you mean to tell me i suffered through 2020 and no one thought to show me this???

people in fanfiction are so good at identifying v specific smells. I literally struggle to identify vanilla when I’m sniffing a candle labelled “VANILLA” how are these kids getting woodsmoke, rain, mint, and a whiff of byronic despair from a fuckin tshirt

Once I read a fic where they were like “he tasted like” and I’m expecting the typical formula (1 cooking ingredient + 1 natural phenomenon + “something uniquely [character name]”) but instead they said “he tasted like mouth” and it was one of the greatest fic moments of my life

click and drag to find out what your shitty fanfiction kiss tastes like

*if ur on moble screenshot it

They’re in the garage of the bunker, trailing out of the Impala, when it happens for the first time.

In all honestly, Dean shouldn’t be so aware of it. The touch is casual – everyday. Something that might happen when you pass a little too closely with a stranger on the street. Except it isn’t everyday (Dean can count on one hand the number of times someone has touched him in the last month) and it isn’t a stranger.

It’s Cas; it’s Castiel’s hand floating up to trail fingers along the middle of his back. Dean shouldn’t be so aware of it and he shouldn’t react like he does – which is a full-body shudder and a hitch in his breathing. He stops in the middle of a step, so that Sam behind him has to come up short.

His brother passes him an odd look, no doubt wondering if there was some lingering injury from the showdown they had with the wraith. Dean just passes him a Winchesters-patented “all good” smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. As Sam heads into the bunker, so does Cas. Dean watches the angel go, watches the flicker of his trench coat. His eyes track the curl of fingers from under the coat’s cuffs.

Later, Dean wishes it were further into spring, wishes he hadn’t been wearing his leather jacket, so the press of Castiel’s hand could have been closer to his body.

It starts happening regularly, is the thing. Cas’s shoulder against Dean’s chest as they maneuver through one of the bunker’s smaller storage rooms, Cas’s hand cupping Dean’s elbow to catch his attention, Cas standing so close as he reads the laptop over Dean’s head that Dean can feel the heat of him, smell that just-sideways-of-human smell Cas gives off – like metal melting and the milk from dandelions.

And then.

In the kitchen, beers open but untouched, Sam long-since asleep. Cas’s knee is against one of Dean’s but it has been since they sat down, almost an hour ago. They’ve been meandering through a conversation on the “future.” On what that could even mean for them, for Dean, and Sam. Dean can feel his heart beating in the swell of his knee, at the point where it connects with Castiel’s.

At least, until Cas’s hand comes up to fit over Dean’s cheek. The heel of his wrist is against Dean’s mouth and his fingertips are just brushing Dean’s hair and he lets out a truly mortifying, breathy noise at the touch. Like his chest has given out. His shoulders curl in a little and his eyes shut and without meaning to really he presses into the angel’s worn palm.

“You keep…doing that,” Dean roughs out after a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says in that way, where he apologizes for the thing he’s doing, but doesn’t stop doing it. “You’ve been praying for it.”

Dean’s eyes flash open at that and he looks to Cas with a stricken expression. “No, I haven’t.” Still, he doesn’t pull away.

“You have,” Castiel insists. For all the panic through Dean’s system, Cas is calm. “Prayer doesn’t have to be words. This is more…intention.” His face does shift then and there’s an ancient sort of pain around his eyes. “I can feel…your longing.”

Thirteen years ago Dean would have rocked back on his heels and jeered out something about chick-flick moments but Dean is coming around forty and he’s tired and he hasn’t been touched in – well, he lost count. And this is Cas.

He swallows. Closes his eyes. Tilts his head. Murmurs into Cas’s hand, “What’m I longing for now?”

And Cas was telling the truth. He must be able to sense intention with crystal clarity because the next thing Dean feels is the warm press of Castiel’s lips on his own.

(here’s a late holiday offering for all of you)

deancas, 2.5k, AU, friends to lovers, baby jack

—–

They stopped at a park on the way back to Dean’s apartment. Baby’s trunk was full of gifts, evidence of a successful Christmas shopping trip, and so it was with satisfaction that Dean leaned against the hood of the car and pulled out his burger from the takeout bag.

Cas was similarly content, and they enjoyed each other’s company in silence for a few minutes as they began their meal. At a nearby jungle gym, children threw snowballs at each other from the little flakes of ice they’d been able to scrape together. Dean tried not to watch them too closely - you could never be too careful - but Cas observed them with a furrowed brow.

Apropos of nothing, he said, “How do parents handle the Santa situation?”

Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin. “What do you mean?”

“When would one begin telling a child about Santa? And how does one deal with the inevitable fallout when they realize he isn’t real?”

Dean’s stomach turned a little bit. “You thinkin’ about kids all of a sudden?”

“Not sure,” Cas said, examining his burger and plucking out a piece of onion with his fingers.

Another silence descended. Dean frowned at his meal, his appetite lost.

Meanwhile, Cas plucked out another onion slice. “I don’t think I believed in Santa,” he said eventually. “But I knew about him. I wish I could remember who first told me the tale.”

