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thebunker.bsky.social
The Bunker
@thebunker.bsky.social
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"Official" page of the Sex, War & Peace Supernatural fanfiction series.

Here you'll find BTS content, featured artists from the series, previews, and much, much more!

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thebunker.bsky.social
#destiel #spnfanfic #spn #supernatural #suptober #suptober25
“You fill up my senses, like this night a forest. Like new blossoms in springtime. Like a walk in the raaain! Like a storm o’er the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean.” Dean’s nuzzling became a kiss to the thin, electrically sensitive skin under his ear, in the alcove behind the angel’s jaw. “You fill up my seeenses… come fill me agaaain!” Every wavelength of sound pleaded with the angel, wanting to feel him inside his body, sliding deep through his insides. Feeling the potency of Dean’s need for it alone left the angel awestruck and breathless in his arms, hardly able to keep air in his chest, and they hadn’t hardly begun to love each other yet! Dean let the guitar slide gently to the ground, getting his hand and arms under the blanket, one hand finding Cas’, the other taking hold of him by the throbbing swell of his penis and balls. With that hold he gently but firmly pulled the angel’s body hard against his, the misery of entrapment behind a wall of denim plain in his fading, moaning hum of the love song. Cas couldn’t twist ‘round to get Dean’s impassioned kisses on his lips but he tried insofar as he could. Before long Dean lips left his cheek, head falling back, his arms sliding and falling away, limp, writhing miseriously when Cas used a hold of around the back of his neck to grind his ass back against the horn-esque organ prodding him; taunting him on. Dean’s hands found his waist button and fly. In the blink of an eye there was nothing between Dean’s reaching, straining hand and the penis he wanted inside him so badly his own flesh ached in a way he hadn’t suffered for months. If he was true with himself, not for a moment in his whole lifetime through had he wanted it—along with the angel to whom it belonged—so badly. as’ hand on his moved them together on his cock, hard like he hadn’t felt it in hand before. It’s sleeve of skin stretched so taut it was hard, the firmness and burning heat of the head, straining out Continued... of his foreskin like a wild animal chained to stake in the ground mad with ravenous hunger for the blood laden, meaty temptation being dangled before it. He could hardly massage it; it barely moved. Cas penis wasn’t just slick with the seraph’s precum, it was weeping itself wet. If it weren’t for the beading sweat tickling his lower stomach and groin between their bodies, Dean would have known himself to be worse for wear than the angel in his loving arms. A hard grind of Cas’ body against his groin sparked a nerve and Dean’s whole body jumped, going fearfully still. Castiel’s deep, thundering question shook him to his core: “Give up, yet?” Dean inhaled a trembling breath. “Yeah. Give… I give.” Somehow, he could feel Castiel smile. The angel was out from under the covers and on his feet so fast it left Dean stunned and suddenly freezing cold, yet so turned on his body was on fire. Cas stood there, blanket in one hand, the other reaching for him to haul him onto his feet. Dean lay there, unable to look away from the angel’s cock standing straight and tall, buoyed between his gorgeously full gonads. Soon, two hands were reaching for him. He reached back. Castiel seized his wrists and had him on his feet with a pull that brought his body, stiffened by torturous pleasure, to standing with inhuman ease. “I want to surprise you.” Cas said it from inches away, having captured Dean in an inexorable embrace. Dean blinked, uncomprehending yet nodding, losing his breath to shock. “Okay,” he whispered, smiling, already delirious with desire. Castiel kissed him stupid, stepped around him, and collected his hat. Unconcerned with his cock and balls basking in their new-found freedom, undeterred by the chilly night air, he strode toward the tent, collected his saddle bag and dress boots and disappeared behind their towering black companion. Shaking himself out of it, Dean dumped the water bladder into the last of the flames and embers. Continued... Setting his hat back on his head reminded it floating away from him wouldn’t be so easy as it felt it might be. He shook the spare saddle blanket clean, folded it over his arm and marched up to the tent, his waddling gait bowlegged as it was in a fruitless effort to spare his aching dick and complaining balls. His guitar, boots, jacket, and blanket discarded to one side in the vestibule, he stepped barefoot into the tent, clicking on a flashlight. Flipping the switch on the bedside battery-powered lantern, he snuffed out the flashlight, tossing it aside to be found later. His gaze fell on the mesh pocket hanging above the head of the sleeping bags. Lube. Condoms—plenty of them. Rubbing the slime of Cas’ arousal kept moist by his sweating palms off on his jeans, uncertain of what else to do, he sat himself down on their plush sleeping bags square in front of the tent door hanging loose from the zipper track. It occurred to him in that instant Cas might get a laugh out of him laid out naked for him a la Jeff Goldblum