Dean gave him such a warm look that Castiel asked his question anyway. "Why didn't you tell me you could see my wings?"

“I was afraid you'd hide them,” he admitted.

Castiel paused. That was exactly what he would have done. It wouldn't have even occurred to him that Dean enjoyed seeing them, not after they broke. This revelation filled Castiel with affection, but still, he sighed. "I wish you could have seen them before. They were… magnificent."

Dean’s smile surprised Castiel.

"They still are, Cas,” he said simply. “They're the most beautiful things I've ever seen."

For a moment Castiel looked distant, like he was processing Dean's words. His wings rippled slightly, brushing against Dean's hand. When Castiel detected that Dean was in fact telling the truth, Castiel was overcome with emotion. The only thing he could think to say was, "I love you, Dean."

Dean's smile widened. He dabbed at his eyes. "Shut up."

Castiel smiled and kissed him.

Dean kissed back, murmuring softly against his lips, “...love you too…”

Castiel held Dean to him, kissing him on the war table. The compressing, creeping silence that had plagued the bunker evaporated at last. The bunker felt bigger, and Castiel's wings felt too heavy to carry. It was a wonderful weight.

Despite this improved silence, neither of them heard the bunker's door close from upstairs. It wasn't until they heard a pained intake of breath that they realized they were no longer alone.

Dean sat up on his elbows and looked over his shoulder. Sam was determinedly facing the other direction and rubbing his eyes as if trying to erase the image burned into his retinas.

"Hiya Sammy," Dean grinned.

Castiel nearly fell off the table.

"Really? On the table?" Sam demanded blindly.

Castiel's wings shrunk instantly. He looked like a guilty dog who'd just snuck a treat, and it almost made Dean start laughing again.

"Sorry, Sam," Dean chuckled as Castiel hurriedly passed him his clothes. "But you should really knock."

"On the front door?" Sam heard clothing being put on and chanced a glance at them, but was met with the sight of Dean's bare ass. "God, damnit…! Put...put some clothes on, Dean."

"The human body is a thing of beauty, Sam," Dean announced.

"Yeah, well, your human body is cleaning that table. With bleach."

Much to Castiel’s relief, once everyone was fully clothed Sam and Dean moved on quickly. That, or Sam was already denying it had happened. Either way, the atmosphere improved greatly. They sat around the kitchen and chatted while Dean cooked the greasiest meal he could think of, claiming he was so hungry he could eat a salad.

Rather than being upset with Castiel, which had been Castiel’s primary concern, Sam seemed grateful. He attributed Dean’s change in mood to Castiel’s… intervention… and left it at that.

It wasn’t until dinner that Castiel finally remembered. “Sam, did you say you needed to see Gabriel?” He asked curiously.

Sam looked up from his plate, which he was devouring despite his assertions that no meal needed that much tabasco sauce.

Dean glanced at him casually. When Sam took too long to respond, Dean smirked. “Gabriel gave you herpes didn’t he?”

Sam nearly choked. “No!”

Castiel squinted.

Sam beat his chest with his fist, going red. “No! He just…”

Dean rose a brow, chewing slowly.

“I may have… called him immature last night.”

Dean snorted.

“So he… uh, yeah. But it’s fine. We made up.”

Dean eyed him slyly. “I’ll bet you did.”

“Shut up.” Sam smiled.

Castiel watched Sam and Dean laugh and bicker, and felt oddly at peace with the world. He knew the subject of Mary would have to come up eventually, especially given the reason for her departure, but the time wasn’t now, and Castiel was glad for that.

#pbbirthdaybash #profoundnet #Destiel #fanfiction #fanfic #My writing #sarasaurusrex

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pallasperilous · 5 years

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Prophecy

For the @profoundnet/ProfoundBond100 Drabble challenge. Prompt: prophecy. It’s only 500 words over the 100 word limit so: basically I nailed it, gang. I nailed it.

{on AO3}

Dean’s never been able to figure out what it is about the guy; sure, they’re stuck in the same open plan office suite, but it’s not like they share any interests. It isn’t clear if Novak even has any interests, or if he just plugs himself into a spare outlet in the server room to charge overnight. He’s nice on the eyes (and the ears, fuck), but he dresses like he works in the slide rule department for the Apollo program.

Still, Dean winds up next to him at all the Mandatory Company Fun events. Just kind of standing there, taking shelter from the fray with this vibey mystery nerd.

This time the Mandatory Company Fun is at a bowling alley, because God is dead, but there’s a full bar in the bowling alley, because He at least left a few nice things to His kids in the will. And, sure enough, Novak is holed up there, and he actually appears to be consuming an adult beverage, which blows Dean’s mind a little – though he couldn’t really tell you why.

So he snags the next seat over and they awkwardly put a few away together, and then they much less awkwardly put away a couple more. This is around when Dean asks: “Your first name. Is it short for something?”

“Yes,” the guy deadpans. Dean scowls at him until he cracks and tries to hide the little resulting smile in his Scotch and soda, which is weirdly adorable. “It’s short for, uh. Castiel. ”

“Ouch. So’s your family super religious, or was your mom just, like, really into angel stuff?”

Novak looks up at him. “You’re the first person I’ve met who actually knows where it’s from.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean says. “Me and my brother kinda grew up in a cult. I know a lot of weird off-brand Bible shit.”

This is usually where the other person’s eyes go wide to accommodate all of the questions suddenly filling their brain, and Dean can relax into a 45 minute set of his greatest Wacky Endtimes Upbringing Hits. Instead, Novak says:

“You too?”

Dean stares back at him. “Yeah, man. Our mom died when we were both little and our dad dove into this whole Jim Jones Doomsday kinda thing. Followed this prophet dude around the country for pretty much our whole childhoods. Whole lotta guns and Jesus with an extra side of freaky.”

Novak (Castiel, poor S.O.B.) is sitting bolt upright, like this is the best news he’s heard in weeks. “Polygamist compound outside of Provo,” he rushes out, and actually slaps the bar. “My father was the prophet. My mother was the ninth wife.”

“Well hey, I hear that’s a good wife to be,” Dean says. “Tenth, though? Forget about it.”

Cas laughs, a hard, real laugh (seriously, adorable). “You’re not wrong.” Then he looks away, deflates a little as the chuckles run out, starts to pick at the anemic lemon slice slowly bleeding out into his whiskey.

“So how’d you get out?” Dean prompts, and it comes out soft.

Cas shrugs. “Oh, I didn’t, really. I was expelled.”

“Kicked you out of the nest, huh? You cheep too loud?”

“No. Cheeped too homosexual.” He does not look up to see Dean’s reaction to this information, just deepens his aggressions against the lemon. “My fiancée turned me in.” He pauses. “She was scared. She was sixteen, so she should’ve been scared.” Castiel stops messing with the lemon, actually picks up the glass for a drink.

“Yeah. My old man never caught me,” Dean says, when the glass goes back down, and Cas’s eyes (by the way: real blue) pop right back up. Dean shrugs with an entirely whiskey-induced nonchalance. “Not with guys, at least.”

Cas leans over his forearms. “What made you leave, then?”

“Little brother. He grew a brain first, I guess.”

Cas narrows his eyes, glances back at the room full of overpaid kid-genius engineers enthusiastically rolling gutterballs.

“Well, Dean, if you were a late bloomer, you’ve certainly made up for lost time.”

“Takes one to know one,” Dean says, and they smile at each other like a couple of real grade-A dum-dums, and that’s the first night.

#spn fanfic #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #coworker AU #perhaps a drabble is not the best place to try to establish a context-heavy AU #profound100 #profound net #pallasperilous fic

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maggiemaybe160 · 5 years

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Forget Me Not

So someone on the @profoundnet discord thought up this angsty prompt and let me loose on it. This is also on my Ao3!

WARNING FOR MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. THIS IS A 100% ANGST FIC

“What have you done?” Castiel demanded as he marched into Heaven. His voice boomed and could be heard all over Heaven. Inside personal rooms, souls stopped at the sound of heartbreak and rage and wondered where this unwelcome interruption had come from. Outside, Castiel stormed.

“Castiel,” Naomi smiled behind her desk, her hands clasped together.

