Day 6: daily fic

No vessels. Real actual angels. With solid wings. And Bonding. As in soulmates-forever-and-will-most-likely-die-if-separated. Just… Just fucking read it.

“Angels and demons are slaves kept by the general population, all sold by the company H&H, run by Michael and Lucifer Morningstar. Sam and Dean work for the company, capturing escaped slaves and returning them to their owners, until they’re sent after the angel Castiel and Dean finds his worldview getting a major overhaul. On the run from Michael and Lucifer, the Winchesters discover family secrets and their own role in what might just be the end of the world.”

***

Dean hits the floor and barely has time to register this fact before Cas’ foot connects with his ribs. His strangled cry is cut off by a kick to the stomach.

Alistair is on the sidelines laughing, and possibly singing something.

Dean’s being dragged back to his feet by the back of his shirt, then. He tries to get out of the hold, but his feet can’t find purchase, because they’re dangling just over the floor. Cas throws him against the wall, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs, and before Dean can recover, the angel is on him again. 

This punch leaves his lip split open, that one does the same to his cheek; Cas just keeps hitting any part he can reach: face, chest, stomach, ribs… 

Dean keeps a tight grip on the knife, and wills himself not to strike back, despite every muscle in his body trying to do just that, just like a life time of bar brawls and twelve years dealing with violent slaves has taught him.

Cas presses him back against the wall as hard as he can, draws back a fist.

“Cas, please!” The plea is out before Dean even realizes he’d started to speak.

He sees the briefest, most miniscule flash of recognition in the cold, lifeless eyes staring at him, and the angel falters just long enough for Dean to reach up with the knife and drag the blade down the side of Cas’ neck, splitting the ink collar in two. Dean feels the connection between them renew instantly, and it feels like as much of a punch to the gut as any of the ones Cas had been delivering.

Cas drops like a stone, leaving Dean against the wall, struggling to breathe, both from the beating and the rush of the Bond returning.

Day 5: daily fic

“Jesus Christ is dead. Somehow, that isn’t the worst part of Dean’s week.”

Read this. Seriously. I’d tell you the 43753845 reasons I love this fic but then I’d spoil all your “ohmygod” moments and trust me, there are some. Just read.

***

You don’t get any of my movie references, he thinks, scattering slow, open-mouthed kisses across Castiel’s shoulders, moving his lips down to where Jimmy Novak relinquished his heart to the angel inside of him and pressing his mouth against the erratic pounding there. His fingers dip into the waistband of Castiel’s underwear and pull, baring Castiel’s cock to the air, immediately curling around it. It’s hot against his palm, like holding burning coal in his hands, and he moans at the feel of it, thumbing the head again and relishing the way Castiel’s hips buck into his touch.

You’re fucking creepy when you stare. Dean catches Castiel’s nipple between his lips and relishes the way it hardens under his tongue. You’re going to get us arrested in Hawaii over hermit crabs.

Castiel’s hand slides up to grasp the back of Dean’s neck, forcing him to abandon Castiel’s chest and look at him. They’re breathless, flushed, hard. Dean can’t remember ever being this hard for someone. He hasn’t been. Not like this.

He wants to take Castiel into his mouth, feel the weight and the salt of him on his tongue, let him all the way inside.

You saw something worth saving.

“You woke me,” Castiel gasps, rolling his hips, thrusting into Dean’s grip. “You had purpose. Now do it.”

You gripped me tight.

I love you.

Day 4: daily fic

It’s a huge and wonderful mix of sweet domestic schmoop and bits of angst that the Dean/Castiel relationship cannot exist without. 

“Dean wakes up in the cheerfully painted yellow kitchen of a middle class home in Suburbia, USA. There are two things that tip him off to the fact that he’s in a state that ain’t Kansas or reality: one, the fact that he can’t remember how he got to this kitchen or what happened immediately preceding his arrival (such as falling asleep or being hit in the face with a squirt of hallucinogenic demon juice); two, the way everything seems too bright and perfect to be real…”

***

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Dean says as soon as Castiel gets home, arms laden down with library books. Dean gets up from the couch where he’d been waiting and takes a step towards Castiel. “I don’t know how the fuck this happened.”

Castiel nods once, sharply, before he turns to walk up the stairs.

“Please,” Dean says, and he puts a hand on Castiel’s arm so he won’t leave. “Cas.”

Castiel stills. “I don’t want to pass the time right now.”

Dean lets go of Castiel’s arm immediately and backs up a step. “That’s not—I just. I need to tell you I—” The words are coming out all garbled in Dean’s mouth, mixed up and confused and falling over themselves. “I didn’t want to talk before because I was—I was scared shitless of what’d happen if I did. I thought anything I’d say would only fuck this up.”