“I learned about him when I was in middle school,” Dean admitted. “The first time I stayed at one school for more than a few months. Pretty sure by then I was too old to believe.”

Cas lifted his eyes to the playground again. “No doubt at least a few of these children believe in Santa.” He sucked some stray ketchup off his thumb, and Dean had to look away.

“Good for them,” he said. “They should enjoy being kids.”

“In a few years, maybe even this year, their parents are going to have to admit to their lies.”

“It’s harmless,” Dean replied, waving away Cas’s curious stare. “It’s good for ‘em. Teaches ‘em to question things, question motives. Gets ‘em ready for the adult world of backstabbing and lies.”

Cas smiled at him. It was wide and affectionate. “I thought you said they should enjoy being kids?”

Dean bit down on a reflexive smile. “It’s one little thing, alright? Santa’s like - 1% of the kid experience. They’ve got the other 99% to think about - cooler, more important shit.”

“Like what?”

“Like the shit they do on the daily, y’know? If they can con their parents into letting them have candy for breakfast. Or sneaking down at midnight to have some ice cream. Or building a pillow fort. Or stickers. Or farts.”

“Farts?”

“Kids like farts.”

“No one likes farts.”

“You don’t know kids then.”

Cas conceded with a tilt of his head. “You’re right. Maybe they do enjoy farts.”

Keep reading

#protective dad

@dimples-of-discontent: a…list of great things cas said during this episode

Ten years ago, Dean would never have dreamed of being at home on New Year’s Eve. But now? He couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

Taking in the sight in front of him, he wouldn’t change a thing.

The TV was playing quietly with the sounds of the DVD menu repeating itself. He could feel the warm weight of a small body relaxed against him.

Looking down he could see the blond wisps of hair on his daughter’s head. The three-year-old had been determined to stay awake until midnight like everyone else but it seemed she’d been defeated by the sleep monster (which surprised absolutely no one).

Dean reached out a careful hand, making sure not to jostle Emma in her slumber, to grab her Frozen blanket from her lap and wrap it around her shoulders.

Another hand reached across to help secure the wrapping. Dean allowed the comforting hand to brush against his and looked up to meet his husband’s eye.

“So much for her wanting to stay awake like a big girl.” Blue eyes lit up with a chuckle.

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Guess she must have crashed out after the second load of candy and Tangled.”

“Though, to be fair,” Castiel said, eying the clock on the wall above the fireplace, “it’s only fifteen minutes until midnight, so she was close.”

“Hm,” Dean agreed. “She’ll have to try for a new record next year.”

Castiel chuckled, a small smile gracing his features. Dean let himself get lost in it for a moment.

Keep reading

Love at first stab!! Gay bitch

Here is a thought about changing your icon to that image of Cas, and the mishapocalypse planed for today.

Please, don't.

Cas dressed him today cause Dean only puts Jack in flannels and cowboy boots

Local angel of the lord attempts to shield one unfortunate child from baking filth; misses the other

Happy (belated) holidays!

–>Please don’t repost. 

(Buy me a cookie?) 

Dean and Sam hunting together: well that’s the show isn’t it? saving people hunting things etc etc. brotherly moments that make you either go awww or want to throw them off a cliff. practically reading each other’s minds on hunts bc they’ve been doing it for so long. terrible communication any other time

Dean and Cas hunting together: hunter husbands. standing 1.5 inches away from each other at all times. constant bickering constant eye sex constant rifling through each other’s pockets oh god they’re so fucking married

Sam and Eileen hunting together: extremely sweet together. heart eyes while discussing lore and/or tactics. pretending not to be worried about each other because they each really want to respect the other person’s independence and hunting skills

Cas and Eileen hunting together: murder besties. taking turns beating the shit out of villains while the other person nods approvingly. roasting their boyfriends during stakeouts. mutual agreement not to tell dean and sam how many people they’ve blackmailed

Dean and Eileen hunting together: sky-high levels of competence. kicking ass left right and center. off-the-charts wittiness. spn would only be 1 season long if it was about these two because they would immediately solve every apocalypse in the most practical way possible and then spend the rest of the season getting drunk together at dive bars.

Sam and Cas hunting together: terrible, terrible idea. the case may get solved but fifty new problems will be created. maximum chaos minimum planning. all ancient curses and alternate dimensions are fair game. cosmic regime changes ARE on the table. 90% chance that one of them ends up in a coma.

“You know,” Cas says, a little breathy as Dean presses a kiss to his throat, loosens his tie, “I could just—”

“I know,” Dean says, walking Cas backwards over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind them. He finally pulls Cas’ tie free, tosses it to the floor. Could slide Cas’ coat and suit jacket off all at once, but does them separately instead, draws it out as he sucks at Cas’ bottom lip. “I don’t want the shortcut.”

Cas huffs a little laugh. “You’re going to keep surprising me forever, aren’t you?”

(read on ao3)

source

Yep, worth reblogging everytime I see it.