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deancaskiss · 2 years

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Hands slipped down the glass window, leaving a trail of glowing Grace, before twining into Dean’s hair, earning a muffled gasp in response.

In any other circumstance, this would’ve been a bad idea. There was barely enough room in the backseat of the Impala for two fully grown men, and yet here Dean was, crouched down on his knees between Cas’ legs.

It was all Cas’ fault anyway.

The word ‘patience’ didn’t appear to be in Cas’ vocabulary. Large hands had splayed out across Dean’s thigh as lips wrapped around his earlobe.

“Pull over,” Cas had hummed into his ear, and Dean had gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“We’re less than 10 minutes away from the motel,” Dean muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

“No,” Cas said, his tongue darting out to circle around Dean’s ear. “Now.”

Dean flickered his gaze across the seat towards Cas. And that right there was Dean’s mistake. Because God. Cas looked… wrecked; blue eyes flared with desire and his tie loose around his neck. And goddammit, Dean hadn’t even laid a hand on him yet. Cas had no right to look that wrung out when they hadn’t done anything yet.

With a sharp turn, Dean found the nearest parking lot and slammed the Impala into park. He’d barely got the key out of the ignition before Cas was yanking him into the backseat.

Lips were on his in a fervorous kiss, and Dean scrambled to shove the trenchcoat off of Cas’ shoulders so he could undo Cas’ shirt.

Cas tore his mouth away with a groan, “Dean, please.”

Leaning in with a smirk, Dean pressed hot open mouthed kisses along Cas’ chest. “Tell me what you want.”

No words seemed to leave Cas’ mouth, but the angel’s hands fumbled to unbuckle his pants as he urged Dean down down down into the footwell of the car.

“You’re lucky you’re so hot when you’re like this,” Dean grinned, trailing kisses across Cas’ thigh as Cas let out a shuddering gasp.

Oh yes. Dean loved this part. The part where he could render Cas speechless just with some well-placed kisses and his lips wrapped around Cas’ cock.

It was like Cas just utterly fell apart, reduced to bitten off groans and shaky gasps as Dean worked him up and down.

The real trick though, was varying the speed. Each stroke had to be different; had to keep Cas guessing what he was going to do next. Long slow glides down, followed by a quick rush. Bottoming out and swallowing around the length filling his mouth, and then slowly gliding his tongue along the underside of Cas’ cock as he backed away.

And the sounds Cas made. God. Dean could get drunk on those sounds.

The way Cas moaned when Dean lingered with the weight of Cas’ cock on his tongue. Or the soft whine that slipped from Cas’ lips when Dean pressed his mouth to the head before sliding down again.

It was intoxicating.

And then Cas’ hands were tugging sharply in Dean’s hair. A warning. A last desperate surge.

Dean grinned, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked just a little harder.

And that’s when the lights in the Impala flickered violently, even with the keys lying abandoned on the driver's seat. The radio began blaring Led Zeppelin and the streetlights outside the car burst, sending shards of glass bouncing across the roof of the car. The engine rumbled underneath them, as if the car was raring to go, and all the lights across the dashboard flickered dangerously.

There was simultaneously too much going on around them and too many sensations, and yet all Dean could focus on was the pulse across his tongue as Cas came.

As Cas drifted down from his high, everything around them shifted into a softer hum. The lights settled into a warm glow, and the music dropped down until it was faintly playing in the background. Dean let Cas’ cock slip from his mouth, and he leaned up to press his laughter into Cas’ stomach.

“I should’ve guessed that the electricity surges weren’t just for motel rooms and the Bunker.”

Cas grinned, lazy and sated, and Dean kissed a trail up from Cas’ chest all the way to his lips.

“Get what you wanted?” Dean asked against Cas’ mouth, feeling the way Cas’ smile melded against his own.

Humming in content, Cas’ hand slipped down between them, moving towards Dean’s belt. “Your turn.”

Another laugh bubbled up from Dean’s chest as he shifted his weight into Cas. “I’m not sure Baby can handle any more power surges like that,” he teased, pressing quick kisses to the corner of Cas’ mouth.

Cas’ hands slipped down the back of Dean’s pants as he pulled the hunter closer. “Only one way to find out,” Cas replied, catching Dean’s lips in another searing kiss as he pressed their bodies against each other.

For @justcastiel 2k celebration, prompt: knees

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cockworkangels · 2 years

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for @justcastiel 's celebration: day 2: yehaaw

tap for quality !!

another version under the cut !!

