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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years

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i got this idea because when am i not soft for chris? i’m a little shy typing this because it’s kind of nsfwish but here goes nothing, chris is tired and just wants to cuddle you, you are reading and he lets you continue but starts slipping his hands down your pjs (not in a sexual way, at least not for the time being) and then he starts undressing you because you are warm and craves the intimacy of having your naked bodies pressed against each other and just clingy but so soft?💕

A/N- Uhhh so it did turn into smut, gentle smut. Like need to relax smut. I cant help myself.

8:54 PM

Chris groaned looking at the time, and rubbed a hand over his face. Finally he was done, he was heading up the front porch steps and FINALLY he was going through the front door into a semi dark house. Can we say long day? Yes, it was a long day, he had flown out this morning on the red eye for Washington DC at 3 AM. He left you looking all sleepy in bed, your hair spread over his pillow as you shifted into his warm spot, and watched with half closed eyes at him picking out his suit.

“You should wear the grey Handsome.” You softly say while plumping his pillow under your head and wriggling in his dip in the bed. The blankets now twisted around your legs, and your foot poked out to brush along his leg as he laid it out on the end of the bed.

“Grey it is babygirl, go back to sleep.” His hand rubbed against your foot and tucked it back under the blanket. You yawned just then and went to sit up but he was quicker and his hand pressed against your shoulder to lay you back down. “We have enough time if you wanna play in the shower.”

Chris groaned at the idea, but he held strong. “You have a meeting in a few hours, and we can tomorrow, when Im not in a rush and can love you properly.” You seemed to accept that answer and relaxed back in the pillow nodding. Letting his lips brush one last time against yours, you settled back in to sleep, and Chris finished getting ready, mentally going over his schedule. As he left, he whispered to Dodger who now laid claim to half the bed. “Watch over her Bubs”

Now it was dark, the downstairs was dark short of the light over the stove, in which he found a covered plate sitting with a note. Evening baby, not sure when you will be home, and sounded like you guys were to busy to eat. Wake me up if Im not up! Xo, you had written in that wispy way of yours when your in a rush, and he lifted the cover to see a bowl of still warm stew and crusts of french bread. He popped it in the microwave and gave it a quick heat. Hitting the button before it could ding, he ate it right at the counter with now mans best friend sitting at his feet. “You want a taste bub?” he questioned, and with a light wag of his tail and hopeful eyes, Chris chuckled, and sopped up the rest of the soup with the last bite of bread, tossing it to Dodger. With a snap of his jaws, he raced off with his prize to disappear somewhere in the house, the click of his nails fading away.

Picking up and heading up the stairs, there was a soft glow in the hallway, to show the bedroom door half open and the source of the light. Easing it open, you were laying across the top of the bed, your hair in a messy bun and glasses perched at the end of your nose, reading a book. But hearing him you looked up and grinned. “Welcome home Handsome”

“Welcome home indeed” He sat on the edge of the bed, loosening his tie. You moved across the bed and draped over his back to nuzzle his neck while he unbuttoned his shirt, purring against his neck as you went to brush kisses against his skin. His hand lifted and cupped your face, tilting to kiss those soft lips of yours. “It went well, I think were just about finished up, and ready to launch.” Your hands rubbed against his shoulders and his head dipped forward giving a soft groan. “Your hands are magic Y/N.”

“Yea, you need it, your tense.” You gently tug on his shirt and draw it off. Moving to a stand, he continued to undress and put away his suit, telling you about the rest of his day, then he withdrew into the bathroom to brush his teeth. You got comfy once more with your book, stretched out on your stomach, your feet loping over your lower back, swinging back and forth slowly. When he returned in the only way he ever sleeps, naked, he laid on his back, arm over his face to relax. You promptly slid over closer, and his arm went around to rub your lower back, turning to kiss your shoulder, cuddling you in closer. Your so warm, Chris thought while letting his hand smooth along the band of your boy shorts, and slide under, squeezing an ass cheek lightly.

You simply turn the page, knowing your man would tell you soon enough what he wanted. His beard brushed against the sensitive spot along your shoulder, making you wriggle and glance at him over your glasses. “You know that tickles Chris.” you shift in closer and his hand slides back up to dip into your waist, mlving up your tank to make it ride up. “Mmhhh your so warm and feel so good baby.” He mutters against your shoulder while tugging you closer.

