Cas really likes M&Ms but he has favorites. No matter how many times dean tries to tell him that the colors don’t matter Cas still only eats the green and blue M&Ms so dean buys custom ones of just blue and green and the blue ones say Cas on them and the green ones say Dean and at the very bottom of the bag Cas finds a single pink one that reads “I love you”



prompt by the brilliant hummingbirdcas : What if for some reason Cas and Dean have been locked in a room and the only way for them to get out is for them to have a nice open discussion about their feelings; starts out with them admitting things and then somehow it leads to their feelings for each other?

read it here on AO3

“Well, I’m not going first,” Dean said. “You go.”

Cas glared at him.

It had seemed such a routine case – a series of suspicious disappearances in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico; rumours of a strange, white-clad woman who flickered in and out of view; several leads which the boys had traced back to an old house on the outskirts of town.

“The Truth Shall Set Ye Free,” Cas had said as they stood together by the front door, reading the words etched into the grey bricks above their heads. He remembered Dean throwing him a strange look, and then saying gruffly,

“Sam, you take the basement. I’ll take the first floor, and Cas can search upstairs. Yell if you’re about to die, meet you back here in ten.”

Inside, the house had been surprisingly light and spacious. There was no furniture upstairs of any kind, except in one room, where there were two large hourglasses sitting on a rough wooden table. Cas had taken his time inspecting them, sure that they must have something to do with the haunting.

“Cas? You OK?”

“In here,” Cas called, hearing Dean’s footsteps creaking across the slatted wooden hallway.

“You’ve been longer than ten minutes, Cas, we don’t agree on meeting times like that just for kicks. You’ve got to –”

Bam. The door had slammed shut behind Dean as he entered the room, and in front of them a beautiful, dark-skinned woman dressed in white had flickered into view.

“Good morning,” she’d said, with a wicked grin. “My name is Veritas, goddess of truth. Welcome to my home. We’re going to have a lot of fun.”

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So happy I read this. Spot-on characterization. Correctly placed humor timing. Felt like a Supernatural episode.

I loved the imagery of hell and when Cas pieced Dean together. And of course, I love how Sam hardly gave them a second look. Sam understands all.



Dean and Castiel sitting in a tree
First comes the deal
Then comes Perdition
Then comes years of emotional and physical longing because your relationship wouldn’t be socially acceptable (but since when have you two ever complied with rules?) I swear to God if you don’t kiss right the fuck now I’m going to push you both out of this tree and Dean will “accidentally” fall on Cas’ dick
Then comes the baby in the baby carriage!


I See You


Blind!Cas, Praise!kink

“What colour are your eyes?”

Dean bites his lip, fingers brushing nonexistent black strands behind Cas’s ear. Naked and warm, Cas is sprawled over Dean’s chest, blind blue eyes looking just off to the side as the two nudge noses and mouths, pressing tender kisses into flushed skin every few moments. “Green,” Dean says softly.

“Green,” Castiel repeats, his own long fingers sweeping over the other’s cheekbones to brush his eyelashes. Cas smiles. “What shade?”

Like clockwork, the pair gravitate toward each other, breathing into nonexistent space before kissing sweetly. Dean hums as Castiel pulls away, eyes blinking open slowly as he brushes a thumb across Cas’s spit-slicked bottom lip. “Dean?” Castiel rumbles.

“’M thinking.”

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But you know their first time wasn’t really perfect by any means, right? 

It wasn’t all candle light and hushed declarations of love nor was it practiced touches and rehearsed dirty talk—somewhere in the middle, maybe, between fumbling hands and heaving chests.

There was music playing in the background, sure, but it wasn’t smooth jazz or some corny eighties ballad—it was Zeppelin, Foghat, and ACDC because that’s what helps Dean relax. 

It was trying to be sexy and take off your shirt off the first try and failing miserably. It was trying to suck in your stomach a little bit until you can reach the light switch. It was pretending to know exactly what you are doing when in reality you’re scared out of your mind.

It was a lot of, “you feel so good” and even more, “is this okay?”

It was bumping foreheads, hitched laughter, awkward positioning, and lazy thrusting. It was whiskey laced exhales and clumsy groping on top of stubble burned thighs and desperation fueled kisses. It was stifled moans and breathless gasps followed by sated smiles, shameless cuddling, and shy kisses against damp hair. 

It was so perfectly imperfect.