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.

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Date night is awesome.

It’s not like Dean didn’t think that dating Cas would be great, but he’d always thought of date night as something you do for your partner, or for your relationship—to keep the spark alive, or whatever other bullshit Hallmark has come up with to get folks out to fancy restaurants and buying flowers.

And while it’s true that Cas loves a good potted plant, dating him is less boxes of chocolate and more sneaking into the local theatre with a six pack. Or, y’know, this.

This: a metric fuckton of take out, a bunch of holiday movies, and some epic slow-boning on the couch. They technically never splurge like this unless it’s a special occasion, but there’s a snowstorm ripping through Lebanon and there’s no one to tell them being snowed in isn’t reason enough. Hence, the two kinds of fancy-ass craft beer.

Cas tastes like pizza and buffalo wings, and his fingers are faintly sticky. He kisses with his whole body because he was never taught not to, holds and grabs and squeezes like it’s the main event. They’re sprawled across the couch like it’s long enough to accommodate two grown men, and the fact that they’ve been making out for going on an hour is probably one of the greatest things Dean’s ever experienced. His lips are sore and he’s pretty a sure a stiff wind’ll push him over the edge, but Cas is kissing his neck like they’ve got all the time in the world and Dean’s got two handfuls of his ass—under his sweats, over his boxers.

He pulls back a little until Cas looks up, wrapping an arm tight around his waist. He takes a second to just look at him; his insane hair and half-lidded eyes and swollen mouth, before pressing a soft, chaste thing to his lips. He wonders if Cas can feel how crazy about him he is, because Dean feels like he’s gonna melt for how much he fucking feels—like all it’d take is cracking open his ribcage for the sun to shine out of his own chest.

Cas cups Dean’s cheek and thumbs Dean’s jaw and softens with him, and it’s a couple of slow, sweet grinds before Dean’s coming in his undies and reaching into Cas’s.

When they’re done, they strip down completely. Cas leaves on his socks—you’ll be sorry when your feet are cold—and pulls a blanket over them both. Dean teases him and nuzzles the side of his head. Tangles their legs. Holds his hand. They eat cold fries and half-watch the end of Love, Actually like they’re not totally obsessed with each other; pushing hands through hair, pressing kisses to fingertips, humming into sweat-damp skin.

It’s nice.

A lot of shit with Cas is nice.  

Eventually, they shove their empties in the trash and their leftovers in the fridge, and stumble into the shower together before tumbling into bed, holding each other so close they may as well still be on the couch. Dean turns off the bedside lamp and Cas mumbles that it’s his turn to be the little spoon. Dean pulls him back until their hips are flushed and slides a hand between his waistband and treasure trail. Not to start anything, just… to do it. To feel him.

“M’so happy Sam was at Eileen’s when the storm hit,” Dean says quietly, nuzzling into the juncture Cas’s neck.

Cas is ticklish there, and huffs a laugh even as he nods. “Me too.” The words come out on a content sigh, and Dean’s hand gets lifted from Cas’s waistband. He kisses Dean’s scarred, freckled knuckles like that isn’t a stupidly tender thing to do, threading their fingers together before guiding them back to where they were.

Dean hides his dumb smile in Cas’s hair.

Awesome.

Cas wants to get a job, and Dean’s okay with that. Let him go out and have the whole human experience. He’d go crazy, anyway, just sitting around the bunker, especially having lost all his angel mojo.

They fall into a routine quickly.

Dean wakes up early to make Cas a bagged lunch. He kisses his cheek when he leaves and opens his arms for a hug when he returns. It’s all very domestic. Almost normal. You know, except for the occasional hunt now and then.

But then Cas comes home with a black eye.

Afficher davantage

" So, you and Cas?" Sam peered inside Dean's room, looking around before raising an eyebrow in a questioning way at his brother.

Dean flushed, "What are you talking about?" He sputtered, Sam shrugged and lifted both his hands in a placating gesture, walking back and leaving Dean alone, shaking his head.