“Oh are you cold Handsome?” you giggle while marking the place in your book, tossing it aside while he drew your shirt up and over your head, looking down at you with more then a warm look now in his eyes. You pressed in close to his bare chest and pushed him back to lay down. You slipped to straddle him, your thighs lightly grasping his waist while you pressed your breasts against his chest, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Well I dont mind cuddling up to warm you back up.”

Of course he trailed your body, slipping his hands back under the band of your boy shorts, rubbing your cheeks and once more squeezed palm fulls, returning gentle nips to your lips. Brushing your hands through his hair till it spiked slightly, leaving it that messy bed head look you adored, you smiled down in his sleepy face. “Cuddling leads to other things, cause your fucking irresistible babygirl.” Chris confessed, letting his nose trail along yours and sighed softly. You could feel just how tense he still was underneath you, the ripple of his muscles tender to your touch, rocking your hips lightly against him as your hands rubbed up and down his side, those nips of kisses, soft and gentle turned more frequently shared. Deeper, and soft sighs led to a guttered moan and you give a soft bite while reaching down between you two, rubbing his erection that you can feel thick between you.

You were so warm, soft over him, it was impossible for him not to be turned on, and you arch up to move back enough to slide your bottoms off. “Cuddling does lead to other things, and you babe needs to relax. Let me do that for you.” You tell him while moving back up his body and now he could admire all of you. Soft supple curves glowing in the dim light, could see the slight glisten between your thighs. You nip lightly against his chest while pumping your hand around his cock and guide him to press into you, filling you when you press down. Ahhh, you were warm and welcoming, your hands taking his while rocking your hips.

“Mmmhhh you feel so good babygirl.” His hips taking slow thrusts, your rocking against him at the same speed, giving soft moans and moving your hands to his shoulders, panting at how good he feels filling you, hitting against your sweet spot at this angle, rotating your hips gently to grind against him. “So do you Chris, you make me feel so good, so full.” You shuddered lightly as his hands grasped your hips gently to move you faster, looking to reach that moment of release. You cup his face and kiss him fiercely, laying claim to his mouth, crying softly into it, as you shuddered in the beginning wave. “Oh god Chris... please im right there.”

“I know babygirl, I can feel it.” He grunts back, you were just warm before, but now your body sliding against his, hot, friction burning between you two, clasping around him and drawing him in deeper, making you moan out once more. “I need it...” loosening his grasp on your hip, to reach between your thighs and rolling his fingertips over your sensitive clit, your mouth hung open and your forehead pressed against his chest while grinding back. “fuck yes babe, oh god, oh god.” Your voice is soft whimpers and cries and his jaw clenches as he is right there, his thrusts ragged, stuttering. When you came, crying out his name, he to spiraled with you, pulling his arms around you and rocking through it, hissing out your name right back.

Your in bliss, milking him of the last of his seed, slowly loosening your hold around him, and settling more comfortably against his chest. He brushes your hair back and kisses your temple, holding there a moment and giving a sigh of relaxation. “Im not moving tonight.” you say while flexing heatedly around him once more and your head against his chest, which made you rise and sink slowly, could hear him chuckle softly. Chris reached for a blanket you frequently cuddled up with when you didnt want to get under all the covers and sheets.

“Dont, I rather like you right here, all soft and warm on me, and around me.” Draping the blanket over you and with a sharp clap above the two of you, the lights in the room turned off, leaving everything in only the soft glow of the street light across the street. “And its even better cause we can sleep in tomorrow and do this all over again.” He said sleepily, which you hummed softly back in agreement.

“Good things I dont have plans tomorrow.” You rubbed your hand over his shoulder and along his neck with gentle fingertips.

“Not true, you have plans with me Y/N” Chris informed you in a half sleep state and you rubbed your face in against his chest, chuckling.

“Im all yours tomorrow Handsome, Love you.” and when you looked up, his head was tipped back, and his breathing smoothed out, sound asleep and fully relaxed holding you, and you settled back in, not far behind.

