Wooo, here we go!!
7. Praise-kink |
Body Swap | Aphrodisiacs | Incest“You know, you look much better than they do when we do that.” Cas said, coming up to stand behind the couch Sam was lounging on.
Sam scoffed. “These are porn stars, Cas, they have porn star level bodies. No-one looks as good as that.”
“You do,” Cas said simply.
His hand was a warm weight on Sam’s shoulder and Sam turned his head to look up at him.
“You are a fine specimen of a man Sam. I never tire of looking at you.”
Sam blushed, feeling a little like a teenager eager for and embarrassed by compliments in equal measure.
“The way your muscles move, the way they ripple and swell when you’re naked. I’d take you any day over a hundred of them.” Cas continued, his voice dipping even lower.
“Cas -”
“And it’s not just how you look,” Cas said, curling his fingers into Sam’s hair, slowly teasing the strands and scratching at the base of his neck. “It’s knowing what you use your body for, how you keep in shape for a reason not just because you’re vain.”
Sam squirmed, his eyes flicked between the tv screen and the outline of Cas’s body behind him. The porno was still going, no longer ruthless pounding but slow and sensual, rolling bodies, glistening muscle.
Sam swallowed. Cas hummed above him.
“I love how you get turned on so easily.”
“Well… you do things to me, I’m always eager for you.”
“Eager is right, you can’t get enough can you?”
Sam’s blood rose in his veins turning his face a flushed pink blush.
“You’re breathtaking,” Cas leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Your body is a temple and I will worship there forever.”
Sam rolled his head back to rest on Cas’s chest.
“So gorgeous, so toned, so strong, and all mine.”
His arousal grew, he preened under the praise. He wanted to reach around and grab Cas, pull him close.
“Always doing the right thing, always waiting and ready for me, always giving me what I want. Make it so wonderful for both of us.”
Sam turned around until he was kneeling on the couch, he grabbed the lapels of Cas’s coat and held on like a drowning man. His head was swimming, all blood, diverted down down down.
“Don’t ever turn me away do you?” Cas asked.
“Never, I wouldn’t.”
“Such a good boy, my best and most cherished. My only.”
Cas leaned down and closed his lips in the hollow of Sam’s throat, sucking just enough, his tongue dipping out to taste the sweat that pooled there.
“And the way you taste,” Cas moaned.
“Your mouth feels amazing.”
“Want me to kiss you?”
“Okay,” Sam said, breathless.
“Want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, god yes.”
“Need me inside of you? Need to be filled up, feel just how much you get me hard?”
“Please, come on, please.”
“Want me to ruin that pretty ass of yours? Want me to own it, mark it? Leave you dripping with my come and loose and breathless?”
“Yes, Cas, stop teasing and do it!”
“All in good time, you’re more fun when I make you wait for it.” He pushed on Sam’s shoulders and Sam went where he directed, until he was laid out on the couch. “Now, let’s see how much better we can do at love making than that amateur hour porn. Let’s make you all fucked out and beautiful.”
Tag list: @mystifiedgal @sauvage-loup @stargazingbros @mayalaen @snarkysnartes @zombieutopia @majesticduxk @durenjtmusings @thnks-fr-th-samulet @ryugarika @threshie @azrielrose @wincestjel
Tag: sastiel fanfic
Whumptober Day 30 – Caregiver
@la-vie-en-whump (since this is the last fic I´ll write for whumptober I´ll say it here) This writing challenge was a lot of fun and if you do this again next year I´d love to participate again! Thank you for doing this! 😀
and as promised I´ll tag you @sastiel-daily !
(moodboard by @smolstiel still to come)
Fandom: Supernatural
Relationship: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Additional Tags: Human Castiel, Human Castiel in the Bunker, Hurt Castiel, Light Angst, more like worry, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Castiel Needs a Hug, Hugs, Kissing, Bathing, they’re just really soft okay
The door to the bunker opened, Cas leaned back against it when it fell shut. He closed his eyes for a moment. His bag fell from his grip.