“What did you do to him?” he snarled, fuming. Two other angels grabbed his arms. Three sets of eyes glowed blue as they fought, punches thrown, blades summoned and dropped. Castiel was wrestled into a familiar chair, shackled to it, and held down by the two grunts. “You won’t get away with this,” he threatened through clenched teeth.

“The decent thing to do would be to tell you everything,” Naomi said calmly as she got up from her seat and walked around the desk slowly. “I’ve already won.

“It started with a dream. Do you remember that night, two months ago, when you were… cuddling?” Naomi spits the word, her eyes darkening. “Dean had grown tired and you… You were too busy watching the end of his movie to protect him. Weren’t you? He fell asleep without you that night.”

Castiel struggled against his restraints. He had known that his relationship with Dean Winchester was frowned upon in Heaven. He had known that angels weren’t programmed or allowed to fall in love and yet…

“We visited him while you sat in the next room. We stepped into his dreams and whispered a single word and then we left, undetected by him and especially you .” Her lips curled up as she spoke, taking her slow steps toward him. “What happened next, dear Castiel?”

Dean had forgotten. What had happened next was the spell that had been uttered in Dean’s dream tore into his mind.

“He forgot you, didn’t he?” Naomi mock pouted before grinning.

. . . . . . . . .

At first, it hadn’t seemed like anything at all. Not to Cas. Dean’s lapse in memory only happened when Cas wasn’t in the room. He had been in the hallway when he’d heard Sam and Dean talking.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam had asked. “Dean?” “Who are you talking about?” Dean had answered, but it had to have been a joke.

“Very funny,” Sam scoffed. After a moment of dead silence, Cas froze in the hallway, waiting to hear Dean end the joke. “Cas… your boyfriend… wears a trench coat… backwards tie… very literal?” Sam tried.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m leaving,” Dean announced.

“You can’t be serious! What happened? Did you get into a fight?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam! I don’t date. Period. I don’t socialize with anyone who even owns a trenchcoat. When have those ever been in style? Never? I’ll go get you some coffee.”

Once Dean had left through the other exit, Cas stepped into the library.

“Are you two fighting?” Sam asked, looking up at Cas with mild worry.

“No.”

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean grinned, passing Cas a coffee as he reentered the library. They shared a quick kiss and Dean leaned into it just long enough to soak up the sun before going back to his seat across from Sam.

“Uh. Hello?” Sam looked between Dean and Cas incredulously.

“Yes?” Dean asked as he opened his laptop to find a new case.

“What the fuck just happened?”

Dean looked over at his boyfriend of nearly seven years and exchanged a confused look. “Are you feeling okay, Sammy?” When Sam doesn’t answer, Dean fills in the blanks. “Okay, Sam, this is my boyfriend, Cas. Didn’t know I’d have to come out to you twice.”

“You said you didn’t know who Cas was five minutes ago.”

“What?” Dean had sputtered, looking hurt. Cas waited, having heard the same thing from the hallway. All eyes were on Dean. “I would never forget you, Cas,” Dean said seriously to Cas.

“I love you too, Dean,” Cas whispered, hiding his smile in his mug of coffee. . . . . . . . . .

It hadn’t been obvious to Cas that Dean forgot him while they weren’t in the same room because… well… They weren’t in the same room when Dean forgot him. Sam’s worry grew and still, Cas remained oblivious. He was blissfully ignorant, choosing not to bite into Sam’s concern. Until it got worse.

Cas had been pressed up against the wall, Dean’s hands in his hair and their tongues in each other’s mouths. Their lips crashed together as they pulled and pressed, aching to be closer and closer and—

Sam cleared his throat and Dean took a step back, a blush rising high in his cheeks.

“You said you were going to the store,” Dean said without turning around, his eyes still on Cas.

“You forgot to give me the keys,” Sam answered with an awkward smile.

Dean sighed and turned to face his brother as he dug in his pocket for the keys to the Impala. “Where are we going?” Dean’s hand came up with the keys and he spun them around his finger.

“You said you wanted to stay here with Cas while I just grabbed a few things at the store…” Sam said slowly, his eyes finding Cas’ over Dean’s shoulder.

“What? Stay here with who?”

Cas’ heart slammed to a halt in his chest, all of Sam’s claims of Dean’s memory loss screaming through him at once.

“Dean?” Cas asked behind him, but Dean didn’t respond.

“Hello? Sam? Who the fuck is Cas?” Sam took Dean by the shoulders and turned him around. “What’s wrong?” Dean reached out and stroked Cas’ cheek. “Cas, what happened?” . . . . . . . . .

“Dean, something’s wrong with your memory.” Sam had said, watching as Cas and Dean held tight to each other’s hands.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean insisted.

“You’ve been forgetting Cas.” The look of shattering heartbreak in Dean’s eyes in that moment would have been enough to kill him if he was human.

“No.” Dean shook his head adamantly, tears forming in his eyes. “No, that’s not… That’s… You’re lying.”

“It’s true,” Cas said softly, his thumb wiping Dean’s tears from his cheeks. Dean turned his face to press a kiss into Cas’ palm as he continued to cry. “We can fix this if we know what’s happening.”

“Can I have a minute?” Dean asked, covering his face with his hands and taking a few deep breaths. That was the last time Dean had looked into Cas’ eyes. When Cas and Sam had walked back into the room, Dean was gone.

“Where the fuck am I?” Dean called loudly from another room.

Sam and Cas exchanged the same worried glance and ran to find Dean. “Sam?!” Dean threw his arms around Sam and hugged him tight. “Sam. I… Wait. Are you real?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Am I still in Hell or did I get out?” Dean patted himself down, lifting his shirt to check for the claw marks from the hell hounds. “I should look like a Thriller video reject.”

“Dean?”

“What?”

“You don’t remember getting out of Hell?”

Dean swallowed hard, paling slightly as all of his memories of Hell flooded him. He shook his head and clamped his mouth shut.

“You’ve been out of Hell since September 2008,” Cas tried. Dean didn’t respond or look in his direction. “I rescued you. I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition, ” Cas sobbed. “Dean, please!”

“Cas…” Sam faltered and looked from Cas to Dean. “An angel named Cas brought you out of Hell years ago…”

“Angels aren’t real.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“An angel named Cas,” Sam tried again. Dean blinked a few times as if returning to the present moment.

“Sorry, I zoned out. I must be tired. What’d you say?”

“Castiel. Cas. Angel. Best friend. Cas. Boyfriend. Cas,” Sam rattled off.

“Fine. Don’t talk to me.” Dean shook his head. “I think I need to go to bed. Good to see you, Sammy.”

So Sam had called Rowena and Cas had stormed into Heaven. . . . . . . . . .

“You and I both know how unnatural your fling is. It needs to end , Castiel,” Naomi said, picking up her favorite drill. Castiel squirmed and was immediately reminded of his restraints.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to me, Dean loves me,” Castiel fought. “He’s going to be cured of this.”

“It’s much too late for that to matter, poor dear Castiel,” Naomi smiled. “You walked right into your trap. Dean was just the bait.”

“No!” Castiel’s scream was drowned out by the whirr of the drill as it made contact with his vessel’s skull. The last word on his lips as he wailed in pain: “Dean!” . . . . . . . . .

“Cas,” Dean groaned as he resurfaced from his sleep. Rowena hovered at his bedside and Sam stood behind her. Relief filled the room as Dean sat up. “Where’s Cas? I just had the worst fucking dream.”

“I don’t think it was a dream,” Sam said softly.

“No. Too crazy to be real. I forgot him, Sam. God, I was so scared. I forgot the love of my life.” When Dean was met with Sam’s slow nodding, his eyes grew and his stomach turned. “No! Cas!” Dean whipped the blankets off of him and stumbled out of bed.

“I pray to thee, Castiel, please hear me! I need you! I need you! I remember you! I know you! Cas!” Dean screamed as he ran through the bunker.

The flutter of wings behind him made him spin, his relief swimming through him as his eyes land on his angel. Dean ran to Cas, closing the small distance. They were immediately wrapped in each other’s arms, lips landing on jaws, cheeks, noses, lips, anywhere and everywhere to just be connected. When the rapid fire kisses slowed, their lips found each other and settled. Dean’s hand tightened in Cas’ hair as he clutched his angel to him.