Dean might be able to see what Sam meant now, or maybe he can't deny anymore the fact he knew too well what Sam was talking about.

It's the trench coat hanging from the hook on the back of the door, he can see the rest of Cas' clothes in his closet, next to his own stuff. The books on the other nightstand that used to be empty, a pile of battered books that Dean doesn't know where Cas has found them at but that he is sure he has read a dozen times, on top of them the one with the wrinkled pages after Cas accidentally threw it into a puddle as he climbed out of the impala. The soft blanket on top of the covers that Cas brought once claiming it's the best one in the bunker and that he never returned to his own room, what would be the point if he is always here anyway. Dean wonders if there is something left in Cas' room.

It's nice, so nice, Cas is everywhere around him, he is warm where his back is pressed against Dean's chest. They both fell asleep last night watching a movie, the screen now blue as neither of them turned it off last night.

He used ti think he should be mad, this is his space after all, his room, he should be mad about Cas bringing all his stuff, about the photo he has set on his wall, about the socks that aren't his but have found their place in the nightstand, because apparently angels can get cold feet too. But he isn't, it all happened gradually, he knows it would be weird to have all those now occupied spots empty once again, a matching feeling of emptiness deep in his chest. It makes him happy to know Cas feels safe here, that he knows this is his place, that he doesn't think like he is a bother or that he is occupying to much of a space he doesn't believe is his to enjoy too. He doesn't even panic about the fact he is basically cuddling his best friend the angel of the lord, his brain still in a too wonderful sleepy state to worry about that detail, about that line he never dares to cross, that point of no return.

Cas moves then, rolling away and taking the covers with him.

"Cas," he gets a groan in response, he rolls his eyes, he shifts closer, poking the angel on his side. Dean gets confortable again, closing his eyes, Cas pulls at the blanket again, Dean shivers, "Cas, man, I love you but you have to stop hogging all the blankets." He tenses, opening his eyes, it's the first time he has voiced those feelings out loud, and he was far from the point of telling Cas himself, even less in a not so epic way, this is sickingly domestic. He doesn't dare to breath as Cas slowly turns to look at him, he doesn't miss the soft smile gracing his lips.

"Sorry." He says, not sounding sorry at all, he loosens the grip he has in the blanket and offers Dean the corner so he can pull it over his body too. Dean accepts it and lets Cas bury his head against his chest, closing his eyes again with a content sigh. He musters up all the courage he can to drop a kiss on the top of Cas' head, Cas tangles their legs together, he leaves a kiss of his own on Dean's skin

"Dean?" Dean hums to let him know he is listening, "I love you too."

On Sundays, Dean wakes him up slowly. Trailing soft kisses up along his spine, smiling into warm skin as the angel shivers beneath him.

He grunts and shifts, pressing his face further into the pillow, and Dean pushes up, takes a moment to bury his nose in the mess of dark hair and just breathe, heart swelling almost painfully in his chest.

Leaning down so his lips are touching the shell of Castiel’s ear, he whispers “Castiel”, slow and teasing, before pulling away.

There’s the beginning of another grunt rumbling to life in the angel’s chest, but it dies down, leaves his mouth on a soft puff of air as heavy lids part to reveal gorgeous blue eyes. They’re hazy but soft as they regard Dean, voice rough with sleep as he notes, “It’s Sunday”.

Dean just smiles in response. He leans forward to press a kiss to Castiel’s forehead before standing up, making his way to the bathroom, where Castiel can hear the the shower already on, and he can’t help a little smile of his own.

It’s Sunday.

“Don’t keep me waiting”, Dean calls, and Castiel’s smile grows wider.

Anon aksed: My day was awful, my mom called me worthless to everyone and my parents were fighting about me and I just…your fics cheer me up so much. Could you maybe write me some fluff where maybe they’ve just woken up from a nap and sleepy cuddling? Thank you.