Dean and Sam stood at the foot of the stairs and looked at him, worried.
Cas pushed off the door and took a few shaky steps forward. He gripped the rail but stumbled on the first step. He fell forward.
Sam’s eyes widened and he ran up the stairs to catch him. Dean was close behind him.
He pulled Cas up but he was unconscious. Sam exchanged a worried look with Dean and together they carried him to a table in the library.
Dean went back up the stairs to get Cas’ bag.
Sam checked him over for injuries, found nothing but some bruises and scratches.
“He looks like shit. What do you think happened?” Dean asked.
Sam shook his head. “No idea.” He felt Cas’ pulse again. Then he shook his shoulder.
At that, he jolted upright. Cas sat there, his eyes wide as he looked from Dean to Sam and back. He breathed a sigh of relief and slumped a little.
Sam reached out to steady him and Cas leaned into the touch.
Dean frowned. “Cas what happened?”
A heavy sigh. “I fell from Heaven. My grace is gone.”
Worry passed over Sam’s face. He looked up at his brother and found the same expression there. “You can stay here.” Sam assured him.
Dean nodded.
“Thank you.” Cas looked up at them.
Sam asked: “D’you need anything?”
When Cas remained silent, Dean suggested: “How about something to eat?”
Cas stomach rumbled and he held a hand to it. “Yes.”
Dean tapped his fingers on the table. “Okay. I’ll go to the kitchen and make you something. Be back in a bit.” With that, he left.
Cas sighed deeply.
Sam started caressing his back. He watched Cas for a while, took in his appearance, the beard, the dark rings under his eyes.
Then Cas looked up at him. His eyes were so tired.
Sam pulled him in for a hug, wrapped both arms around him.
Cas jumped but relaxed just as quickly. He turned around a bit to reach for Sam, clenched his hands in the fabric of his shirt. His breath hitched a little when Sam’s hand slid up his neck, cradling his head against his chest. He closed his eyes and revelled in the gentle touch.
Delicious Metaphors – Zetal (Rodinia) – Supernatural [Archive of Our Own]
Written for @sastielcreationschallenge
Prompt: Cooking
Rating: G
Word Count: 1547
Summary: Food gives Jack insight into his fathers’ relationships and he comes to the conclusion that his fathers can be morons.
Delicious Metaphors – Zetal (Rodinia) – Supernatural [Archive of Our Own]
The Blood Of My Enemies
And Other Coffee Cup Inspirations
Sastiel Creations Challenge | @ladylilithprime
↳ Theme: Daily Life | Prompt: Dishes
MOST OF THE time, the denizens of the Bunker were quick and conscientious of the dishes they used at each meal, washing and drying and putting away whatever plates and pans and utensils they had used the moment they were done with them. Sam had picked up the habit in college and, once they had their own kitchen with their own dishes to keep clean, Dean had been quick to adopt the practice. Castiel, when he was given the chance to spend time in the Bunker for meals, followed the brothers’ example of cleaning dishes immediately after use. It was efficient, a sensible economy of use and reuse that appealed to the part of him which still craved the structure of angelic hierarchy. Others who came and went quickly picked up on the unspoken rule of the Bunker’s dishwashing and followed suit.
Naturally, as with most rules by which the Winchesters lived, there were exceptions – two, specifically – which hinged both subtly and overtly on Sam. The first was in regards to dishes used to bring meals, usually consisting of a sandwich or some other finger food, to Sam (or Kevin) when he was deeply entrenched in research and forgot about the human necessity of feeding and hydrating himself. Dean was most often the one who brought the food to the stolid researcher and collected the dishes later after their contents had been consumed, though Castiel took his turn to deliver sustenance when he could. Occasionally he or Dean would have to remind their self-assigned charge that the food did more good on the inside of their bodies than sitting neglected beside them, but the cycle carried on and mercifully no one in the Bunker had yet died of starvation.