“Cas,” Dean breathed into Cas’ mouth.

Cas opened his mouth and a head-splitting screech came out. Dean didn’t have time to react. There was no time to untangle himself and cover his ears. There was no time to take a step away. The high-pitched scream tore through him.

Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head and he sagged in Cas’ arms. Blood dripped from his ears onto Cas’ coat. Cas lifted Dean bridal style, letting Dean’s head rest against his chest. With Dean in his arms, Cas finally noticed the bunker. The war room had exploded. Glass littered the tables and floor. Every alarm was going off, but the lights were all broken. The table was cracked in half, the chairs on their sides and tossed to the far side of the room.

“Nejsdpqd pvcns jbdutab? Cas! Nejsdpqd aijbfehapfndj fopc Dean?” Sam asked, all of his words muddled.

“Dean’s not okay. I hurt him. I hurt Dean. Help,” Cas begged. Sam covered his ears protectively.

“Owdjk iofe euofnoiwspc emds?” Sam tried again. Cas shook his head and held Dean closer to him. He bent his head so their foreheads touched. He tried healing, but it wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working?

“P’jec soinc tifos hescvuis!” Sam said before leaving the room in a hurry.

Cas tried to summon all of his powers. Heaven hadn’t taken them. Human languages had been removed from his vocabulary. He couldn’t understand them and the bunker was breaking, Dean’s ears bleeding because of the Enochian. His powers were fine. He was summoning too much to try to fix Dean. It was too late by the time Cas realized what was happening.

Summoning his power to heal his boyfriend had been the wrong thing to do. His true form filled Dean’s vision, between their connected faces. Cas withdrew immediately, but it was too late.

Dean’s eyes were gone, his jaw slack, ears bleeding, heart… stopped.

Cas fell to his knees, pulling Dean tight against him. Tears streams silently while he tried to breathe. Once he finally pulled air into his lungs, a scream louder than anything the human ear could register filled and exploded the bunker. Doorways cracked, every light went out, the entrance burst outward. Cas shook as he held Dean, his tears falling onto the quickly cooling skin.

@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @fandom-is-my-middle-name @ain-t-bovvered @soloarcana @thekingofselfloathing @samatedeansbroccoli @anarchiana @lily-t2019 @destiel-honeypie @spn-bb @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @skittles-rainbow-cat @k-lewis @destielhoneybee @castibella-shipper-of-the-lord @aestheticallydyke @righteouscomeuppancejogstheliver @deanwinchesterswitch @adventurous-blob @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @royalrowena @telefunkies @blueeyesandpie

#maggiemaybe160 #angst #angst fic #MCD WARNING #supernatural fic #spn fic #destiel fic #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #cas #dean x castiel #dean x cas #established destiel #memory loss #profoundnet #profound net

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sternchencas · 5 years

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written for a prompt by @maggiemaybe160 on the @profoundnet discord.

THE VOICE OF AN ANGEL

Pairing: Destiel | Wordcount: 4.867 | Rating: Explicit | also on AO3

Tags: radio, music, masturbation, fluff and smut, Dean falls for Cas’ voice

Summary: When Sam hides Dean’s cassette tapes, Dean has to get creative to get his daily fix of classic rock, but soon, the music doesn’t matter anymore. Instead, Dean gets high on a voice.

“I swear to god, Sam, you better be joking,” Dean bellows, his voice filling the inside of the Impala like a severe explosion.

“I’m not,” Sam says in a quiet, almost soothing voice. “You’ve been brooding for months, and I think they’re not helping you at all.”

“My freaking cassette tapes? Are you crazy?”

Sam purses his lips, not happy about Dean’s choice of words, but he keeps his therapist-like exterior. “Heaving a healthy routine and being stuck in a circle of self-destructing behavior are two different things. I think you should try something new.”

Dean growls. “You just want me to listen to some of your crap. But guess what? I won’t. I’d rather listen to nothing at all.”

He turns off the radio with unnecessary force and watches Sam, daring him to turn it back on. Sam does nothing of the sort. He dives back into his laptop with a sigh of, “Fine.”

“Fine!” Dean snaps back and stares at the road ahead, not looking at Sam for over two hours.

The atmosphere stays just as icy when they’re back at the house, and Dean heads straight for his room. It only takes him about 20 minutes of driving to understand what Sam means. Dean hates this kind of silence, and he not only likes the music, he needs it like he needs air to breathe.

Throwing his bedroom door shut, Dean looks around the room for his iPod, but since Sam is an equally smart and mean son of a bitch, he took that as well. Dean is about to storm out and demand it back when his eyes fall on an old radio in the corner. Sam didn’t take it since it’s broken, but he doesn’t know that Dean brought it to his room to fix it.

Dean raids one of his drawers to make sure he has all the tools he needs before locking himself in and starting to work on the radio. It takes him three hours and four attempts, but finally, it comes to life.

“Suck on that,” Dean murmurs and sets the radio down on his bedside table. After plucking in his headphones, he eagerly searches for a station.

Living on a farm in the middle of nowhere doesn’t help. First, Dean gets a lot of static, then classical music, and finally a bible station. He’s almost ready to give up when he can make out a few distinct notes of Metallica’s “some kind of monster.” Eagerly, he tweaks the antenna to get the most out of it and his fingers hurt from moving the knob for the frequency only fractions of an inch at a time.

This is the test of flesh and soul This is the trap that smells so good This is the flood that drains these eyes These are the looks that chill to the bone These are the fears that swing overhead These are the weights that hold you down This is the end that will never end This is the voice of silence no more…

Dean falls back onto his bed with a deep sigh. Like a junkie who finally got his hit, he unravels in the music. When the song ends, there’s a second of nothing until a voice speaks. “This was ‘Some Kind of Monster’ by Metallica, and we’ll head right over to Kansas‘ ‘Dust in the Wind.’”

The music doesn’t matter anymore. Dean sits up and stares at the radio, his mind occupied with the gruff, deep voice of the announcer. Dean’s never heard a voice like that, especially on the radio. He would definitely remember a voice like that.

Getting up to his feet, he paces up and down and waits for the song to get cut short, but it plays all the way through, and there’s a moment of silence before the voice speaks again.

“Wonderful track, number 6 on the Billboard Hot 100 in April of 1978. You’re listening to Angel Radio, and these are our five songs in a row before midnight.”

He lists the songs, and when the music starts, Dean exclaims a breathless, “Nooo.”

Five songs in a row? Usually, he’d kill for that, but right now he wants nothing more than to hear that voice again. Dean makes good use of the time though. He changes his clothes and brushes his teeth and when song number three starts, he rushes to the kitchen to get something to drink.

When Dean comes back to his room, he puts his headphones back on and the song changes. It must be number five. Dean settles down on his bed and turns the volume up, ready for the voice.

The silence is back, and then, “Those were our five songs in a row before midnight, and you’re listening to classic rock on Angel Radio. I’m Castiel Novak, and I’ll leave you in the hands of my friend Balthazar for now. Have a good night from me with this lovely lullaby.”

“No One Like You” by the Scorpions begins to play, and Dean listens, hoping that Castiel might come back, but when the song is fading out another voice is speaking over the last notes.

“Welcome back to another night with Balthazar. I’ll guarantee we’re going to have-”

Dean turns the radio off and grabs his phone instead. He searches for anything about Angel Radio and finds a message board where people discuss some of their shows. One of the entries has a link attached that leads to a website made by the station’s hosts. It’s not flashy: more about giving information.

One link leads to a list of the hosts, even with pictures. There’s Balthazar with an overly cheeky grin, a redheaded woman named Anna, a woman with golden locks biting down on a lollipop named Gabriel, and finally Castiel.

Dean stares at the photograph and feels cheated. It’s not at all like the others. It’s a profile picture of a man with a sharp nose and a clean cut, scruffy chin, but the eyes are cut off. Instead, his mouth is open, and he speaks into a microphone. With Dean’s eyes glued to Castiel’s lips, he tries to imagine the voice, but it’s just not the same from memory.

Immediately, Dean clicks the link to the station’s program and lets out an unceremonial, accidental, and completely embarrassing squeal of joy when he sees the name. Tomorrow evening, he has a date with Castiel Novak.