when… A smooth, quiet ziiiiip! Tunk, tunk. Too late. He’s back… and he’s keepin’ his boots on. Jeans waist undone and fly down, on his knees with his plaid overshirt half off, Dean petrified at the sight of Castiel ducking into the tent, zipping the door closed behind him. The brim of his hat tipped mysteriously down, Castiel stood so tall as the curvature the tent wall allowed, booted feet set wide apart. Where there oughta have been pants under his chaps, there was dark, tanned skin instead. Where normally a pair of cottony white boxers preserved modesty, the shimmery dark navy-blue thong hanging from his forward thrust hips, swayed, obscenely gorgeous, filled to bursting with his handsomely erect penis and engorged sack, weighed full and low with his lover’s reward for sexing him well. A thicket of curling and twisting salt and pepper short hair refused to be restrained by the skimpy underwear, leaving Dean weak in the knees. Continued... Dean swallowed hard at the glint off the silver star clipped onto Castiel’s chaps’ yoke. A sheriff’s badge. Cas shucked off his suit jacket. Stomach and chest… bare. Cuffs, rope, and whip hung from stainless steel horns clipped over his chaps. A colt holstered at his hip. Sweet… Jiminy JESUS. Struck dumb by the sight of his Heaven-sent lover, Dean could do little more than look and see. Sheer disbelief knocked him off his knees, had him on his ass and crawling backward on stinging elbows. Cas’ fingers slipped through the dangling steel cuffs, holding them aloft. It was Cas’ lips moving, but it was Doc Holliday’s drawl issuing from his mouth, through and through. “Been the pursuit of my storied career, outlaw. We can do this the easy way…” Castiel tossed the cuffs into his lap, flicking up the brim of hat, eyes aglow. “Or we can do this the hard way; gentleman’s choice.” The angel’s hands went to the rope and sidearm. A smirk formed on his spit shined lips. Dean’s whole being was lit up like Christmas, not the least of which was the glowing, mischievous grin on his lips. “Yer gonna need ‘em both lawdog; I ain’t comin’ in easy.” The Sheriff’s cheshire grin kindled this incredible crackling static in every nerve in his groin. Cas winked. “Can’t ride with legs tied,” the angel warned. “’Sides, if I read you right, you ain’t the runnin’ kind.” Dean chuckled. Winking and grinning, his countenance turned dark and daring. “You gonna talk me to death, lawman, or’r you gonna skin that Big Iron an’ git to work?” * Art by Winchester-Reload Alone in the wilderness, far enough from civilization to see the sky as it should be, free of light pollution and full of stars, Dean, with one hand on Cas' neck the other coming up to caress his face, pulls the angel closer. Unashamed of his open lips, waiting for Dean's kiss, he's just an inch & some away from being granted his wish. https://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/post/655801566185603072/sleep-perchance-to-dream-my-love-if-you-do
October 16, 2025 at 12:22 AM
thebunker.bsky.social
#destiel #spnfanfic #spn #supernatural #suptober #suptober25
Hoof falls drawing closer brought Cas’ attention back to here and now. “Do away with all the bells and whistles, Cas. We’re done for the day. Get comfy,” Dean said, standing there with Zeus’ reins in hand, already changed into nothing but work boots and faded, ripped jeans. The stallion stood freed from carrying everything except his saddle blanket. “I gotta mess with rinsing the salt and sweat off of this one,” he said, giving the animal firm, loving pats on the side of the neck. Walking over to stand with Dean, Cas rested a hand on the bridge of the stallion’s nose as he spoke. “Thank you, Zeus. It’s been a wonderful ride,” Cas said, turning his gaze to Dean who stood placidly, watching the two of them interact. Cas took the time to say the same to the man he loved with a kiss and a hand around his naked lower back that brought him in close. When Cas finally pulled away, Dean gave his head a shake and, blinking, caught up on his breathing. There was a definite smirk on Cas’ lips. “You’re welcome.” Dean quipped, giving Cas a quick peck in return before sending him on his way to dress down with a solid, grabbing smack on one butt cheek. “The saddle bag beside the lantern’s yours.” Unfurling a sizeable water bladder, Dean set about rinsing down the hard-worked beast. Treating Zeus to a carrot every once in a while, he treated himself to a glance at Cas’ retreating then undressing arse whensoever he could. There was no denying the wooden swell he kept having to tuck back down underneath his jeans’ waist… • Dean was a tall, lean-legged, handsome silhouette against the brilliant orange and yellow light of the campfire’s dancing flames underneath a starry, late twilight sky. Bathed clean in the mountain river, stomach full on smoked beef, buttered cornbread and apples, Dean stood with one hand on his belly, tucked under his leather jacket. Newly oiled, it smelled of beeswax and honey. Continued... He heard Cas inhale the smell as a kiss landed just above his jacket collar on the back of his neck. The angel’s hands snuck into his jean’s pockets. Even with threadbare cloth between Cas’ hand and his penis, the touch was some potently sweet torment. Accepting Cas chin over his shoulder, he leaned his head out of the way, tipping his hat to one side. He laughed at the tickle as Cas’ seeking hand settled, going still. It was teasing, not