#congrats on your milestone elliot!#sorry this is a day late #justcastiel2k #spn #supernatural #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #spn fanart #supernatural fanart #destiel fanart #my art #digital art #cw nudity #suggestive #lmk if i need to add tags #minors dni

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hauntedpearl · 2 years

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woven out of the silence

for @justcastiel's 2k celebration. just cooked up a little something, very vaguely incorporated faith into it. Elliot, you are such an incredibly talented wonder of a person and I hope you enjoy this!! <33 (sorry for writing the same little story in fifty different ways but whatever this was kinda fun!)

This is how it happens—

He builds you a house. He builds you a deck. A pier.

He tells you he wants you to be free.

Stretch your wings, he says. Feel the breeze, Cas.

He turns the house into a home. Fills it with things. Says, Our Place.

Says, Our Kitchen Table.

Says, Our Garden. Our Lake. Our Porch Swing.

Ours, Ours, Ours.

You bring him rocks from the lakeshore, and he takes them.

Careful, you tell him. They're old.

He puts them in a jar. Sets it on a shelf.

Touches it with a smile when he passes by.

You bring him a flower, and he puts it in your hair. Rests his fingers there.

Says, Looks good on you.

Says, Looks good.

He prays to you, still.

Sometimes at his bedside, arms crossed over the mattress.

His knees creak when he straightens, and your grace reaches for him.

It wants to hold him. It wants to soothe his aches. It wants an excuse to brush against his soul.

After all, it is a part of you.

You worry.

There is nothing you can give him.

You worry.

He has given you everything.

You worry.

Where is his happiness, in this home that is yours?

You worry. You worry. You worry.

This is how it happens—

"I don't know that you will be happy" you say to him. "Here. With me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He isn't as quick to anger as he used to be. Still, a frown marrs his features. He sounds—puzzled.

"I have nothing to give to you," you say. "I am not what you've wished for."

And you would know. You've seen his wishes wrapped in wishes.

You've seen him.

He is still frowning when he says, "I don't care about all that. I just — I need you."

You do not doubt him, but you ache for him, all the same.

You care about him.

You love him.

That is all it has ever been.

You love him.

"You've given me everything you have," you say.

See reason, you plead wordlessly. Want something.

"You gave me this life."

He lowers himself to his knees at your feet. Spreads his arms.

"You stitched up my soul"

He is kneeling — in supplication. In plea. In prayer.

He is kneeling, and you cannot bear it.

He folds his hands around yours. Holds them to his heart.

He doesn't owe you for this.

Does he know?

He does not owe you.

"I am no God," you tell him.

I will not take, not like this, you think. Not from you.

When he laughs, it sounds almost bright.

When he laughs, you want to flinch.

"No," and he is smiling. "I love you."

This is how it happens—

You have a beating heart, and it thunders in your chest.

I love you.

Your grace surges in your veins, heats your skin.

I love you.

There, the echo of revelation.

I love you.

This is how it happens—

Your not-quite-human knees buckle.

You see — You see Him.

You're looking into the face of the divine.

And It is soft skin, wrinkled. Lined. Dotted with freckles.

You're looking into the face of the divine.

And It is smiling, still.

He tugs you closer.

Your knees scratch against this altar of wood and nail.

"I brought you back to me," he says.

"I built you a home," he says.

"I keep your gifts," he says.

"How could you not know?"

His eyes, searching. Shining. Shifting.

Emerald, Jade, Peridot.

Summer green & gold.

His love looks a lot like his guilt.

It looks a lot like his fear.

How could you have known?

Men build temples for the Gods they fear.

They only ever seem to build tombs for their lovers.

How could you have known?

This is how it happens —

With you on your knees.

With him on his.

Fallen, falling.

His fingers in the bowl of your fists, holding tight.

"This is our life," he says.

Our Place. Our Kitchen Table

Our Garden. Our Lake. Our Porch Swing

Ours. Ours. Ours.

"And I want it. All of it."

His lips on your knuckles, soft. Your gasp, softer, still.

A never-tilting world, on its side.

Your grace bends towards him, the stalk of a flower in search of her sun.

Your wings curve around him, the shield to his sword.

You want this, too. Every bit of it.

Does he know?

He must. He must.

This is how it happens —

"Dean," his name melting sugar on your tongue.

Dean — your charge, once. Your friend, always.

Your— Your Dean.

He loves you.