After weeks of secretly listening to Angel Radio, Dean finally has the house to himself. Sam is visiting a nearby convention about serial killers, and Dean puts his alone time to good use. He searches the whole basement until he finds his mom’s old stereo. It has a functioning radio, and what’s more important, it also has two cassette decks. A week ago, Dean bought some tapes from an electronic store, letting Sam believe that he needed parts to fix the radio, and now he’s finally ready.

Dean has barely enough time to set up the stereo, but he’s ready to go when Anna says goodbye to the listeners. Her last song fades out, and after a short pause, Dean can hear Castiel’s familiar voice.

“Hello, friends of classic rock. I’m Castiel Novak, and you’re listening to Angel Radio. It’s 6 on this nice Thursday evening, which means it’s time for Classical Rock – a history.”

Falling back on his bed, Dean couldn’t be happier. Although he doesn’t mind listening to Castiel over his headphones, it sure is a nice change to have his voice fill the whole room. Even better, every Tuesday and Thursday at 6 pm, Castiel runs a show that focuses on the history of famous bands and their songs. Dean already knows most of it, but aside from little sound bits of songs, there’s no music. For almost an hour, there’s only Castiel’s lovely voice.

Dean sighs, and all the pressure and stress falls off of him, leaving only a nice heavy feeling that presses him snuggly into the memory foam of his mattress. He can’t exactly tell what today’s show is about, but now that he’s able to record them, he can listen to them whenever he wants.

A giddy feeling rushes through his stomach at the thought, and his mind dives deep into the velvet ocean that is Castiel’s voice. In his mind, he sees the picture of Castiel’s profile, the plush, full lips slightly parted. He wonders what it would sound like to have Castiel whisper in his ear, maybe bite down and nibble, or kiss along his jaw and neck. When a pleasant chill runs down his body, Dean’s imagination begins to run wild.

What if it went even further? Castiel would kiss down Dean’s chest and stomach, all the while talking to him, his breath ghosting over Dean’s skin, and when he reaches the waistband of his pants…

Dean knows he should probably feel guilty for getting off on a stranger’s voice like this, but he’s not hurting anybody, so he loses his shirt and pushes down his pants. Castiel’s voice brings him right back into the mood, and he caresses his body while imagining Castiel doing it.

It would be so good to have Castiel tell him how pretty he looks this way and how much he wants to be inside of him. That gives Dean the idea to go all the way with this. He grabs a bottle of lube from the drawer in his nightstand and applies it generously, while Castiel is not so far from discussing related things. “… been controversy about innuendos and sexual meaning in song lyrics, but these guys weren’t doing much to hide it. A line like ‘I’m gonna give you every inch of my love‘ can’t exactly be called subtle.”

Guided by Castiel’s voice, Dean moves his hand lazily up and down his cock while his other hand massages his balls. He wants to make every minute of the show count, so he takes his sweet time. After a while, his grip gets tighter, and he caresses his perineum, slowly paving the way to open himself up with more lube.

Dean imagines how Castiel would suck Dean’s cock into his mouth, all wet and warm, while his slick fingers would tease Dean’s rim. He’d tell him what he’s doing at all times, and push his fingers inside so slowly that Dean would soon beg for more. Following the notion, Dean lifts his ass up from the bed, pressing against his own fingers, before falling back and finally sliding them in with care.

Throughout the show, Castiel’s voice becomes increasingly more pronounced, as if it takes him a while to lose his nervousness. Once there, he sounds sure of everything he says, almost daring the listeners to disagree with him. Dean would. Not because Castiel is wrong but because Dean wants him to lecture him. Castiel would tell him that he had better behave himself, but Dean would be a little brat until Castiel pushes him down on the bed to show him who’s boss.

Dean’s movements become more frantic at the thought, his body heating up and his heart beating louder in his chest. He wishes he could make this happen, get Castiel into his bed and open up for him, follow his every command. Castiel would feel so good inside him, stretching him open with every push and making him ask politely for more.

With loud moans, Dean slides his fingers in and out of his hole, his voice mingling with Castiel’s, both of them filling up the room. Castiel is giving a quick recap, letting Dean know that there are only minutes until the show ends. In Dean’s mind, Castiel is buried deep inside of him, his body pressing down on him, and they kiss in between needy breaths and even louder moans.

Just like Castiel speeds up in his imagination, Dean’s hands become more eager, and when Castiel announces the end of today’s show, Dean pushes himself over the edge crying out, “Fuck, Cas!”

Dean’s body goes rigid for a moment, his hand still while his cock pumps come onto his stomach, and a second later, Dean pools down into his mattress again as if he’s made of liquid.

“You were a wonderful audience tonight, thank you for listening. I’m Castiel Novak, and you are listening to Angel Radio.”

Music starts playing, and Dean lets out a little laugh while pointing at the radio. “Oh no, baby, thank you.”

“Dean, what the hell? I only want to-” Sam says but Dean lifts his hand to cut him off.

“I told you, no time.”

“Why?” Sam asks bewildered. “It’s not even like you’re going out. You’re in your ugliest sweatpants.”

Dean doesn’t particularly like lying to Sam, but he didn’t have a chance to listen to Cas in two days, and his nerves are beginning to wear thin. “Okay, if you absolutely have to know, I’m doing yoga.”

Sam‘s eyes grow big after Dean gives him a moment to process what he just said. “Yoga?”

“Yes, bloody yoga,” Dean grunts. “I hate to admit when you’re right but I’ve been doing it regularly twice a week, and it actually helps.”

“Oh,” Sam says, his face lightening up. “Tuesday and Thursday.”

The lie works even better than Dean imagines, and he nods along. “Always at six, because you keep going on and on about a healthy schedule. And as you can see,” Dean says, pointing at his watch, “I’m already late.”

Sam lifts his hands in apology. “Alright, I’ll head over to Eileen’s for a while, and you can do your thing.”

“Highly appreciated,” Dean says, acting as calm as he possibly can, but as soon as Sam is gone, he sprints to his room and gets the stereo out from under his bed to turn it on. “- from Led Zeppelin, ‘Riverside Blues.’ Enjoy,” Cas says.

Dean stares at the radio while the song plays and it’s the first time in his life that he doesn’t enjoy hearing it. Why is there music at all? There’s supposed to be Cas‘ voice for a full hour. Dean sits down on his bed and waits for the song to end.

“For everybody who just tuned in, there won’t be a history of classic rock today. My co-hosts asked me to do a little giveaway instead,” Cas explains. “You can win two tickets for an exclusive concert of the Dreamy Demons in the Roadhouse Shed, dinner before and backstage after. All you have to do is call now and answer a simple question.”

He gives out the number to get right through to him, and when he repeats it, Dean punches it into his phone. “I see we have a first caller. Hi, who am I talking to?”

“Hi, oh my god, I’m such a big fan. I love your show. I’m Becky.”

“Thank you, Becky,” Cas says, but Dean can hear that he’s trying to rush through the conversation. “Are you a big fan of the Dreamy Demons?”

“Oh my god yes,” Becky squeals and Dean fears that his ears might start bleeding. “I listen to them all the time and follow them on insta and everything.”

“That’s-” Cas searches for a word and Dean laughs, trying to imagine his face. “Um, great. You should have no trouble with the question then. I will read it to you, and then you have ten seconds to answer. Ready?”

“Yes!”

“In their song ‘Nevermind Names‘ the Dreamy Demons list a few names that were supposed to be their name before they settled on their current one. Name those three names. You have ten seconds.”

Becky rambles for the entire time and comes up with only one name at the end, Dreamy Demons. Cas lets her down easy and plays another song, promising to give another caller a chance when it ends.

Dean stares at his phone. If he wants to go see the band, he can just buy a ticket, but this-? This is a chance to talk to Cas. The seconds tick by, and Dean’s mouth runs dryer by every one of them. His thumb keeps hovering over the call button. He won’t get through anyway, right?

Cas comes back on to quickly explain the rules again. When he says “then call now,” Dean presses down his thumb without thinking, and it rings. “Alright, let’s see who we have now,” Cas says. “This is Castiel. Who am I talking to?”

A shiver runs down Dean’s spine. He can hear Cas‘ voice over the speaker but it’s also right there in his ear, and it’s even better although he has no idea how that’s possible. “Anybody there?” Cas says, and Dean finally gets in gear.