I’m sorry you’re having a bad day. I love you and I hope this makes things a little better.

Dean shifted on his bed, trying to get comfortable enough to go back to sleep. He tried to keep his movements to a minimum because Castiel was sound asleep on his shoulder. He had no such luck.

“Dean,” Cas grumbled sleepily, hiding his face against Dean’s chest to block out the sunlight. Dean took advantage of that to move his arm. He wrapped it around Cas’s middle, pressing their bodies more tightly together.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” He murmured, running his thumb over Cas’s cheek. Cas sighed softly.

“It’s okay,” He lifted his head to kiss Dean.

Napping really hadn’t been on the agenda for the day. They were supposed to be moving Cas into Dean’s room and fooling around while Sam was away for the weekend. But Dean’s bed was comfortable and Sam was going to be gone for three days, so why not take a little siesta?

“I’m gonna like this,” Dean said, his lips still brushing Cas’s.

“What?”

“Having you in my bed. You’re warm,” Dean kissed his neck. “And soft,” Another kiss. “And you smell good.”

Cas hummed and tilted his head to get Dean better access.

“I like waking up to you, too,” Cas said, running his hands down Dean’s back. He slipped his fingers under Dean’s shirt to feel the warm skin of his back. “When I was human the first time, it was all I wanted. I dreamed about it.”

“So, I’m a dream come true, huh?” Dean smirked. Cas rolled his eyes.

“My dream Dean didn’t talk.” Dean frowned for a moment, then smirked again.

“This Dean doesn’t have to, either,” He said, kissing Cas again.

The kiss only lasted a moment before Cas broke it and settled back against Dean’s chest with a soft yawn. Dean wrapped his arm around his waist again and kissed the top of his head.

“I love you,” Cas murmured.

“I love you, too.”

They spent the afternoon in bed, drifting in and out of dreams and sharing soft kisses that it took them too long to admit that they wanted to exchange.

The Ikea Trip

Read it on AO3 here!https://ift.tt/2GNX1GA

by amarillogrande

Original prompt: This has probably been done so many times. But Cas and Dean being super domestic and coupley, but not realizing it and wondering why everyone assumes they are together.

Words: 1544, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Link: https://ift.tt/2GNX1GA

Research used to be Dean’s least favourite part of hunting.

The chase, the danger, the adrenaline of it all, that’s what he lived for. It was the moments when he was down in the thick of it, saving lives and fucking up monsters, that made it all worth it. Those were the parts made his blood sing, like that was what he was put on this earth to do.

Sifting through library archives and poring over newspaper cuttings or textbooks so old that they threatened to fall apart if he even looked at them wrong?

Not so much.

But he has to admit, research is much better with Cas around.

Firstly, back when he’d first come down to earth, the guy had been like a walking, talking encyclopaedia. If you asked him any question about just about anything, he knew the answer to it—unless, of course, it was something to do with the nuances of human interaction. In those cases, literally anyone would have better judgement than Cas.

But now that he’s got a lot more experience under his belt, researching with Cas is so much easier. He’s spent enough time with the Winchesters by now to know a lot more about the process, and working cases, and working people. He’s come so far from those first few hunts when he couldn’t even hold his badge the right way up.

He’s a valuable asset in and of himself, but when Dean finally bites the bullet and confesses just how he feels, the easy routine they’ve fallen into with research reaches a whole new level he’d never known could even exist. Because while previously they would sit opposite each other, pointing out things of interest and working as though they were on the same wavelength…

Now they work like two halves of a whole, knowing exactly what the other person needs or is looking for before they’ve even said anything. Dean doesn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times Cas has shown up with exactly the right book, or pointed out a key piece of information right as Dean realizes what they’re missing.

It might have something to do with new motivation and the fact that Dean often kisses him with gratitude whenever any of these instances occur, but hey. Whatever works.