“Fuck what up, Dean?” Castiel sets his books down on the kitchen table and rubs his face with a hand. His eyes are red rimmed.

“This. You and me.” Dean swallows and shoves his hands in his pockets; time to go all in. “You know how I’ve been able to get through being trapped this shithole of a town? Because I know someone’s always got my back. Someone who—who gets me, knows me, and still fucking sticks around anyway.” Dean blinks hard, and his chest aches. “Then we started having some stupidly awesome sex and I thought, when the hell is the other shoe gonna drop? Because nothing in my life is ever this good.”

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, but says nothing else.

Dean plows ahead even though his voice is seizing in his throat. “You’re not just something to pass the time, Cas. And if you want to stop fucking, okay, I’ll find a way to live with that. But I’m sorry, because I know there’s no way we can—I can—go back to the way things were before.”

Castiel finally meets Dean’s eyes. “Why?”

“Because you’re everything,” Dean forces himself not to look away this time, even though it’s terrifying. “Because I’m fucking crazy about you. I don’t know how it happened and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Dean waits for what seems like forever, waits for Castiel to turn on his heel and walk away. To come to his senses and realize that he doesn’t need this bullshit, doesn’t need Dean. 

Instead, Castiel steps close and puts his palm to Dean’s cheek. “Okay,” is all Castiel says as Dean tentatively reaches out to wrap his arms around Castiel’s waist. “Okay.”

Day 3: daily fic

Pimping another one of my favourite writers. Her style just takes my breath away. <3

This one is Dean/Castiel/future!Castiel, need I say more? It’s actually more than smut. It’s really emotional, especially on future!Castiel’s part.

***

…“See,” he hears then, and he figures it’s future-Cas talking to his present self, “if you do it like this? I’m pretty sure he won’t say no to much.”

Right. Figures that this Cas would also have the not small advantage to know what Dean likes already. Dean shivers when he feels his Cas slipping definitively behind him; his back is now pressing against Cas’s chest rather than the bed’s headboard and he can’t help noticing that present-Cas is way warmer than the one who’s currently jerking Dean off.

“Interesting,” his-Cas mutters, and then Dean feels a hand run along his side until it settles on his hip and another on his stomach. A third reaches out for his nipple and ohjesus both of them are touching him and if he was about to die from just one hand, now that he has all four of them on his skin? His breathing becomes quicker and less even, and when his-Cas turns Dean’s head on the left so that he can lean down and kiss him open-mouthed, Dean decides that Cas has very much learned his lesson and that he’s more than glad to comply. He steals a glance in future-Cas’s direction, and the latter looks merely smug even if he’s still pale and like he needs to eat a good number of burgers. Dean gasps into Cas’s mouth when the hand around his cock gives him a firm, strong stroke that would have had him coming if only the grip future-Cas has on him would prevent him from doing it; when the kiss is done, Dean’s breathing is so heavy that he thinks all air was stolen from his lungs.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and while Cas-in-front-of-him lets out a snort, Dean can feel the one behind him looking like he doesn’t get why is Dean cursing just right now.

Day 2: daily fic

The best thing about this fic probably is that Dean plays a much bigger role in the war against Lucifer than just being Michael’s vessel. Michael and Gabriel are both awesome. There is loads of Sam/Gabriel in addition to Dean/Castiel (where Dean gets to see the angel’s true form). And there’s an epic battle at the end.

Oh and there are chunks of crossover with Good Omens, so if you love it - go read now. THERE’S CROWLEY AND AZIRAPHALE. If you haven’t read Good Omens (WHY THE HELL NOT?!) don’t worry, you’ll understand the plot anyway.

You can also watch a video trailer for the fic.

***

“So Michael,” Gabriel says, his eyes boring into Dean, but it is as if Dean is saying it with him in his mind. “Where the hell did you stash that thing?” 

The words are like the roar of a tidal wave. But Dean feels fine. 

Then Gabriel shuts his mouth, and the world steadies. Sam coughs and exhales, pulling bloody hands from his ears as Bobby groans. Castiel’s hand has made its way to Dean’s shoulder, gripping it hard.

And the answer comes to Dean’s lips unbidden. “South Africa,” he says, his own very human voice a rasping whisper. “It’s in South Africa.” 

Castiel says, “Dean?” Staring at him as if the world is ending right now, as opposed to in stages. 

Only Gabriel, of course, looks unfazed. “Don’t worry, little brother,” he says tautly. “That’s still Dean. Except he apparently has a very useful hanger-on in there.” 

There was a brief silence. Then Sam raised his hand. 

“Um, can I be the first one to say ‘what the fuck?’”