“Yes, hi. It’s Dean, Dean Winchester.”

“Hello Dean.”

That’s what it must feel like to ascend to heaven. Dean is melting like snow in the sun, and he has trouble getting air for a second. Nobody has ever said his name like that. It’s pronounced clearly, but comes out of Cas‘ throat like a growl. Dean wants to fall to his knees and pray.

“You forgot one of the names,” Dean blurts out, trying to get back on his feet. “You said, devilish, dirty, and disastrous, but you forgot Dollar Demons.”

There’s silence, and Dean curses himself. He wanted to talk to Cas to win him over, or at least have a friendly conversation, not argue with him on the air. “I asked for the three names in the song,” Cas clarifies. “They only talked about Dollar Demons on Garth’s Good Morning Show.”

“Alright, you got me there,” Dean admits. “But it’s in the booklet of the second album. Worth adding it to the other three, don’t you think?”

“You could, but even Crowley himself said that they didn’t particularly like the name and that’s why they didn’t put it in the song,” Cas says, his voice full of that bossy tone that makes Dean’s knees go weak. “Worth listening to the lead singer, don’t you think?”

“Dammit, Cas, you’re really showing me up right now,” Dean jokes and the nickname just slips out like everything else.

It’s dead quiet for a moment, and Dean even thinks about apologizing, but Cas finds his voice first. “How about you save face by getting the question for the tickets right, Dean?”

He puts a lot of emphasis on Dean’s name this time, but Cas doesn’t sound angry. Dean isn’t sure what to think since he’s never heard Cas like this before. Is he joking? Teasing him? “Alright, I’ll do my best. Ready when you are.”

“Here is your question: In which year was Led Zeppelin’s ‘Ramble On‘ first released?”

Dean grins over his whole face and can’t keep the cheer out of his voice. “That’s not a Dreamy Demons question.”

“I can ask something else if it’s too hard for you,” Cas offers, and Dean is sure that Cas is fucking with him.

First, he asks him something that involves the number 69 and then asks him if it’s too hard? Dean’s heart is pounding faster again, and he dares to believe that Cas is actually flirting with him, or at least tries to throw him off with a little innuendo. “No, it’s alright, I can handle hard,” Dean retorts. “The answer is 1969. October 22nd, to be exact.”

“Seems we have a Zeppelin fan here, and the answer is-,” Cas says, and after a dramatic pause, he plays a cheery jingle interlaced with applause. “Correct, of course. Congratulations, Dean. You won two tickets with backstage access and a great dinner at the Roadhouse.”

“Thank you!” Dean says, emotion flooding into the words as their conversation ticks closer to ending.

“Any idea who’s coming with you?” Cas asks.

Dean’s brain short circuits. He can’t believe that Cas stays on the phone and is trying to make small talk. Maybe he doesn’t want it to be over either.

“How about you?” Dean asks out of the blue and to be perfectly clear, he rephrases the question. “Would you like to go to the concert with me?”

Cas‘ lets out a surprised laugh and his voice cracks. “We, um, have the nicest listeners, don’t you think? Stay on the line, Dean, so we can take your information.”

Dean hears a click and holding music begins playing through his phone, and after Cas announces the next song, the stereo is playing music as well. After a minute, Dean wonders when Cas will get back to him. After another minute, he’s not sure if anybody will get back to him at all, but Cas can’t just leave him hanging. He won the tickets after all.

The song on the radio changes and finally, there’s another click in Dean’s phone. “Dean, are you still there?”

“Sure,” Dean says, “still waiting for an answer.”

There’s a pause, and Dean can hear Cas breathe. “You weren’t joking then.”

“Not at all.”

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean’s heart drops. He can hear a let down from a mile away. “You can’t know that, but I’m blind. I’m not the best person to bring to a concert.”

The penny drops when Dean sees Cas‘ photo in front of his inner eye. He didn’t want every person online to see, so they got a little creative with the picture. He still told Dean, though. He could have said anything else, even argued that employees of the radio station can’t profit from the prizes, but he said the one thing that would give Dean an out. “That’s not a no then,” Dean states. “You want me to pick you up? I have a nice car.”

“I- Dean, didn’t you-?”

“Oh, I heard you,” Dean interrupts. He has a foot in the door now, and he’ll be damned if he lets Cas go because Cas feels self-conscious. “Just like you are hearing me. I didn’t ask you to go to the movies after all.”

There’s a small laugh coming from Cas, and Dean’s heart leaps with joy, but Cas still sounds unsure. “Can I ask why? We’ve never met and we don’t know anything about each other.”

“Not to sound like a creeper, but we’ve been dating for weeks. I haven’t missed a single show of classic rock history for five months, and it’s often the highlight of my day,” Dean admits. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, but he takes Cas as someone who needs the unpolished truth. “You don’t talk from notes, you love that stuff, and I do too. We’d have a lot to talk about, and I very much enjoy listening to you.”

“That’s- Um, thanks for your honesty,” Cas says before falling silent. It’s unnerving, but Dean doesn’t say anything. It’s not his job to persuade Cas. Dean made his move, and now it’s on Cas to decide. “Can I ask you something? And I’d prefer another honest answer.”

“Sure, ask away.”

“How much do you enjoy listening to me?”

“I told you-”

“No,” Cas interrupts. “Let me be clearer. Do you listen to the show alone when you enjoy it?”

Cas puts a lot of emphasis on the words, and Dean blushes when he finally gets his meaning. He doesn’t want this to be over, but he’d hate for it to start with a lie. “I always listen to it alone, but I only really, really enjoyed it once. I promise, from one classic rock fan to another.”

Dean bites his lip to stop himself from talking, but Cas laughs. “Don’t worry, I believe you. It’s alright.”

“And you’re not creeped out?”

“No,” Cas says. “I’ve gotten fan mail telling me to work at a sex hotline. It seems my voice - how do I put this – does it for quite a few people. I just wanted to know if you can be honest about it.”

“So, that’s still not a no?” Dean asks hopefully.

“I guess it’s not,” Cas says with a sigh. “You seem nice and to be honest, your voice isn’t too bad either.”

Dean almost swallows his tongue. “You think?” he crooks and Cas laughs, less restricted than before.

“Yes, I do,” Cas admits. “It’s dark, but smooth. Well rounded, like marbles shaped by the sea. Very sexy, actually.”

“Keep talking,” Dean says with a grin.

“Wish I could, but I’ve been playing songs in a row here without saying anything. I should go back to work.”

“Son of a bitch, of course.” Dean didn’t even notice the music coming from the stereo. “I’m sorry.”

“How about you give me your number, and I call you later when the show is over,” Cas suggests.

“To talk about the concert?”

“Of course,” Cas says, but then mischief creeps into his voice. “Or instead of talking, you could just listen.”

Dean rattles off his number quicker than he ever had before and has to repeat it twice before Cas gets it right. Then he lies on his bed, his phone pressed against his heart, and he feels like bursting any second.

Sam runs his hands through his hair and over his face, sighing deeply. Like so many times before, he’s waiting for his brother. Sam knows it’s still early, but they have hours of driving ahead of them, and it will take even longer if they don’t head out soon and get stuck in traffic.

He’s about to go in and get Dean when the door flies open, and Dean comes outside. He locks the door and hops down the stairs before walking over to the car with a skip in his steps. If Sam didn’t know better, he’d say it’s Dean’s I-had-great-sex-last-night-walk. But that can’t be. Sam is sure they were alone in the house last night.

Sam eyes Dean when he drops into the seat next to him with a whistle on his lips. “What are you so chipper about?” he asks, his suspicion growing.

“What?” Dean asks, checking his mirrors. “I can’t be in a good mood?”

“Of course, you can, but you’ve been down in the dumps for over a year. What changed?” Sam asks, still weary, but with legitimate interest.

Dean starts the engine and turns the car around to get on the path that leads from their house to the actual road. “I don’t know, Sammy. I guess yoga really does it for me.”

He smiles broadly, and now Sam is sure something is up. When Dean reaches for the radio, Sam lifts his hand, but Dean grunts. “Come on, I got over my tapes. You can’t forbid me to listen to music ever again.”