torture. While Cas keeping his backside warm was a little slice of Heaven unto itself—the wooden heat firmly jutting up underneath his ass cheeks bein’ the cherry on top—he wanted the angel in his arms. Besides, didn’t know how much more of Cas’ fingers cupping the end of his cock he could take without tanking his staying power later. Wasn’t long until Dean glanced backward over his shoulder at the saddle blanket drying on the rock, his guitar sitting propped up against the side of it. There was music in his fingertips. The river had, over time, eroded away the riverside face of the rock, such that it now ironically resembled a beanbag chair. Stirring to life, inhaling an awakening breath, he sipped once more from their whiskey flask, naturally passing it to Castiel as he stepped out of his embrace. For hours, he’d been dying to know if the boulder was exactly as fit to recline and strum a tune in as it looked. He folded the saddle blanket in half, lowering himself into place and… hot damn; a near-perfect reclining bucket seat! A grin lit up his face as he reached for the guitar, figuring out how to git comfortable. Moving with gentle, confident grace, his fingers twanged the slow, haunting opening of Seminole Wind. Leaning heavy on one leg, hand in his jeans pocket, Mexican woven blanket draped around his shoulders, Cas took a sip of whiskey as he came closer. Seating himself on the grass and moss at Dean’s feet, he lovingly looked on as Dean played a much gentler, less rambunctious rendition of the song. Continued... The sound caressed his hearing as easily as it enchanted the heart and loved his soul. The lilting tune died out under a soft clap of Dean palm across the strings. There was something… burning in Dean’s eyes.“Git up here.” Dean spread his legs wide, the shape of his desire full and writhing to sneak free from the denim caging it on display—inviting him in. Cas’ eyes wandered up from his groin to meet his gaze. The angel was on his feet fast, hat off and tossed down onto the rock behind his head, on one knee between Dean’s legs, kissing him with a fervor that left Dean helpless and breathless. Dean had to turn his mouth away from it to get Castiel to simmer down. “Save that for later.” His tone and breathing may have been hard, but the look in his eyes asked his angel for mercy. A quick cheshire smile ended when Cas lay a last gentle, whiskey-flavoured peck on his lips. He watched Castiel shed the blanket, his ass coming down between his thighs, snug and heavy against his crotch. Dean’s breath quietly hitched, painfully. Cas froze. Dean’s free arm snapped around his body like a striking snake, hauling the angel flush against him from shoulders to ass, his hips rolling a few quick thrusts into Castiel’s loins and lower back—welcoming him home. Cas went pliant in his arms. Dean took a shuddering breath beside his ear, relieved. “I’m okay. Pinched for a second.” Castiel brought the hand on his solar plexus to his lips. Going about spreading the blanket over them, Cas watched, mystified as Dean brought the guitar to rest into front of them, one elbow propped up on an igneous arm rest, his fingers finding their place laid out over the instrument’s strings. Dean perfected how snugly close together they lay. Going quiet and still, he leaned the side of his face into Cas' neck and head. The humming began. Cas felt his eyes begin to water. He didn’t recognize the music, but… it was a love song. The first high, light, and joyful notes of the song filled the angel’s senses… “You fill up my senses, like a night in a forest. Like the mountains in spring time—like a walk in the rain. Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean. You fill up my senses; come fill me again…” Dean hopped the music back to the beginning of the lyrics. Had to. Otherwise, he’d have had to sing through snickering mischievously into the seraph’s neck. Cas’ heart swelled in his chest. In that moment, he understood what Dean wanted from him tonight. Getting himself together, Dean played with the notes for a few seconds, segueing beautifully into, “…Come let me love you. Let me give my life to you. Let me drown in your laughter; let me die…” Dean faltered, the note of his voice, suddenly as low and heavy and the tone and emotion in it. “in your arms. Let me lay down beside you. Let me always… be with you.” Dean crooned the words straight into the angel’s ear, punctuating the whole-hearted request with a brief kiss and nuzzle. “Come let me love youuu… come love me again…!” Cas was suddenly leaning his head back against Dean’s just as hard; both hands had a firm grip of his thighs, holding them tight around his body. The best hug he could managed being the one in front. The slow, sweet, lilting song trickled off the strings like the purest snowmelt in a babbling mountain stream. Dean hummed to the music, the rich sound, thick with affection, wrapping itself around his heart and mind like a heavy warm blanket, yet light as a cloud. His lover swayed and rocked their bodies together—living metronomes obeying the music, rather than setting its time. Dean’s rutting cock and balls against his back began asking the question before the first word of it slipped through his lips. “Let me give my love to you… come let me love youuu… come love me again…!” Dean’s voice was all the way down in his chest, lust-riddled; a wordless testament to need beyond thought and reason. Continued...