The second exception was, perhaps unsurprisingly, linked to the first, though it was not precisely due to Sam that the exception was made. The Bunker’s kitchen had come fully stocked with plates, bowls, cutlery, and glasses, and had also included a serviceable array of plain off-white coffee mugs. Castiel could not have pinpointed who began the process, but he suspected Dean had been the one to purchase dedicated markers for use in decorating the unremarkable ceramic surfaces. The decorations ranged from symbolic (as in literally just a collection of lines and pictures or symbols of no particular esoteric or mystical significance), to inspirational quotations, to pithy quips and sarcastic comebacks– occasionally a whole conversation of witty banter crammed onto the side of a single mug. Other mugs joined the collection, purchased or purloined from shop shelves for reasons only known to the ones who acquired and later added them to the Bunker’s collection, but the inscribing of those plain mugs with whatever came to mind continued, as did their use and circulation.
And circulation was indeed the most accurate term. What Castiel suspected was Sam’s instigation was the coffee mugs’ tendency to migrate to various and sundry points throughout the Bunker, carried by hands belonging to hunters in varying states of awareness or consciousness, distractedly sipped at until either the cup was emptied or something required the use of both hands, at which point the mug was set down upon whatever flat surface was nearest to hand and left to gather dust, whatever contents remained growing cold and developing a bacterial colony until the inevitable would occur– cleaning day.
This, Castiel knew, was very much Sam’s doing. Once per week, usually on a Thursday, Sam would hunt down every single coffee mug strewn about the Bunker and engage in a frenzy of washing and disinfecting them before carefully returning them to the cabinets to resume the cycle. Castiel had taken to joining him for these targeted cleaning efforts, switching off with Sam over who scrubbed the mugs and who wiped them down with first an alcohol pad and then a dry towel. The companionship had prompted Sam to read aloud some of the random quotations and commentary before the markings were scrubbed away, and Castiel obligingly reciprocated when it was his turn to scrub, sharing whatever inscription caught his attention as either poignant or entertaining, and sometimes hearing the stories from Sam about what had prompted their inclusion.
“The Blood of My Enemies” had originally been written by Kevin, angry and bitter and stewing in his own apparent helplessness, and now got written by Sam or Dean once a week in memorial to the young Prophet.
“If the Apocalypse is happening, beep me,” turned out to be a reference to a television series about a young warrior chosen to fight and kill vampires as a sacred duty, and had been written by Sam in a fit of irritation over the latest world-ending crisis that had come calling at the Winchesters’ doorstep.
“Tea-Drinking Apparatus” plus a crooked little pentacle showed up in Dean’s familiar scrawl in the wake of one of Rowena’s brief tenures as a guest in the Bunker, along with the long-cold and “well-cultured” remains of uncharacteristically milky coffee– Dean’s way of being petty towards the witch, Castiel guessed.
“This Is My First Cup: Silence Please” had actually been written by Castiel before he had presented the filled mug to Dean, causing Sam to very nearly spit out a mouthful of coffee when he woke enough to register the words. Sam’s mug that day had received the inscription “The Best Part of Waking Up is Waking Up to You” in tiny letters that Sam blushed to read, which Castiel had taken as a good sign. Unfortunately, his decision to flee with Kelly and hide her and her unborn Nephil child had interrupted the burgeoning flirtation and he had died again before they could speak about it any further.
Jack would have changed the routine of dish and mug use, Castiel knew, assuming that Dean had allowed the newborn into the Bunker. He was right, but only in that the fully grown Nephil had slotted into the same rotation of washing dishes as they were used and leaving coffee mugs lying around in random places. There were more mugs than Castiel remembered, too, because Jack kept acquiring new ones.