#amber writes #💕anon #request

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theheartchoice · 4 years

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dean/cas | 15x13 coda | 2.6k | (ao3)

It feels strange, being back in his own clothes after wearing those of this world's Dean. Perhaps now that he's felt what is native to this universe against his skin, something from another universe, a place he called home, feels foreign in an understandable way.

But it's more than that. Even back home he always felt like he was wearing someone else's clothes, living in someone else's skin. He loves hunting, loves his family, and at the very least has an appreciation for the funded support and security their life afforded them - especially after hearing what the other Winchesters have had to contend with. But at a certain point one may take stock of their life only to realise that the person in the mirror, however familiar, is also alien, somehow.

However different their lives have been, the shock of meeting, of their paths converging, had worn off soon enough and was replaced with a respect for those differences. What this world's Sam and Dean have here is something he didn't know he wanted, and yet knows is vital to achieving true happiness. It was the very thing missing from his former life.

Freedom.

To not be dictated to, not have one's every move scrutenized, and not be restricted in the daily aspects of one's life - right down to the trivial, and moreover, the private. To wear what one wants, drink what one wants, live one's day as it comes and not be scheduled to the minute of every hour for months in advance.

He mourns the loss of his world but he can't bring himself to miss it all that much. Things may be uncertain - which is a novel feeling - but they are no longer confined by Hunter Corp. or indeed the wishes (or rather, the demands) of their father. Here, they can live however they choose, and in meeting this world's Winchester brothers, in hearing their story, in learning about their world, he knows the possibilities outside of hunting are plentiful.

For the first time, retirement is a viable option.

Laying the cherry-red-and-black plaid button-down on the bedspread, along with the dark crew-neck cotton shirt folded neatly, and the hip-riding jeans that do everything to flatter their respective bowleggedness, boots tucked in at the foot of the modest frame, he wonders if this world's Dean might allow him to keep one such outfit for himself. He's not certain if it's entirely his style, but he honestly doesn't know what his style is, yet.

All he knows is that these clothes were comfortable; he's never known any garment to feel soft in that worn-in kind of way, a way his own clothes never had a chance to become. Blood stains and monster guts don't exactly wash out, even with their layers of top quality protective gear meant to keep it at bay, so every couple of months his wardrobe would cycle out and brand new pieces would filter in to fill his closet. It was like shedding one barely-worn skin for a stiff new one; nothing ever fit quite right, despite the tailoring.

Slipping his beige jacket back on he reaches into the breast pocket and retrieves the pair of prayer-bead bracelets, sliding them back over his wrist. He hadn't wanted to remove them, but unlike his brother he heeded the warning of this world's Winchesters to make themselves appear authentic. His own clothes may not feel authentic to him - even less so now than they did previously - but these beads were chosen and paid for by him alone, with no middleman involved. They hold meaning, they are special, and perhaps the only thing not cycled out of rotation with the rest of his wardrobe when hunting made a mess of things.

When he does change clothes again, he thinks, when he finds his own true sense of style and comfort, he knows these beads will stay with him; no matter what he wears, no matter where he goes, or who he discovers himself to be.

There are three things that travelled with him through that portal that he knows are worth keeping, because they are real: his love for his brother, his love for his long-deceased mother, and his love for a lost Angel.

* * *

Dean has said, as others have written, that soup is good for the soul. Now that Jack's soul has been restored - and his true appetite returned - it seems a fitting first meal. Which is why Castiel is currently defrosting a batch of Dean's homemade chicken soup in the microwave.

He remembers the first time he tried to operate one of these machines; things did not go as planned. But the subsequent lesson from Dean had been worth cleaning up the mess. It had been just the two of them, standing side by side in the bunker's kitchen for what seemed to be longer than necessary to explain the basic functions and demonstrate to Castiel the best settings for particular needs - culinary, or otherwise.

They've come a long way since then, despite their many painful trials. Castiel has learned much, and Dean's trust in him has grown. Even without words spoken, he knows this. He can feel it through the connection they share, have always shared, the profoundness of their bond; with his Angelic perception, Castiel can sense variations of emotion from Dean's soul. He can feel Dean's trust in him through the solid walls of the bunker just as he can see it in the form of a rotating container through a microwave window.

