LOOK AT THESE DORKS (x)

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you! This is a slightly edited version of the #DCVDay twitterfic, coming in at 1.2k. No warnings. Disclaimer. 

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Dean finds out the hard way that Valentine’s Day is the worst day to decide to show a guy you love him. He gets up early, makes eggs and bacon for everyone. He sets the table, puts out cloth napkins, and lays a flower next to Cas’s plate. Cas sniffs it when he first sits down, then sips his coffee.

He offers no reaction, like Dean gives him flowers on the regular. But he takes it with him once he’s done eating, which is something.

Sam offers to do the dishes since Dean cooked, so Dean leaves him to it and heads to the garage to think.  

Keep reading

I forgot about this.

OOOHHHH THIS IS SO CUTE I FORGOT ABOUT IT TOO (side note I love the "working on a ficlet for this year too"-tag)

[x] 

Dear god. @superapplepies @samooslet @holywaterbucketchallenge @kazchester-fanfiction

Uhng

oH SHIT

DallasCon 2015 [x]

Misha Collins ❀ Petal Drop LA

sunshine (✿◠‿◠)

45/50 pictures of Jared Padalecki

113/1000000 WHY I LOVE JARED : the way that you flip your hair (gets me overwhelmed) 

idk idk I just thought this was cute (video)

awww

this really is the cutest (also the *chewing intensifies* is so accurate)

Lost in Translation

Based on a prompt found in this post  Read it on Ao3

“You think he’ll be there again?” Dean smiled lightheartedly at his younger brother walking beside him on their way to work.

“If by ‘he’ you mean Cas, then probably, Dean.” Sam kept his head forward, not wanting to look at how his brother/coworker was so clearly in love with the aforementioned secretary. It’s been the same routine for the past three weeks: Every morning Sam and Dean would get to the office early and catch the elevator to the 77th floor (”The hell I’m climbing those stairs, Sammy”), and every morning they’d find the elevator empty except for the still half-asleep soul that was the building’s secretary, Castiel Novak. For whatever reason that was beyond Sam’s understanding, Dean immediately stuck to the idea that Cas neither understand nor speak english. Dean said it was because he’d caught Cas speaking Russian at his office desk once for a solid twenty minutes (“He even looks Russian, man! You’re not gonna convince me otherwise”). Sam knows Cas runs international relations and therefore is pretty much required to understand their overseas clients in a variety of languages, but he wasn’t about to let his brother in on the secret that Cas of course could understand english perfectly.

The elevator door dinged, signaling its arrival not two minutes after Sam had pushed the button. The doors opened to reveal the same setting as the past three weeks: empty except for Castiel standing there, dressed in a black suit with one hand holding a to-go cup of coffee and the other holding his tan trench coat a briefcase. 

“Well, the eyes have it, don’t they Sammy?” Dean whispered behind him, already in what Sam privately calls “Drooling Dean” mode as his brother stared at Castiel’s half open eyes.

Sam ignored his brother’s comments and gave a knowing nod to Castiel once they entered the elevator. From the second day that Drooling Dean showed up, Sam and Cas had made a silent agreement to let Dean make a fool of himself until whenever Cas decided that enough was enough. They’d recant their version of events and try to figure out what Dean would say the next day afterwards. It was all hilarious really, but after three weeks Sam was growing tired.

“He’s still got that tie backwards,” Dean continued, face turned to Sam so as to not look like he was staring at Castiel in front of them. “God, you’d think someone would help the angel out. Say something like, ‘the blue needs to be on the front to match your eyes.’ or some sappy shit.” 

Apparently Drooling Dean was in full force today.

“Why don’t you?” Sam goaded. 77 floors of this was fun and all, but damn.

Dean sputtered. “W-well because...”

“Because what?” “We’ve never really talked before, Sam. Don’t you think it’d be weird for a random guy to come up to you and fix your tie with a smile like couples do?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He might even thank you,” Sam pointed out. Castiel, for his part, stared straight ahead as the elevator zoomed past the 50th floor. How he did this for three straight weeks is beyond Sam.

Dean’s shoulders tensed, causing him to look down at his shoes. “Dude, he won’t understand me. You’d think if he did he’d had said something to us by now? I mean, I’m as near to flirting as I can possibly get but nothing’s gonna happen because we don’t speak the same language.”

Suddenly Sam got an idea. “But let’s say if you did, would you wanna go out with him, say, tomorrow at seven?” He chanced a look at the reflection of the elevator doors that showed Castiel’s face and saw the small smile struggling to break free on the other man’s lips.

Dean, being Dean, didn’t seem to notice Castiel’s sudden change. “Yeah. That’d be awesome. Hell, I could show him to tie actually tie a tie, but it wouldn’t go well since I don’t understand Russian.” Sam remained silent just as the elevator slowed to a halt on the 77th floor. All three men waited until the doors were fully open in order to step out, but Castiel had yet to move to allow for the brothers to exit. Instead, the other man turned around to face the pair. 

“Good morning, Sam. Dean.” He nodded to each in turn just as a look of mute horror and realization spread across Dean’s face. “It’s been a pleasure working with you both, and I do just so happen to be free tomorrow at seven.” He gave a now completely baffled, terrified, Dean a wink before turning on his heel and walking out of the elevator. 

Sam had to all but drag his brother out before the doors closed. “It’s about damn time,” He laughed while his brother an accusatory finger at him. 