Jack had a mug from the sheriff’s office where he’d been held and where Sam had protected him, and another that Sam had bought for him as a combination of joke and encouragement that read “If You Believe In Telekinesis, Raise My Hand.” He had explained their origins to Castiel while carefully pouring coffee into the mug that had come from the town where he had worked his first case as a hunter, a dark blue oversized mug that Castiel suspected might have been intended to hold soup rather than coffee.
There was a collection of six mugs from random tourist stops and travel centers left in the Impala to be found after the mess with Kaia and the Bad Place, as the brothers had termed the dimension they had been sent to, separated from Jack and Mary by something unknown.
A mug reading “The secret to aging is to pick a number and stick with it,” showed up around the same time that Rowena became a regular resident despite Jack not even being in the same dimension at the time and no one could figure out how it got there with the yellow sticky note in Jack’s handwriting that looked uncannily similar to Sam’s.
A plain black mug with a chip in the bottom edge found its way into the cupboard after they returned from the “Apocalypse World”, and Castiel had actually been with Jack when he found the mug that read “Never Drive Faster Than Your Guardian Angel Can Fly” with the single painted gold feather.
In the wake of Lucifer’s death, possibly in an effort to distract them from the loss of Dean to the Apocalypse world’s Michael, Jack had procured two matching “World’s Best Father” mugs, one in blue and the other in an odd honey brown with green flecks that turned out to be hand-painted. Both of the mugs had been hand-painted and fired – by Jack, it turned out – at a pottery studio two hours away in Salina, and Jack had been hesitant as he presented the mugs to the pair. “I know that biologically it doesn’t work, but… I’m a Nephil, which means I have one angelic and one human parent, and you’ve both assured me that family isn’t just a blood connection–”
Sam, wonderful Sam, had cut off their son’s ramblings with a hug, one of those incredibly encompassing embraces that Castiel always failed at describing adequately despite fluency in every language ever created. Castiel did not wait for his turn, but instead stepped in close as Jack’s hands fisted in the back of Sam’s shirt and wrapped both arms and his tattered wings around the man he had mentally designated as his beloved and their son, communicating through the brush of his own brittle and damaged feathers against Jack’s young and much healthier primaries the acceptance, awe, joy, and love that suffused his Grace, emotions that magnified as Jack tentatively wrapped his own wings around his fathers.
It was only afterwards, when he and Sam were picking up their respective mugs only to be told by Jack to switch so that they would have each other’s eye color instead of their own, that Castiel realized Sam had not flinched away from the feel of their wings.
35days of Sastiel – Day 12
The ways you say I love you – When we lay together on the
fresh spring grass.Sam sniffles, running away from John’s endless admonishments
and Dean’s looks pleading for Sam to just take
whatever John sees fit to give him. Sam just can’t take anymore, not tonight.
The only time John pays any attention to Sam is when he’s scrutinizing whatever
event or report card or essay he can find in Sam’s bag. Sam learned long ago
that John didn’t care to ask him about his life, but instead to investigate on
his own.Nothing he finds seems to meet his satisfaction. All those A’s?
Sam’s a brownnoser. Soccer? Why not wrestling or football? Forensic camp or
debate trips? It’s not the lodge and not a job. Sam gets a job working weekends
at the drive in? Is working in the shop with his old man and big brother not
good enough?Sam’s usually glad Dean decided to stick around for a while
before going to his favored trade school, if only to keep John and Sam civil.Not tonight, though.
Dean had finally asked Cassie to marry him, having saved up
enough money to buy them a small house. Cassie told him no, not yet. She’s
gotten accepted into college, and she’s not going to give that up, as much as
she loves Dean. Dean gets it, but it stings having the love of your life turn
you down flat. When he came home from their drive to find John and Sam’s
shouting match, he’d snapped and pushed Sam against the wall once things
escalated. It wasn’t hard for Dean to do, with Sam being a scrawny 15-year-old,
but the look on Sam’s face had him recoiling like Sam had slapped him.Sam bolted. Sam runs and runs, ignoring Dean’s calls, and
finally lands in the grass by a fountain at the park. He rolls onto his back,
looking for answers in the starry sky. His breathing slows eventually, and
hazel eyes drift closed. He wonders how he’s going to face his family after
literally running away from his problems tonight.He hears the ticks of a bike rolling up next to the fountain
and skidding to a stop near his feet.