“Okay, you’re right,” Sam admits and leans back. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” Dean quips and he fumbles around with the frequency, clearly trying to get a specific station.

“-almost 6 in the morning and some of you might be surprised to hear my voice,” the announcer says in a deep, gruff voice. “Anna couldn’t make it this morning, so I’m filling in, giving you the best classic rock on Angel Radio.”

“You ever heard of that station before?” Sam asks, and Dean shrugs his shoulder as if he hadn’t just ignored some easier options to tune into this particular station.

The announcer speaks about some program changes and how he’ll be missing a show due to a concert he’s going to. Sam wouldn’t be interested in any of it, but Dean smiles along in a bedazzled manner and keeps glancing at the radio with an expression of fondness on his face. It gives Sam the creeps.

“And now I have a special song for one of our listeners. Good morning, Dean.”

The announcer’s voice is oozing something that Sam can’t place, especially in the way he says Dean. Sam looks over to his brother who is now smiling at the radio as if he’s about to bend down and kiss it. The music starts playing, and Dean taps his fingers on the steering wheel, lost in the fact of how weird all of this is.

Sam leans forward to catch his eye and points to the radio. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Dean says, mouthing the words to the song.

“You, all bouncy,” Sam elaborates, trying very hard to keep his voice under control. “And ‘good morning, Dean.‘ You gonna tell me that wasn’t meant for you?”

“A lotta Deans out there, Sammy,” Dean chirps and Sam is about to lose his mind.

“Look, you’re going to tell me-” Sam starts, but Dean is done pretending. When the chorus comes in, he actually sings along, not exactly well, but with a lot of enthusiasm.

“And you… shook me all night long,” he booms at the top of his voice while Sam’s brain works overtime.

A picture begins to form in his mind that combines Dean’s after sex behavior, the announcer, and that song.

“What were you asking?” Dean shouts over the music, moving his head along and shaking his shoulders.

Sam sinks down deep in his seat and closes his eyes, trying to do the same with his mind before it can finish solving the puzzle. “Oh god, nevermind. Just drive.”

#destiel #destiel fanfiction #profoundnet #destielfanficnet #my writing #under 5k

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ao3feed-destiel · 5 years

Text

Rock, Music & You

Read it on AO3 here!https://ift.tt/2Qyr8tk

by theheartchoice

Geologist!Cas, Musician!Dean and an opportune moment for love.

Words: 1335, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of ProfoundNet, Part 2 of DeanCas | AU Ficlets

Fandoms: Supernatural

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural)

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Geologist Castiel (Supernatural), Musician Dean Winchester, Fluff, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposal, Hands, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Opportune Moment, Sweet Castiel (Supernatural), Stubborn Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, POV Dean Winchester, Light Angst, Panic Attacks, #ProfoundBond Prompt Collection (Supernatural), Prompt Fill, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection

Link: https://ift.tt/2Qyr8tk

#ao3feed #ao3feed destiel #destiel

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aishitara · 2 years

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PB 100 Prompt Fill - Lick

They sit on a bench, knees touching in the humid July air, the sounds and smells and flashing lights of a pop-up summer carnival careening around them, the hub of a multi-colored carousel.

Castiel has never had funnel cake before. When Dean discovers this scandalous information, he drags Castiel to the nearest cart, fragrant with the sticky-sweet smell of frying oil and hot sugar.

“’S a fuckin’ crime,” Dean mutters to himself. Castiel watches Dean’s tongue peek out to lick powdered sugar from his lower lip and thinks, Yes, it really is.

“Deplorable.”

He leans in to take a taste.

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theheartchoice · 5 years

Text

Rock, Music & You

dean/cas | teen | 1.3k | au | ao3

for @canadduh + @idaaeri based on this prompt posted on the @profoundnet discord

Geologist!Cas, Musician!Dean and an opportune moment for love.

There was no guarantee it was a rock.

A lot of times, when Cas wanted to show Dean something safely tucked away in the curl of his palm, it turned out to be something very different from a rock: a purple flower, an injured bee, a glowing mushroom; a nautilus shell, a piece of antler velvet, a black feather; a couple of aspirin, a lit candle, a mini pie.

Not that those things aren't memorable in their own right, but there are a few that stand out a little more in his mind (for very different reasons): a bloody gash, a bottle of lube, a key.

The guy never ceases to surprise him.

Which is just one of many reasons Dean's planning on concealing a little surprise in his own palm, one of these days - and the sooner the better, because even though he's no rock collector himself he does have one currently sitting heavy in the hidden compartment of Baby's trunk.

Two rocks, actually.

Two different kinds of rock, technically: paired halos of sapphire and emerald encircling a silver band.

The inscription was tough, but when Sammy asked him what immediately comes to mind when he thinks of Cas, the answer was obvious.

He's just waiting for the right moment. But almost three weeks of searching, of willing the perfect moment into existence has been playing on his nerves, truth be told.

It needs to be perfect. Cas deserves nothing less.

At first, he'd carried the little black box around with him everywhere he went, tucked close against his heart, ever-ready for its moment in the sunshine - or starshine, depending.

But after a few close calls - aborted attempts due to bad timing; heart-stopping panic at accidental, premature near-reveals - he'd decided to keep it out of harm's way in the safest place he knew.

Thing is, he didn't wanna have to force the moment. He wanted it to be as natural as possible - nothing fancy, just one of those random times where everything slips into place against all odds.

Kinda like him and Cas.

And then, wouldn't ya know it, the opportune moment presents itself like a goddamned miracle - except being on a nature walk means Baby (and more crucially, the ring) is nowhere nearby.

Cas has found a pebble by the bank of the creek-bed, one shaped like a guitar pick - an object he didn't know the purpose of when he'd encountered one for the first time in Dean's apartment.

He saw it, and thought of Dean. And how perfect is that? Because every time Dean picks up one of his guitars, he thinks of Cas.

Cas, and his endearing curiosity, his stone wall poker face, his dry sense of humour. Cas, and that voice speaking words no one else could possibly recreate. Cas, and those eyes that see more than anyone else ever has, see deeper into Dean than he’s ever allowed, ever wanted. Cas, and those hands holding little moments of wonder, holding a pebble in the shape of music, in the shape of Dean's heart.

A heart which is right now beating out a rhythm that sounds exactly like: no more waiting.

"Marry me."

Cas' false stone wall shifts and remoulds, a look of wonder forming in its place.

Dean takes the next step - should've been the first step, but since the moment's already rolling he's gonna remedy what he can.

Closing the distance between them he drops a knee to the sodden ground. He may not have the ring, but he's got the words imprinted on his ribs thanks to his lungs breathing ‘em in and out that many times in the mirror.

He draws a breath, and takes Cas' hand where the pebble resides.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm gonna do my damndest to be worthy of you, to keep you in my life for the rest of mine. To keep you happy, and safe, and to grow with you, not apart." He'd almost let that happen, and it was almost the worst mistake of his life. "I never thought a loser like me could be lucky enough to meet a guy like you, let alone be with you - someone I can no longer imagine living my life without. Someone crazy enough to love me, and stubborn enough not to run away." He has to pause a moment, blink away the hedging tears, deny the doubt trying to choke off his voice; he's not done yet. "You're my win, Cas." And he wishes he had the ring, but those words feel stronger out loud. "Will you be my husband, too?"

Cas stares, lips fallen apart.

Dean waits, lips pressed shut to hold back his fear in case it tries to manifest itself in words. He doesn't wanna screw this up. He can't.

But.. what if he doesn't get what he wants?

Hoping, but not knowing, feeling his love for this man singing in his veins, heart-strings thrumming out a tune just for Cas, composed of Cas, another kind of life-changing moment begins to rise up inside him - only this one's a dark contrast to the one he's trying to share with one Castiel Novak.

A terrifying wave of dread swells within him, readying to crash down over his hopes and dreams should Cas refuse him. His veins would stop singing, his heart would stop strumming. If that happened, he'd never want to sing again. Never be able to pick up another guitar and not think of Cas, of the greatest loss he'd ever known.

Dean thought he was a loser before they met, but that'd be nothing compared to the loser he'll be if Cas turns him down.