Tugs you closer, still.

Says, "I mean it. For— for as long as you'll have me."

And you love him.

You love him.

That's all it's ever been.

What else is there to say, then, for you?

He holds his faith close to his chest.

It beats a rhythm against the backs of your palms.

He holds it there for you. Because of you.

Your Dean.

Haloed in the falling light.

Smiling, still.

Happy.

This is how it happens—

His mouth against yours, sweeter than his name.

His pulse a-flutter under your palm.

"Yeah?" he says, the syllable pressed into your skin.

"Yes," you say.

You love him.

"Yes."

Mutuals I would literally die for who helped me w this stupid thing: @casgape @meatmensch @subbynesnej @millicentmarva THANK YOU ILY MWAH!!! and @chapeldean thank you sooo much for putting up with my whining yesterday <333333

Taglist:

@suckeggsinhell @castielsupernatural @vegancas @deancaskiss @cyncity2000 @lookforanewangle @belagirlrights @xdeansangelx @destieldisaster @jacobglaser @heartcastiel @sleepycas @thebaffledking @cassiterite @angelsdean @pajamadean @capellacas @castiellesbian @oddityofstars @sing-little-bird @milfmommymary @quicksilver-castiel @one-more-offbeat-anthem @laurelcas @twoheadedcas @butterscotchdean @naturallyathief @aturnoftheearth

#justcastiel2k #doe's writing #deancas ficlet #destiel ficlet #idk how to write poems but if i knew this would be one so like i guess this is a proem? whatever that means #usermoogs #spn ficlet #CONGRATULATIONS ELLIOT YOU DESERVE ALL THIS LOVE AND MORE MWAH <33333333 #feathersforcas

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pussypopstiel · 2 years

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For @justcastiel celebration event day 3 trueform

#congrats!!!!#justcastiel2k #my silly little posts #my art #clip art #angel trueform #spn #spn art #supernatural fanart

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gaytedlasso · 2 years

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Love me like you used to…

Day Three of My 2K Celebration

#time doesn’t exist so this isn’t a day late shhh #this is going to be part one of a much larger comic type series thing #literally the way he holds Dean’s wrist so tenderly #sketch.art #justcastiel2k #spn art #spn fanart #destiel #deancas #destiel art #kitchencule #becauseofthebowties #castiellesbian #seraphcastiel #bloodnatural #bloodonhisfacenatural #tuserpris #cw blood

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xofemeraldstars · 2 years

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#justcastiel2k — day two: yeehaw

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hornystiel · 2 years

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for @justcastiel 's 2k celebration

prompts: smoke + yeehaw + light

1,6k. this one is explicit guys

Not to corrupt a falling angel even further, but somehow Dean finds himself in a dimly lit motel room alone with Castiel, offering him a cigarette.

It goes like this. They went to some cowboy-themed bar, some of the monsters there yeed their last haws, Dean’s got a shiner for his troubles and Cas keeps asking him how a cowgirl can be ‘reverse’. A typical evening.

Gradually losing his grace and wings must suck enormous balls, but at least Cas got some disappointment out of his system by beating up those poor bastards, and now they are both fuzzily relaxed back at their shitty room. Still, Cas offered to heal him, when Dean took the shirt off and plopped on the tiny squeaky bed, rummaging in his bag for a smoke, but the feeling of aching muscles, a few scratches and a cigarette in his teeth feels like home to Dean so, no, no healing.

Cas keeps looking at the cigarette with such undivided attention that Dean can’t help but ask “you wanna try one?”

And who’s Cas if not somebody who’s taking the apples from the Eden’s garden for Dean to make a pie.

There’s just one left in a pack and Dean chuckles a bit, thinking about some kind of fucked up destiny games there, because if not god then something even weirder should be looking after them. Or laughing at them. At this point it’s all the same.

Cas sits beside him, the lighter clicks and Dean shows how to inhale smoke, Cas diligently repeats after him and coughs. That makes Dean laugh maybe harder than necessary but, holy shit, they are sitting in this shitty room after a brawl in a cowboy bar and he’s teaching a billion-year-old creature how to smoke a cheap cig. And he fucking coughs. The laughter is a bit bitter, like smoke, because coughing is such a human thing, after all.

Then it dies completely on his lips when Cas, being a good student as usual, does everything right the second time and exhales, looking up, his eyes glowing slightly. That looks unfairly hot and Dean moves closer without thinking, drawn. His brain is still rebooting because, after a few quiet moments of just watching Cas smoke and flick the ash into the ashtray, the first thing out of his mouth is “let me show you how to shotgun”.