“Sam? Are you alright?” It’s the choir boy from his English class, Castiel. The
one who Sam has been quietly, shamefully mooning over all year. Sam wipes the
sweat and tears from his face, and rolls up onto his elbows. He cracks a fake
smile, for once dreading seeing the other boy.“H-hey, Castiel. Yeah, I’m okay. Just- enjoying the night
air.” Castiel frowns, but jumps off his bike and settles next to Sam on the
grass, stretching carefully out in his white button-up and black slacks.
Castiel always looks like he’s going to choir no matter what day of the week
Sam sees him. He stretches out beside him.“What are you doing on this side of the tracks, Cas? Don’t
ya know it’s not safe for socs at this time of night?” Castiel chucks a little,
a brittle noise.
“Are you going to jump me, Sam? And here I thought you were a good boy. Ya
know, for a greaser.” Sam does laugh at that. He’s as much a greaser as Castiel
is a soc- only by the neighborhoods they live in. Dean’s never even left Sam
within 10 yards of a rumble, and Cas thinks they’re stupid.
“Nah, not tonight. Still didn’t answer my question, though?”
Castiel sighs.
“My father, he’s, ah, being quite difficult. You know how city council members
can be.” Sam doesn’t, but he does know about overbearing fathers; he nods. “Well,
I thought I would- run away. For a little while.” Castiel doesn’t look at Sam
all the while, staring at the deep sky with longing.
“Me, too.” Sam confesses.They lay in silence for a while, just appreciation the
feeling of understanding radiating from the other.“Sometimes I wish I could run away for real. If Dean wasn’t
around, I might just do it.” Castiel finally looks at Sam, jolted by the raw
sincerity in his voice. Castiel tentatively reaches out his hand and brushes
his pinky against Sam’s, heart pounding and eyes shifting around. In the soft
new grass under the night sky, Sam realizes that his pining probably wasn’t as
subtle or one-sided as he’d imagined.“Not without me, Sam,” Castiel murmurs. Sam wiggles his
fingers closer and entwines them with Castiel’s, hidden from the rest of the
world between their bodies.
“No, not without you.”They lay like that long into the night.
35days of Sastiel – Day 13
The ways you say I love you – In a letter.
Sam grips the rolled parchment in his fist and feeds the
raven a little something. The carrier pigeons, while more numerous and perhaps
faster in tight corners in the cities, would have been taken by a wild falcon
long before ever reaching Sam. The ranger smiles, giving the raven’s feathers a
light scritch.Weeks away from the Citadel has meant weeks away from Sam’s
sweetheart, the paladin renamed in the holy light of the gods as Castiel. Sam
had met Castiel when they were both quite young; Sam had been in town studying
lore from books much too large for him to carry to a reading desk, and Castiel,
made a member of the order at the tender age of 5, was tending to the library. Sam’s
ranging would bring him around the Citadel from time to time, and always
Castiel would escape his rigorous training for the day and join Sam on tiny
adventures to the market or nearby stream.One day, two years prior to completing his training, Castiel
had realized that Sam had grown into a strong and righteous young man where he
had only seen a wonderful play companion before. Castiel, feeling much to old
and disillusioned at the grand old age of 23, had been hesitant to approach Sam
about courting, as Sam had only recently seen his twentieth summer. He had
mustered up the courage make an attempt, offering Sam a beautiful quill with
blue ink (a luxury for a boy who could have been a scholar in another life) and
a new lambskin bound journal.Sam had only stared at the gift, and Castiel had been seized
by the sudden certainty that ranger courting customs must be completely
different. Castiel had held out his hands to take the offending objects from
his friend, praying to all the gods that he could still call Sam friend, but
Sam curled the book tightly to his chest. One hand curved gently, but fiercely
over the inkskin. Suddenly cowed by Castiel’s gob smacked expression, Sam ducked
his head.