So caught up in his spiralling thoughts Dean doesn't realise his gaze has slid from his boyfriend above to the mud below - surrounding him, soaking into his jeans, filthy, cold and isolating. He doesn't even notice that air is hard to come by.. until a hand is placed over his racing heart, moving in tandem with the quick rise and fall of his chest.

Dean grabs hold for balance, for stability, as another hand comes to steady him by the shoulder.

"You're alright, Dean," Cas soothes, "You're alright, you're not alone.. I'm here, I'm right here.." He's so right: Dean never feels alone with Cas, and Cas is always there when he needs him. His heart slows, calming from frantic. The vice around his lungs eases off. Cas' touch is warm, his presence comforting, his voice a familiar road guiding him home. "..I want to be here, Dean, with you, always.."

His breaths even out. His heart settles, nestling against Cas' palm like it belongs, where it knows it's safe.

"..with my husband."

Husband.

Dean follows that voice, lifts his head, finds Cas close: eyes concerned but immensely fond; Dean knows that look, has been intimate with it for years, knows it's born of love and care and the belief that Dean actually deserves those things. "That a 'yes'?" Because he needs to know he didn't pass out and this is just a nightmare about to land the fatal blow to his heart.

"Yes." Sincerity swims in Cas' eyes, a tender smile curving his lips - and Dean wants to kiss it onto his own, to seal the deal.

Cas beats him to it.

The pebble in Cas' palm takes on a glow in Dean’s memory; this one's extra special. But the best surprise he's ever found in Cas' hands has been his own heart.

This overcast Thursday in September isn't the first time Cas has cradled it with love - intimately, fiercely, unconditionally - Dean just never thought anyone would want it, let alone care for it as if it was something precious, something beautiful, something worthwhile.

Now, with Cas' hand still spread over the pocket of his jacket where the phantom ring bears a lifelong promise, Dean knows he's in good hands, for better or worse, through good times and bad.

And it'll be Dean's great honour to love this man, to have and to hold him, to cherish him, from this day until the end of their days.

#destiel ficlet #au #profoundnet #proposal #happy anniversary Dean and Castiel #prompt fill #myficlets #fluff #deancas #teen #dean pov #light angst

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thursdays-fallen-angel · 6 years

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Hi! 100 from the prompt list💕

100. “I won’t let you fall.”

Dating an angel is weird. Dean often tries to pretend like it isn’t, since no matter who he may be talking to at any given time, he never wants to be accused of being unsure of his relationship with the being he calls the love of his life—but pretending doesn’t change reality.

And the reality is, of course, that it’s weird.

It’s weird to be with someone who is never injured and never ages or changes, and heals any ailment Dean may have with a single, gentle touch. It’s weird to be with someone who can practically predict his needs and wants, and who can fulfill them with nothing more than a snap of his fingers. It’s weird to be with someone who knows him better than he knows himself, all the way down to his soul. Dean has never had a relationship that could in any way compare, physically or emotionally.

The weirdest part, however, is dating someone who has wings.

Although Dean first had the privilege of seeing Cas’ wings before they actually got together (his wings had taken the brunt of a fight against some particularly cruel demons, and Dean had had to help him with them while they healed; he fully believes that if it wasn’t for that incident and the way they bonded in the aftermath, they never would have gotten together), it wasn’t until their relationship was well underway that he actually began to grasp the reality of them. For the most part, Cas looks human enough, but sometimes he manifests a giant pair of wings on his back, and it’s just as completely normal as it is completely bizarre.

Dean loves them, of course. He has spent hours upon hours studying them, grooming them, and being swaddled by them. He knows their feel—strong and sturdy, yet softer than silk—and knows their look—he scoured the internet until he found a bird that had a matching color pattern, and finally found it in a white tailed hawk—and yet every now and again, he still disassociates from his comfort with them and thinks himself in circles around just how unusual those wings have made his life.

Usually, that happens when he is in situations like his current one—precariously balanced on a branch near the top of an enormous tree, his angel pressed against his back, and forest as far as the eye can see. They’re between hunts, taking the day for themselves, and Cas picked him up and flew him here, to what may as well be the top of the world. The sun is just beginning to set in the distance, painting the sky into deep purples and burning oranges, while the ground is so far beneath them that Dean wouldn’t be able to see it through the trees even if he wanted to.

And he very much doesn’t.

As if sensing his trepidation at that fact, Cas presses in closer against him, and presses a large wing across his chest. His arm his already there, an iron bar around Dean’s waist, but the wing is an additional gesture of support that makes Dean melt.

“Don’t worry, love,” Cas says into his ear, his voice pitched in just the way that never fails to make Dean shiver, “I won’t let you fall.”

Dean has never trusted anything more than he trusts that statement.

It’s weird to have an angel for a boyfriend.

But he wouldn’t change it for the world.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel ficlet #deancas #profoundnet #i don't really know what this came out to be but uh #i think i love it #thanks for picking this one!#prompt fill #makenna's writing #gracefuldean #replies

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mittensmorgul · 5 years

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Hey mittens! I have a new friend on tumblr who is struggling. She wants to be a writer but her fics aren't being seen. She's frustrated. She wants to give up. I've given her the best advice I can give. I'm a small blog but I keep writing all the time. Trying to give her advice, but not sure what else I can do. She's in her mid twenties, lives at home, doesn't have a job or a car but desperately wants to. She's stuck and needs help. What else can I do and what advice would you give? Thank you!

Heck, I have no idea. D:

Write good? >.>

(haaaaa three hours after I started typing this, with the intent of replying privately, I’ve officially invested too much time in it not to post it… under a cut for length, and because I have officially run out of mental energy and real-world time for dealing with it for today…)

I mean, I see advice all the time on how to get seen/noticed around here, and half the advice conflicts with the other half. It’s hard to even guess what worked for anyone sometimes.

There’s networks she could join (I have no idea how networks work, and I’ve been here nine years, so someone who actually uses networks would probably be better to ask about how to do that, but I do know that the point of them is for a group of people to see/reblog member works, so that might help her get noticed).

There’s also things like Profound Bond and Writers of Destiel. These are discord groups, but they both have a tumblr presence (especially @profoundnet which she could look into.) They run challenges, have a really vibrant community over on discord with hundreds of members, and regularly reblog member works on tumblr.

Plus, making friends, working with beta readers or other writing partners will help find new friends and followers who will help spread her works, too. Volunteering to beta read when a “bigger” writer puts out a call can also help– not only in building friendships with other authors but also gaining experience with writing as well as editing.

Interacting with other authors on tumblr, reblogging their work and commenting– even if it’s just “OH GOSH I LOVE THIS” kind of stuff– ESPECIALLY with other “smaller writers” and thereby spreading the word around about each other’s writing will help grow up a community around all of you.

None of us started out popular, you know? And “popularity” is definitely a relevant term. When I started writing fic, I lucked into a situation that I attempted to recreate with the Christmas collaboration thingy I ran, but ouch that proved to be way more work than I really had the time or energy for. I’d be happy to help others run that type of collab and offer advice, but heck if I’ll ever do one myself again. :P

A lot of fic challenges are a good way for new writers to get noticed, too. There’s a TON of challenges out there. Now, something like the DCBB or one of the other larger and more established challenges might not be the easiest place for a newbie writer to cut their teeth. There is A LOT that goes into challenges that newbies are just not prepared for (rules, deadlines, etc., because knowing how to write, edit, and post on a concrete deadline where others are relying on you to know what you’re doing without needing an undue amount of help from the mods isn’t something you want to learn on the fly in a high-pressure situation like that… there’s an assumption when signing up for something like the DCBB or the Pinefest that in doing so, a writer is CERTAIN that their skills– including TIME MANAGEMENT and the ability to collaborate with an artist and follow all the rules (YES, ALL OF THE RULES) and meet every deadline– are up to the task.