Jensen’s ‘strip tease’ at SeaCon 2015 [x]

The first day he noticed the ring next to his bed he smiled and shook his head, remembering Dean taking it off the night before because he, ‘didn’t want it getting caught on something,’ what it could have gotten caught on, Cas had no clue.

He simply left it on the wooden surface and got up for the day, going about his business. He kissed Dean good morning when he encountered him in the kitchen and was handed his usual cup of coffee. Dean glanced at his hands as he gave him the mug, smiling slightly before he leaned in.

“How did you sleep?” He asked, Cas merely smiled and winked before he took his cup to the table and sat down. Their day was filled with old books and maps and all such things needed for a new case. Sam was out, investigating a string of recent murders, with Charlie. Dean and Cas had opted to stay behind. Neither of the other two parties objected.

They fell asleep that night with the TV on in the background, Game of Thrones lulled them into a restful sleep.

The second day Castiel woke up to find the ring still on his night stand he sighed and picked it up, the cool metal between his fingertips felt oddly heavy. He allowed it to roll around his palm a bit, testing it out. He’d never understood the need for jewelry. But still, the silver object must have meant a great deal to Dean, he didn’t want it to get lost. He sat it back on the small dresser, hoping the hunter would notice it soon.

The same greeting met him in the kitchen, the same flick of the eyes, the same smile, the same lips. The same faint prayer of an I love you lost somewhere on the waves of angel radio. He didn’t have his full grace in tact, he’d sacrificed it in an effort to save Dean from the Mark; but what remained was enough that he could hear Dean’s prayers to him, if they were loud enough. They were always loud enough.

He awoke in the same fashion for the next few days, picking up the ring, observing it, running his fingers over it. He wasn’t sure why it fascinated him so. It must have been that it was Deans; that it wrapped around his finger and held tight against his skin. It was basically a part of him.

He wondered if he’d ever have something so loyal.

Later, on the sixth evening after Cas had first awoke to find the ring, Charlie and Sam returned to the bunker. They had pizza, beers, and some new card game that was for ‘horrible people’ or something. Cas didn’t think they counted as horrible people, not the Winchesters and certainly not Charlie. Dean assured him it was just for fun.

He blushed when he pulled a card about a large black part of the male anatomy. Dean and Charlie giggled for what felt like forever. Castiel went to bed upset.

Dean didn’t come to join him right away.

Still he woke up to find that ring staring back at him the next morning; Dean had slunk into their shared bedroom sometime in the hours of the morning and wrapped his arms around Cas’ middle.

Castiel picked the ring up to weigh it in his hands again, but this time he slipped it on. Not his left hand, but his right, over the ring finger and twisted it, trying to discern what the big deal was about a piece of silver. Why people prayed for one so much, and why in the quietest moments he might admit that he found himself praying for one too.

“I was wondering when you’d catch on.” Dean muttered into his neck. He wasn’t sure when Dean had woken up, or shifted into a similar position as his. Had he really been staring so long?

“I’m sorry?” Cas asked, slight panic rising in his chest. He didn’t want Dean to think he was stealing his ring; or what he thought was his ring.

That was when he felt it, the cold brush of metal against his bare skin from Deans hand. Dean had been wearing his ring all this time, where did this other one come from?

“I left that for you days ago, Cas. And you have yet to put it on. Hurts a guys feelings. Turning down a proposal.” Dean smiled against his skin before placing a light kiss against the back of his neck.

Castiel furrowed his brow and turned over in his hunters arms.

“A what?” He asked, staring up at Dean with wide, blue, and what he was sure were disbelieving, eyes. But the makings of a smile were beginning to form on his face, a feeling akin to hope had sparked in his chest.

“Don’t make me say it twice.” Dean smiled softly down at him, “Every day you saw that ring there, not once did you check my own hand to see if I had mine.”

Castiel blushed slightly, a small ounce of embarrassment. He’d been a sentient being once, able to see through the biggest lies and fabrications; able to thwart a battle and turn the tide of a war without breaking a sweat. Being a human had made him lazy. Being safe, with Dean, in his arms, his bed, had made him complacent. Unobservant.

But it didn’t matter, because all the complacency in the world couldn’t take away the feeling that bloomed within him in that moment. The love he felt for the man looking down at him, the happiness and wholeness that was threatening to take over. He felt the urge to laugh, he settled for a smile.

“Geez, Cas, don’t leave me hanging.” Dean’s laugh was nervous, he could see how unsure he was. As if Castiel wouldn’t accept any proposal Dean made.

“You know-” Cas looked at the ring and then back to Dean, “if you wanted to propose, you could have done it-a bit more-romantically. I mean seriously Dean, I’m not talking fireworks or hot air balloons; but something-” Dean cut off Castiel’s sarcastic answer with a kiss and then cut off the kiss with a small chuckle as he pulled back, looking down from behind heavy lids as Castiel smiled back and nodded.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” Dean grinned, “But, I think we should move this-” he gently lifted Cas’ right hand and pulled off the ring with a soft kiss to his knuckles, “and put it where it belongs.” He slid the ring onto his angel’s left hand, ring finger, and then kissed the palm, Cas brought the hand to his hunter’s cheek as he sighed contentedly.

“No more bedside table proposals.” Castiel grinned as he turned back on his side and wrapped deans arms further around him.

“You’re gonna hate what I’ve got planned for tomorrow then.” Dean replied in his ear.

Cas may have groaned in response, but his smile was wide. He stared at the ring on his finger as it laid on the bed next to him, no longer an unanswered question on a nightstand, but an answered prayer; one he’d been sending out for a long time.