But the best part of research, believe it or not, is not the way they finish each other’s thoughts and build pieces of the overall picture so seamlessly that it’s almost like they’re sharing brain cells.

No, the best part of research is that Dean gets to be close to Cas.

He gets to sit side by side with Cas in libraries, or at the table in the bunker, their elbows brushing as they work. He gets to lean his head against Cas’s shoulder when he’s bored or tired, lets Cas calm him down with gentle touches when he’s pissed off, watches Cas with what Sam has teasingly dubbed ‘heart eyes’ whenever he thinks Cas isn’t looking.

The best nights of all are when they get burnt out with research, though. Technically, they have to keep going, due to the fact that their cases are often pretty time-sensitive, but that just means that a few textbooks accompany them to the couch while they put on whatever Netflix show they’ve decided to binge that week in order to take a break.

Tonight, they’re watching ‘Nailed It’. If Dean has to look at another word right now he might explode, and so the textbooks Castiel brought with them are mostly for Cas’s benefit, and not Dean’s. He, at least, is still looking through them, pencil tucked behind his ear and his side warm against Dean’s where they’re curled up together on the couch.

Dean is totally happy watching people fuck up watermelon carvings and horrifyingly complex cakes, and leaving Cas to keep plugging away at the research. From the way Cas snorts at some of the jokes and makes quietly horrified sounds when the creations are revealed, however, he is splitting his attention somewhat.

And that’s how their night goes.

For all that he’s tapped out on research for the night, Dean still offers his thoughts when Cas asks him, hooking his chin over his boyfriend’s shoulder to peer down at whatever section of ‘Halos and Hellos’ he’s looking through. As the night wears on, he finds his eyelids drooping more and more, his head dropping down against Cas’s. By the time he’s nodded off a few times, Cas seems to decide that that’s enough, turning off the TV.

“Get some rest, Dean,” he murmurs, twisting back to press a quick kiss to Dean’s cheek before returning to his book.

They shift until they’re a little more comfortable, Cas still leaning against Dean’s chest as he continues to read. Dean drifts in and out of consciousness, for the most part. He’s partially aware of the moment Cas seems to give up on research and just leans back against Dean, books falling forgotten into his lap and the little blanketed nest they’ve made themselves on the couch. For a little while, they just doze—or Dean does, anyway.

He’s in one of his semi-awake moments when he hears someone shuffle out of the kitchen.

“You adorable assholes aren’t getting out of research that easily,” Sam grumbles—mostly to himself, by the sound of it. It’s the kind of thing Dean might comment on, or reply snarkily to, were he not already quickly returning to the dream he’d been having just a few minutes ago.

Before he fully drifts off, though, he does hear Sam comment, slightly louder;

“You don’t even sleep, Cas!”

Dean feels more than hears Cas’s quiet chuckle, and a few seconds pass before Cas whispers, “Sshh.”

Dean snorts softly, then lets sleep pull him under once more.

Flower Field

When they first found the cabin, it had been in pretty bad shape.  Growing up, Dean had learned enough handyman skills in odd jobs and lessons from his dad that he was able to fix it up and make it habitable again.  But while Dean had shored up walls, and replaced roof shingles, and hung new doors in frames, Castiel had made the place look like a home.  

Cas picked out the furniture, ugly but soft and welcoming to weary bodies.  He’d filled the cupboards with mismatched dishes, brightly colored and patterned and sometimes chipped but always functional.  He’d hung lace curtains in the windows, and collected throw pillows with fuzzy covers and tassels and stashed them anywhere with a surface that could be sat on.

And he’d picked out what Dean considers frou frou sheets, but they’re high count and soft against the skin.  And the pattern sometimes reminds Dean of a field of flowers he’d seen once, a long time ago.

He lays Cas down among the flowers, in the warmth of their bed while the autumn temperatures drop outside.  Cas writhes among the petals and the leaves as Dean mouths at his skin, runs his fingers along the soft insides of his limbs, spreads him open and fills him.