There are some minutes left in the defrost-and-reheat cycle when the other world's Dean enters the kitchen. Castiel knows it's him before he speaks, before he himself turns around to see.

"..Castiel?"

It's Dean's voice, but not quite. Still, Castiel knows it as well as he knows Dean's soul: this Dean has something he wants to say. Castiel turns to face him, offering a friendly smile. "Hello, uhm.. Dean." It feels strange because it's Dean and not Dean, but it's not exactly the first time this has happened, so he pushes through the strangeness of it all.

"Hi." His eyes are bright as they flick to the microwave humming on the benchtop. "I was hoping we could talk. Do you have a moment?" His smile is tentative, warm, but edged in sadness. It's familiar, in a way. The fidgeting of his hands is something new, but Castiel knows Dean to fidget in other ways when something is on his mind and making him restless, nervous, even.

"Of course." Castiel moves to round the counter as the other Dean steps forward to join him.

"There's something I want to ask you, before we leave."

It had been a matter of tense discussion on the drive back from the church; while Jack slept beside Castiel, Dean, Sam and himself had talked about the Winchesters from the other world: where they should go, whether they would be safe from Chuck, whether they should stay in the bunker for a time - which was something neither Sam nor Dean found agreeable, and Castiel had conceded that it would not be sustainable.

With Billie's plan in motion and Chuck's own endgame nearing, the safest place for the other Sam and Dean is as far away from the bunker as possible, for now at least. If they failed in their mission, however, no place in the world, or in any realm, would be safe for anyone.

"You cook?"

Is this the question the other world's Dean had wanted to ask him? "I.. microwave." A shy smile sneaks onto Castiel's face and the other Dean nods, looking perplexed. "Dean cooks, I just.. help where he needs me."

"Oh." His face falls. "We've.. never needed to. Cook, I mean. There's always been room service, restaurants, and the like when we're away on a case. And we have―had―personal chefs at the estate, so.."

"Ah. I see." The reminders of the loss of their world must be everywhere. Castiel wishes he knew this Dean well enough to know what to say to lessen the pain. Despite his mostly cheerful demeanor, Castiel can see the fluctuations in the wavelength of this Dean's soul; he is hurting. And this is familiar: observing Dean feeling one thing but expressing another.

He can't help but wonder how much of the Dean he knows is carried through to other worlds, other Deans. Do they all have a love for cooking, or a desire to learn how to cook? Do they all have an unparalleled care for some sort of vehicle? Are there Deans out there who Castiel would not recognise by sight or sound?

"You're an Angel."

The statement brings his attention back into focus. "Yes."

"And yet, you're so.."

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

"..human."

Oh. It is possible, despite the spellwork needed for them to open a rift into an alternate universe, that this Dean has not encountered any Angels himself, or at least not ones who have made their home on Earth, among humanity; changing day by day, becoming more like humans in innumerable small - but not insignificant - ways.

"It's just.. peculiar. My Castiel―"

"―Your Castiel?" The clothing, the mannerisms, the stories of their world all differentiate this Dean from the one Castiel knows. But it's still jarring to hear that, of all things, in Dean's voice; to be claimed, in a way. Not like ownership but familiarity; intimacy. He's almost unwilling to let their conversation progress until this Dean clarifies what he meant.

"Uhm," the other Dean clears his throat at what Castiel knows is his own visible confusion. "There was an Angel, in our universe, also named Castiel, but.." he looks away; at the floor, the wall, the microwave and it's container of soup. "We never met." Castiel waits, watching him as he watches the soup, until he says, quiet, "Not in the mortal realm, at least. He was.. out of my reach―quite literally―but.. he saved me, once. He watched over me.. And I would pray to him, now and then. Talk to him. Thank him.. Ask him how things were in the divine realm," he chuckles softly, ducking his head.

"Did he.. respond?" Castiel keeps his voice equally quiet, suddenly eager to know as much as he can about this other Castiel and his relationship with this Dean.

"In a way. Not with words, but he would.. visit me. In my dreams."

Castiel has many questions, but the other Dean pushes on.

"I was just wondering if you knew what happens to them. To Angels." He glances up at Castiel. "Where do you go?"