“I’ll give them back if this doesn’t mean what I think it means,” Sam muttered.
Castiel quickly nodded, then slowly brushed Sam’s hair away from his cheek.
Sam quirked a quick smile, then stowed the items in his satchel and withdrew
from it a small knife and a small, but fine handkerchief Castiel had helped him
pick out at a merchant’s stall.
Sam swiftly cut a lock of his hair off and secured it in the handkerchief,
twisting it into a neat little pendant, which he tied off with a long bit of
leather cord.It’s been nearly two years since then, but Sam’s just as
enamored by Castiel as he was when they first met. The feeling seems to be
mutual. Sam will make his way back to the Citadel in a few months, ready to
witness Castiel’s final commitment ceremony and whisk him away on an adventure.Until then, Sam will content himself by hiding away from the
rest of the party for a short while, feeding the raven and hanging on the
beautiful script and sweet sentiments contained therein. After his reply, he
will fold the letter close to his heart, as he has all the others and count the
days until “I love you,” will be more than blue words on a page.
Sam/Cas, Episode red meat, hurt/comfort <333
It takes Sam awhile to recover from his near-death experience – – as it should, quite frankly; the fact that he even survived is nothing short of incredible.
He’s damn lucky that he has both Dean and Cas to help him, but…it’s Cas who’s been sticking mostly by his side. Dean’s worried, of course, but he recognizes that Sam still needs space.
Cas, on the other hand, had been shaken by the whole incident, so he won’t stop following Sam around. “Do you need anything, Sam?” he keeps asking, his voice worried.
Sam eventually gives in, one night when his still-healing wound is especially sore. “I – yeah. If – could you please get me a glass of water? ‘m not sure I can get up just yet.”
Cas scurries away, and returns with the water, and even helps Sam sit up properly so he can drink it. He sits down beside Sam. “Do you need your bandages changed?”
Sam looks over at him, actually reveling in the warmth a little bit. “No – uh, no. Dean just changed them this morning. It’s okay. Thanks, though.”
“How’s your pain level?”
Sam exhales slowly. “Uh…it’s – it’s actually kind of bothering me. I haven’t taken any painkillers today, but…”
Cas hums, and draws Sam against him, letting him tuck his head down against his chest. “Just relax.”
Sam slams his eyes closed. That does feel good – and good enough to distract him from the pain. “Cas, I…thank you for all of your help these past few days. I’m – it’s been bad, you know. This whole thing. But having you here…”
Cas smiles warmly, stroking Sam’s arm. “It’s my pleasure, Sam. I want to make sure you’re well-taken care of. Though, obviously, Dean does a fine job of that himself.”
Sam’s lip actually wobbles for a moment, there. He’s needed this: the simplicity of someone else just holding him. He hadn’t really realized how traumatic that whole event had been until after the fact. God, that kid suffocated him, for God’s sake, when he was already dying.
“Shh…” Cas turns a little, and he’s holding Sam closer, stroking his hair. “It’s okay.”
Sam inhales sharply – – and feels the tears sting his eyes. “Cas…” His voice is thick.
Cas kisses the top of his head, unassuming and gentle. “I’ll stay as long as you’d like, Sam.”
Can you maybe write something about Sam telling cas the abuse he went through in the cage? After s11 in general it feels like Sam reacts to Lucifer the way victims react to their abusers and I need some sastiel fluff (with maybe a hint of nsfw)
“You know,” Cas starts, his voice quiet as he pets through Sam’s hair, “I’d always thought that…something like that had happened. But I never felt it my place to question your experiences down there, or to dredge up something so incredibly painful.”