So, that said, I’d highly recommend some of the other smaller, more laid-back fandom challenges. There’s new ones popping up all the time, and a lot of them are geared toward specific types of fic (canon fic, certain tropes, etc.), so there’s a built-in audience for their work. Not to mention that in smaller challenges there’s actually more room for exposure, and not having your work drowned in a flood of hundreds of other long works, potentially many of them by already established authors, coming out in the same time period. Readers are literally spoiled for choice in those situations, and an “untested” author posting a 20k+ fic might fall by the wayside while “guaranteed thing” authors works get more attention, you know? Readers have a limited amount of time they can commit to reading, and with SO many choices available, are actually more likely go for the “tried and true” author they’re already familiar with before investing in an unknown author. Profound Bond is just starting the @casdeanflipfest, for example, with a smaller wordcount minimum, and therefore a more reasonable length work for readers to take a risk on an author they’re not familiar with. I might not have time, as a reader, to invest in every 60k fic that crosses my dash, but I will drop everything to read a 5k fic for half an hour, you know?

There’s also event-specific tags that offer opportunities to be seen by a wider audience. For example, for the last few days, the DCBB folks have been encouraging folks to tag Valentine’s Day themed works #dcvday. This is a very laid-back and casual way to put your works out to an audience who’s looking for exactly that type of thing, you know? Other situation-specific tags like this happen frequently (like Dean’s birthday fic, or the Destiel Anniversary fic, or holiday fic, for example).

There’s also fic collections. For example, right now the @destieltropecollection is collecting fics for this year’s lists: http://destieltropecollection.tumblr.com/post/182800717844/destieltropecollection-destiel-trope-collection. If you have fic that fits into any of these tropes, fill out the form and submit them to be added to the masterpost. They’ll be posted in May, a different trope’s list each day. People looking for that specific trope will have a handy list, and you can reach a whole new audience that way. :)

Take writing prompts, if that’s something you’re comfortable doing. People with cute lil fic ideas will LOVE you for fleshing out their ideas and turning them into something beautiful. Or GIVE writing prompts to other authors who accept them. You never know what sort of creative collaboration that might spark. If you have a fic idea based on someone’s post, by all means TALK TO THAT PERSON! Express your excitement about their idea, ask if it’s okay to turn their little headcanon or writing prompt into a longer fic, and I can almost guarantee that the original poster will be THRILLED.

Take fan art as writing prompts, as well! As much as authors Die Of Squee if an artist is inspired to draw something from one of our fics, ARTISTS ARE EQUALLY FILLED WITH SQUEE if you’re inspired to write fic based on their art. Just, if you do this, please please PLEASE actually communicate privately with the author or artist in question before you do anything with it. Make it clear you’re writing out of love for their thing, and not in a selfish grab for attention, you know? Otherwise it feels a little too much like stealing. It’s a fine line, but it’s all a matter of perception to everyone involved. That communication and collaboration is key.

That said, I think 99% of it all is pure luck. But because of that first challenge I did, the next fic I posted was (miraculously!) reviewed by destielfanfic, which I don’t think is the sort of exposure most authors get on their first long fic… This was also early 2015, when there was a sort of Boom Market for fic, and I don’t even think the atmosphere for fandom is still exactly the same, you know? It feels a lot more decentralized, and a lot of the “big writers” from back then have left the fandom entirely, or else don’t write much at all anymore.

But fandom is a cyclical thing like that. People come and go, popularity rises and falls. I think my best advice is to develop friendships with people who are in that same general region of that arc as you are, you know? Build a community, support each other.

I see bitter posts all the time about how “popular” people don’t want to support newcomers, and “elite cliques” of folks are conspiring to hold on to their popularity by keeping others down, and that’s just bullshit. The little group of people I generally hang in tumblr circles with have been my friends for years, at this point. Most of us are kinda stunned that we’re all still around, you know? We all showed up around the same time, and went through these sorts of struggles together. We’re still here, and most of us recognize that we’re only considered “popular” at all by attrition. We survived while other folks rage-quit the show or the fandom. I know that’s not a particularly encouraging-sounding bit of advice, but that’s literally how the vast majority of us got recognized. We just… didn’t quit.

I was blogging on this dumb site for four years before anyone really started to notice me. (and I still know that the perception of my personal popularity FAR outweighs my actual popularity, you know? I’m not one of the elite 1% of writers around here, and I know it, and I’m perfectly fine with that. I don’t post long fic serially, and that shows in my total hit counts on AO3. Serial posting artificially inflates hit counts, and keeps works at the top of the results page week after week, and I’d personally just rather post a complete fic to stand on its own. But that’s a dilemma for another post.) Then again, I started out mostly reading meta and squealing about the show, occasionally commenting, asking questions, or adding my thoughts to posts. I learned the lay of the land, so to speak (who was receptive to these sorts of additions and conversations starting on their posts and who wasn’t, and the social conventions surrounding it all), while lurking and not even really trying to get noticed. I made friends with people before I ever started writing fic.

(but I also have a background in original fiction writing, so I already knew quite a lot about author culture in general, and had a lot of experience writing myself before I started to write fic, which likely helped me personally quite a bit. I was able to jump into writing chat groups and had a bit of writing cred even before I published a single fic, because I’d been writing original novels and had already cultivated a group of “Professional Author Friends,” participated in writing critique groups (which comprise Alpha and Beta Reading in fanfic writing circles), and therefore knew how those social circles functioned, you know? I mean, some of the authors from my “Professional Author Friends” circle, who I’ve been friendly with for more than a decade now, have gone on to Big Things in Publishing. And clearly I never did… aah health crises that knocked me off that train. But I realized I’m happier writing fic, without all the pressures that come from professional publishing, so I still consider it a personal win. But I was able to take a lot of that knowledge and experience with networking and building communities with me and transfer it to fandom, so I know my experience is not everyone’s experience.)

I think the main key thing is to create that sort of community. A lot of new writers go directly to the perceived “most popular” authors in fandom, as if they somehow held the key to understanding how to become more popular, or expecting the “popular” bloggers to “pay it forward” and give them a hand up (whether it be through asking questions or reblogging their fic posts, beta reading for them or whatever it may be). But even there, there’s a limit to pretty much everyone’s time, in a real-life sort of fashion. The more popular or widespread an author’s works become, the more up and coming writers will also see their work, and I get how people want to hitch themselves to that, you know?

Not to mention, most of us are entirely baffled by being thought of as popular writers. And again, I’m still sort of on the fringe of that kind of Big Fandom Popularity myself, and still kinda baffled as to how I got here.

But we’re all just people, with limited amounts of time to engage with other people, and a limited number of spoons in our respective drawers for social engagement. I do TRY to do what I can, but between beta reading for my already-established writing buddies (which I still only have limited time for, I AM SO SORRY ELMIE I SEE THE THINGS AND WANT TO READ THE THINGS BUT I CAAAAAAAN’T AND I’M MAD ABOUT IT OKAY?!), and still want to engage with current canon and write and read meta about it, and still want to actually write my own fic, not to mention helping to run the Pinefest (even though Cass does the bulk of the behind the scenes work, I take on a lot of the day to day general upkeep of it all) and still have to engage with reality and my human family that I live with and like… pay my bills and cook dinner and all that boring shit, not to mention coping with those chronic illnesses that knocked me off the Professional Paid Writer train in the first place… it’s not easy to balance out, you know?

It’s not so much a function of “I got mine, so screw you.” I just needed to make that clear, since I’ve seen that sentiment bandied about recently (again), and it’s just insulting. I think the main takeaway here is that Fandom is a Baffling Ordeal, and the key to winning in any way is to build up a community around yourself. If you want to achieve success as a writer, push yourself to write better. Find people you trust to beta read for you. And maybe most importantly, never “promote” your own work with negativity.

I see way too many writers who add notes to their work like, “ugh this is probably terrible.” Just… never do that. Have confidence in yourself, love your own writing, or at least present it with enthusiasm, if you ever expect anyone else to take that risk and read your words, you know?

So really? It boils down to perseverance, networking, and putting in the work to become the best writer you can, with no small portion of sheer luck. There’s no secret magical formula to success, aside from building a community that makes you happy. I’ve discovered that people are really attracted to happiness and positive energy, you know?

Heck I’m worn out just from spending five hours on this post now, in between Real Life Adulting I needed to take care of for an hour. I hope it all makes sense, but I’m gonna go surf my dash for a while and hopefully recover enough brain power to do the rest of the stuff I need to today D:

#fandom problems #this isn't a problem per se but i don't really have a better tag for it... maybe something like #fandom 101 #we're all just random people doing the best we can here and trying to make the most of our own experiences #emptywithout

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