Dean’s head fills with the scent of Cas’ skin, his arousal thick in the air with the lavender Cas uses to keep the sheets smelling sweet and fresh.  His heart overflows with something that feels too big and profound to be labeled by four letters.  

“Cas,” he whispers against lips pink and swollen from his kisses.  “Cas…”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas breathes in the tiny space between their mouths. “Yes.”

Their bodies rock and tumble together, and their hearts beat counterpoint to each other.  They push and strain, reaching for completion  They find it, they find each other.  Again.  And always as powerful as the first time.

(Find the whole series on AO3)

Dean

Dean let him sleep 

(reference used)

“Cas, quit that.” 

Cas looks over his shoulder at Dean innocently, his hand reaching for a can of tomatoes on the shelf. “Quit what, Dean?”

“You know what. We’re in public for god’s sakes. I can’t take you anywhere.”

Still apparently deciding to feign innocence, Cas gives a little shrug and continues to walk down the grocery aisle. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m going to get some fruit,” he calls. Cas gives a small wave of acknowledgment.

He’s scrutinizing the terrible fresh raspberry selection in the produce section when he feels it again. He jumps a foot in the air, yelping and spinning around. Cas is behind him, staring at him calmly. “Cas,” he hisses, pushing himself against the raspberry display to shield himself. “I said to quit it.” 

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Dean.”

Dean narrows his eyes. The little shit. “Just, don’t go behind me, okay? In front fo me, at all times. Got it?”

“Whatever you say.” Cas leans forward, pressing against Dean’s chest to reach over Dean’s shoulder. Dean closes his eyes to calm himself down; no use getting into that sort of problem in a crowded grocery store.

“Here’s a good batch,” Cas announces as he leans back and drops a carton of raspberries into Dean’s shopping basket. Keeping to Dean’s word, he walks two steps ahead. 

Dean lets out a sigh and follows.

It happens again in the frozen food section. When Dean is asking for a certain kind of meat from the butcher’s. One time, even when Dean is halfway across an aisle and when it happens, Cas is already 5 feet away from him (how the hell does he move that fast?) 

Every time, it’s a simple, quick, and gentle pat directly on his ass - and every time, when Dean starts to sputter out a curse, Cas just looks at him innocently like nothing ever happened. 

The last straw is in the checkout aisle, when the cashier is asking for their gas-savers card, and Dean jumps out of his skin when a firm grip lands on his butt. 

“God damn it!” he curses out, making the cashier flinch backwards. 

And the worst part of it all is when Cas turns to Dean and asks him, “What happened, babe?” 

Dean narrows his eyes at his completely insufferable husband. Swipes his credit card violently and gathers the rest of the groceries that have been bagged. Grabs Cas’ arm and marches him out the grocery store, into the parking lot. He doesn’t stop until he gets to their car, and points a finger in Cas’ direction. 

“Listen - “ 

He’s about to start yelling, ranting. But then he sees the sparkle in Cas’ eyes, despite his completely blank face. Dean slowly lowers his hand. Raises it again, but in a more dramatic fashion - and lands it solely, solidly, with a loud smack, right onto Cas’ ass. 

The sound is so loud that a couple pushing their grocery cart past them whip their heads and look in utter bemusement at the two grown men with grocery bags in their hands, staring challengingly at each other, one of their hands unwaveringly glued to the other one’s jeaned butt. 

Cas stares at Dean for a moment longer; his face slowly breaks into a smile. “That’s all I was asking for, Dean,” he says. 

“Get in the car, and we’ll talk about this when we get home,” Dean replies.

“With our clothes on?” 

“Of course not.” 

“I’ll get the groceries in the back, you start the car.” 

Dean rolls his eyes as he yanks open the door. “I really can’t take you anywhere, can I.” 

dean doing soft and quiet things for cas