Sam licks his lips, his mouth dry from talking. “Yeah,” he replies. His eyes are a little wet, his body pressed against Castiel’s. “It’s – you know. Time’s different down there. Pain’s different. Memories are…odd, the ones created there. “Seeing Lucifer? It just…”
Cas holds him tighter, stroking down his back. “Sam…I – I am so incredibly sorry. What can I do?”
Sam lets out a shaky breath. “You can just be with me, Cas. Just like this.”
Never Again
Autonomy was such a funny thing about humans, Castiel thought. Such an odd little custom that made such a difference.
Angels have no custom of autonomy. Without corporeal forms, how could they? Angels really have no need for the concepts of choice and independence, but on Earth, it became easy to see that humans depended on them. After all the time the angel had spent stationed on Earth watching humanity, Castiel had begun to think he understood it all a little better. It took only days after meeting Sam Winchester to realize how wrong he was.
The rules just didn’t seem to apply to Sam Winchester. He was the Boy with the Demon Blood, and yet he was kind. He towered over any other human in sight, and yet he seemed so small. But strangest of all, he was violated time and time was again, and yet he never fit the pattern of human victims Castiel had seen over the years.
What struck Castiel most about Sam’s behavior was hard to explain. The young man barely showed any signs at all of being used as a pawn in a larger game in which he had no say. After every kidnapping and every violation, it was business as usual for the boy. And yet, there was something disturbing about his actions. Castiel just couldn’t put his finger on it.
It took ages for him to finally figure it out, or so it felt like. In comparison to the centuries he’d spent thinking he’d figured it all out, a couple months seemed like nothing, but time was different around the Winchesters. Maybe it was because Sam was only twenty-seven years old, that as Castiel began to see through the young man’s eyes, time seemed to slow. But regardless, it struck him.
Sam’s voice was what gave it away. It was the only thing that would shift after his ability to make his own choice had been taken yet again. It was the only sign that yes, Sam Winchester did understand the importance of what had been taken from him. And that was how Castiel realized it: Sam had hardly even known autonomy. Choice—the principle which was hardwired into every human brain—had never factored into Sam’s equation. And all of a sudden, it became too much.
So in the end, as Castiel faced his older brother—an archangel without even the understanding of why angels would need consent nor desire to figure it out—it came down to this:
“You are not taking Sam Winchester,” Castiel threatened.
Never again.
Oh my goggle! Are you still doing headcanons? Because super fluffy fall cuddles are totally my thing… :D
‘Cas, what are you doing?’, said Sam while he stirred and squinted as he opened his eyes, still heavy with sleep, to see his lover moving around in bed.
‘I apologise Sam. I was trying to cover you with blankets. You keep pushing them off in your sleep. The season has changed and the weather is cold for human standards. I would not want you to get sick’, Castiel muttered and Sam could feel him frowning in the dark, as if he thought it was ridiculous for him to ask such thing.
Sam chuckled as he imagined Castiel’s attempts to turn him into a human burrito made of bed covers without waking him up. He could feel his heart swell with love.
‘I love you, you know that?’, he reached out almost blindly for Cas’ hands, smiling when he felt their fingers intertwine, ‘if you worry that much you could come closer and hug me", he said teasingly with a smile on his lips. To his delight he immediately felt Cas sliding closer and put a hand around his waist, ‘I love you too but I doubt my vessel’s body heat will be enough to keep you warm, I insist Sam, let me cover you up’, Castiel almost begged.
Sam sighed, ‘well, okay, make a burrito out of me, but don’t let go of me after it, I sleep better when you’re hugging me’, he made a sound of discomfort as the contact was taken away from him while his lover retrieved the blankets. It ceased quickly after he felt a warm piece of soft fabric cover them both, immediately after, Cas spooned him again, ‘that’s it my love, sleep tight’, Cas said and kissed the back of his neck.
Sam just snuggled closer and let his heavy eyelids close, letting a calming feeling of peace take over him.
Karate, SPN Demonic Octopus Guardian 