Cas finishes his cigarette, puts it out and looks quizzically at Dean. Because of course he does, Dean’s being an idiot but it’s too late to back out, so he might as well add more depraved behavior to the mix. He moves closer again, and if Cas wasn’t that new to sarcasm and bitchy comebacks - he would’ve reminded Dean about his precious personal space now. But they are both too distracted, staring into each other’s eyes, the air around turning thick, and that has nothing to do with cigarette smoke.

Finally, Dean unfreezes and instructs Cas to close his eyes and open his mouth. Cas is about to argue but at the last moment huffs and does as told. Something’s telling Dean that this is a very rare occasion and he’s mentally puffing up with pride. Dean inhales the smoke of his smoldering cigarette, leans in and slowly exhales into Cas’ open mouth. Only, the thing is, the instructions lacked one crucial point. What to do next.

So this is how their first kiss happens.

Cas just inhales and closes the remaining distance, gently brushing his lips against Dean’s, sharing the smoke, and Dean’s been too hungry for too long to deny himself anymore. They start a bit awkward, uncertain maybe, learning each other’s touches, scratchy stubble, searching hands. Dean’s not sure how much experience with that kind of thing Cas has (he gets irrationally jealous every time he remembers the strip club, that’s why he still doesn’t know what exactly happened there besides the holy lecture), so he doesn’t rush, head still a touch foggy.

Then Cas lets out a quiet uncertain moan, as if he's not sure he's allowed to be affected this much, and that sound is the beginning of the end. He wants to hear it again, he wants to know all the sounds Cas can make when they are making out, he wants to undress him and touch skin, he wants to be touched in return. He knows he’s not allowed to want, let alone so much, but right now he doesn’t fucking care. The remaining cigarette bud burns his fingers, going out, but it has nothing on the burning inside him.

He sucks on Cas’ tongue and the next moan is louder, Cas’ hands coming up to grip his waist tight, and the fog in his head swirls into a hurricane, and they both will be swept. Today is the day of great decisions for Dean, apparently, because his next move is to straddle Cas and shove himself into him as close as possible. Cas goes with it without a word, readjusting his grip on Dean and kissing him hard. It's still a bit sloppy, but Dean loves it even more because of it.

Dean knows a few new things about Cas now. He knows that Cas is a biter, because he keeps nipping his lips, his jaw, neck, collarbone, carefully avoiding the bruises and scratches (he wants to punch him for it because the alternative is to cry). Dean also knows that Cas likes when Dean touches his hair, tugging a bit, because he makes soft growling sounds every time Dean does it. He knows that Cas is not shy (as if he ever was), because once he understands that Dean is in no way against being touched and groped (if he listened to his thoughts now all that’ll be here is pleasepleasplease), he slides his huge fucking hands to Dean’s ass and grinds against it, just taking. Oh and Dean also knows now what Cas’ dick feels like, pressed against him. They are not even bothering with the clothes, Dean thinks he might pass out if he spares even one moment away from being glued to Cas. Besides, it’s not like he’s not on the verge of coming already. It would’ve been embarrassing if Dean cared in the slightest. Fortunately, instead of caring he's moving sinuously on top of his personal demise, mouth opened slightly, panting and whining, because, fuck, it feels so good and he feels so alive and finally in his skin, he can't possibly stop.

Cas is sweating and Dean thinks he hears a stray “fuck” from his lips, which throws him for a loop, but then Cas says “Dean” in his damn rough voice, breathless, and, yeah, Dean's done. He grips Cas' neck, groaning somewhere into his shoulder, hips snapping hard and fast, riding out the orgasm like a man on a mission. He hears Cas' sharp intake of breath and feels his hands petting his thighs gently, lips kissing his temple, and, jesus fucking christ, he's not done coming, he can't process these touches without a tiny heaving sob.

They stay like this for a few more seconds, Dean coming down from the high and Cas just holding him. Ironically, this is too much for Dean to handle, so he changes lanes as quickly as possible and shoves his hand into Cas' pants. It's Cas' turn to grip him for dear life again, pushing his face into Dean's chest and moaning brokenly. Dean strokes him with ease because Cas is wet, wetter than he expected, and his own cock gives a twitch at that clear indication of how much Cas is enjoying it. It's been a while since he jerked someone else off, but it's not like Cas has a wide range of dudes who did it for him before to compare, so they are good. More than good really, because Cas is so responsive to everything Dean does that his hips occasionally lift off the bed a little and Dean's glad he's still gripping Cas' neck with one hand because otherwise he'd end up on the floor by now. Yee-haw or something. And then Cas slaps his hand on the handprint on Dean's shoulder, chokes on a moan and comes.