"Go? You mean..?"

"I don't know what happened, exactly, but a few years ago the dream-visits stopped. And now, with our world gone, I just.." He lets go a sigh, shoulders drooping on the exhale. "You being an Angel, I hoped you might have a real answer. One way or another." His eyes are sad, his soul less luminous, for a moment, and it's achingly familiar; it's the presence of loss, deep in one's being. Castiel deplores the sight of it, the all too familiar pull of it.

He wishes he knew the answer, if only because for certain things not knowing is worse than knowing, even if the outcome is not what one hoped for. It's a cruel reality, living with false hope. But, when there is no certainty, one cannot assume there is no hope.

"Your world may have been vastly different to ours, in many ways―including your Angels, for all I know. But if there's one thing I've learned in my time here, in this world, it's that nothing is really impossible. You being here, now, proves that, I think."

The other world's Dean brightens some, his soul noticeably less pained, however slight the change may be. The persistence of sadness dulls it in ripples, but sparks of hope shoot through the shadows. "Thankyou." His smile is less tentative as he turns to take his leave.

The timer beeps, but before Castiel can retrieve a bowl from the cupboard the other world's Dean speaks up again.

"He's lucky to have you." Castiel stills, glancing toward the doorway, seeing only earnestness in this Dean's face and soul just as he hears it carry through his voice. "I hope he knows that." With a small wave he disappears into the corridor, leaving Castiel to ponder on that sentiment, wondering whether the distance that his relationship with Dean has come in all these years is as far as it will ever go.

* * *

It's instinctual.

It's been a long time coming, and Dean feared maybe it never would, that Jack might never be himself again, but it's him. It's their kid, sitting hunched over and alone, tears of remorse flooding his voice and spilling down his cheeks.

Dean's arms are wrapped around him, gathering him into a hug before he even registers his feet having moved. He tightens the embrace as Jack's chest jumps with hiccups, his hands grasping at Dean's shirt, tears soaking through the layers of cotton and warming his skin in a way that tears shouldn't; but this is Jack.

As much as Dean can tell Jack's hurting right now, he also knows this is a good thing. The same way he knows it was a good thing when Sam got his soul back, and when Cas was freed of the Leviathan, and when Dean himself was rid of the Mark of Cain.

They all have baggage. They've all done bad things they can't undo, and it hurts. But none of them were themselves when those things went down. And he's so tired of being angry, tired of defaulting to hatred, tired of not being able to change things for the better, to undo what's been done.

But this right here―? This kid, pained and crying into his chest, snot and all―? It's a win.

Sam sits on Jack's other side, rubbing his shoulder and back, letting him know he's there for him, too. They all are. Jack gravitates to him after a little while, leaning into his side as Sam pulls him near. Cas sits opposite them at the little wooden table, their family huddled together in the residual warmth of the kitchen, each of them silently reeling from the events of the day.

They're one step closer to defeating Chuck, according to Billie, but for once it didn't cost them anything; instead of losing something, they gained something, someone.

Dean catches Cas' eye across the table, presses his leg up against his where no-one can see. He smiles a tired, hopeful thing, wishing he was dumb enough or daring enough to reach across the scant space between them and take one of Cas' hand in his where they rest folded in front of him.

Cas returns his smile, looking just as tired, just as hopeful, his leg pressing against Dean's under the table, and it feels like an answer to a question Dean still doesn't know how to ask.

* * *

At a rest-stop by the Kansas state line bordering Oklahoma, while his brother fusses with a paper map and wonders aloud why on Earth this world's Winchesters don't have a dedicated GPS for each of their procured vehicles, Dean takes a moment outside of the car.

Under the fading stars as dawn approaches, prayer beads held in his hand instead of adorning it, he voices an invocation; murmured between his lips, held close to his heart, sent out into the universe―to every universe―impelled by his soul.

Just one word, born of and survived by hope.

A name.

.. Castiel ..

#destiel ficlet #15x13 coda #altdean #pining #altcastiel #deancas fic #coda #myficlets #s15 codas #theres lots of stuff i didnt touch on here that i may explore in a 2nd coda... like what alt!dean and alt!sam got up to in the bunker..

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