Dean feels on fire. The hurricane finally swallowed him and is tossing his insides around the walls of his body like it pleases. His shoulder burns, his chest burns, his eyes see nothing but a white light. Through the noise in his ears he hears a flutter and his hand blindly goes to Cas' back and, yes, something soft and electric meets his touch. It's shivering as Dean pets the feathers, some bits are missing, but Dean is sure Cas is still beautiful. Then the feeling is gone and the burn softens. It's like a warm midday sun, cradling him, soothing. His vision returns but there's no light around except for the glow of the neon sign far down the street and Cas' eyes, that are peering apologetically into Dean's very soul.

Cas fucking blew all the lights out. And in the meantime healed all of Dean's injuries. Scratch that, Dean thinks he's healed some of his old injuries too, judging by the way his joints and ribs don't feel any discomfort anymore. Everything except the handprint. This fucking angel will be the death of him.

Dean leans in and pecks Cas on the lips, letting him know that it's okay, he's not mad or anything. He may be falling in love even faster now, but eh.

They don't let go of each other for a long time after it, just existing calmly in each other's arms. And when Dean finally gets up to go take a shower, Cas evidently not leaving his room tonight, he completes the day by saying -

"So, do you wanna know more about the reverse cowgirl next time?"

Cas chuckles and goes to join him in the shower.

#hello elliot and congrats again!#also this one doesn't show up in the tags no matter what i do so yeah #we die like men #destiel #destiel ficlet #deancas #deancas ficlet #justcastiel2k #spn #mdni #thisisapaige #spxcekya #becauseofthebowties #usermoogs #deancaskiss #hashtag writing

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pointyearedelvishprincling · 2 years

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Like Something Holy (3k)

For @justcastiel‘s 2k celebration <3

Prompt: Knees

Rating: Explicit

Read on ao3

Excerpt: Still struggling with the fallout of his Godstiel days, Cas breaks down after a hunt. Hearing Dean's longing behind the comfort of his words, they finally find some much needed closure.

It was a ruin, this old church. Its structural integrity lost to time and the elements as much to decades of vandals. The cruel irony of nature’s beauty never ceased to amuse the angel. He stared around the dilapidated building: the insides lost to creeping vines and crumbling stone. If Castiel concentrated, he imagined he could see through the bends of time to when this place stood tall and beautiful. Built for worship.

“I’m your new God. A better one. So, you will bow down and profess your love onto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you.”

The roof had long ago collapsed; the shattered glass of the windows turned to dust and scattered to the winds. Where wooden pews once filled the open space, now there was only trash. Cans of spray paint and empty liquor bottles. Not a drop of holy water left.

Castiel tipped back his head to the open sky above. Moonlight bathed his skin; a pale halo on his dark crown. It was a brilliant night; the youthful stars above watching over him more faithfully than he ever had over his human charge.

He’d failed Dean. Failed humanity on the whim of playing god. He was no master of the grand plan. He was not righteous or just. What he was, was fateless.

Faithless.

Dean’s footsteps were a distant thing. They might as well have been far away in another world as tears fell from the angel’s eyes. He’d been so sure – so certain that he was doing the right thing. That he was on the right path. Once again, he’d failed.

It’d been an average hunt today; a werewolf case he and Dean had taken care of only hours after arriving in this town. Castiel had the distinct impression that Dean was coddling him, for whatever reason he could not personally comprehend. Dean should have washed his hands of him. Left him to rot for the trouble caused.

It was strange, he supposed, how he and Dean had betrayed each other on almost inconceivable levels and yet there was no one the angel trusted more. And besides his brother, Cas knew that Dean felt the same of him.

What he didn’t understand was why.

He’d been loyal once. Feared and respected. Had completed what was perhaps the most important task in heaven’s history in rescuing Dean from hell. But every star goes dark eventually, and Castiel suspected his latest failure was as akin to a supernova as he could possibly manage.

Starlight glistened in his tears as they fell in earnest. His shoulders shook, the guilt of his trueform too large for his mortal form to bear.

“Cas?”