October 16, 2025 at 12:22 AM
thebunker.bsky.social
#Suptober25 Day Six • Campfire

A honeymoon preview of Book 3 • A Good Run of Bad Luck

“Come let me love you; let me give my life to you. Let me drown in your laughter. Let me lay down beside you; let me always be with you.”

www.tumblr.com/fictionsbypa...

#destiel #spnfanfic #spn #supernatural +
Supernatural Sex, War & Peace Day 6 • Campfire “Come let me love you; let me give my life to you. Let me drown in your laughter. Let me die in your arms. Let me lay down beside you; let me always be with you. Come let me love you. Come love me again.” Art by Winchester-Reload. ALT Text for her work is on the final panel of the post. Book 3 • A Good Run of Bad Luck A Night in a Forest “Wow… would you look at that,” Dean said softly, gently taking the reins back and bringing Zeus to a gradual stop on the trail. Cas opened his eyes, jolting slightly, having almost unconsciously closed them when he’d lay his cheek to rest on Dean’s shoulder, letting his hat fall back to hang by the cinch string around his neck. The moment Cas had opened his eyes, tears of joy his eyelids were holding in immediately fell down both his cheeks. He looked to their sides, seeing nothing unusual. Looking ahead, Castiel blinked the water clouding his vision out of his eyes. The symmetry of it was perfect. The emerald pines lining either side of the path converged in perspective in a way that exactly mirrored the majestic mountain peak jutting up into the sky in the Continued… distance. There wasn’t a single wisp of cloud in the clear blue sky. A sight so strikingly picturesque in its simplistic perfection Castiel would never forget it. In a moment that near-stole his breath completely away, he understood why. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, exactly when I’m supposed to be there, Cas marveled. Pure blue skies; clear and bright blue eyes. Vibrant blue skies buoyed by seas of Earth-bound emerald pines, framing the perfect rhombus of the mountain: their copula and safe haven. Any doubts about what he was doing with his existence and why he was doing it that had managed to survive thus far, died in the instant he recognized the signpost for what it was. Cas brought his free hand away from Dean’s leg, wiping away tears on his cheeks with his palm. He cast his gaze skyward, seeking the serenity to regain control of himself. Here he was, an angel, a being who’d seen things—wonders—no human being would ever dream of, moved to tears over the beauty of the love in his hands and heart, the words of a song and a perfect visual moment in time. Dean felt Cas draw back, felt the breathing spasms in his chest and turned to look back over his left shoulder, giving Cas’ thigh a gentle rub. “All right back there?” There was no criticism or judgement to it, only affectionate concern. For his part, he was just too damned happy right now to shed a tear, but he had no doubt his time would come around soon enough. Laughing contentedly and shaking his head, Cas answered, “No. I’m exactly as I should be.” The tingling heat in his groin, hell, everywhere he was in contact with Dean, was enough to drive a man to madness. Add that sign to all this… Cas began laughing again. His response to all this was to shimmy himself just a little closer to Dean everywhere he could and hold him tighter. If Dean didn’t wind up bent forward over a fallen log and their spare saddle blanket before nightfall, no one on Earth or in Heaven would be more surprised than he. Cont'd… “We’re stopping for rest and water soon. Don’t worry, you’re not the only one losing your damned mind,” Dean said with confident reassurance. “Mmm. Give up yet?” Cas quipped, knowing full well what the gist of the answer would be. Dean’s devious chuckles answered the question before he ever opened his mouth. “Not by a long shot.” • Their campsite for the night lay a handful of miles beyond the midway point of their journey to the secret lakeside plateau. Dean had been here before and constructed a makeshift hitching post. A small shelter stood nearby that was open, but housed a rack designed to hold and dry their tack, offering their beast of burden respite from his cargo for the night. A hitching post and a spot to hang feed for the animal were there as well. Perhaps the most important part of his preparation: a squat but raised and flat wooden plank dais for the tent. Dean nudged Cas’ chin, hooked over his shoulder, where the angel had spent the last mile obediently blindfolded by eyelids alone. Any other sense he might’ve used to see? Well, Dean would just have to trust he’d closed those “eyes” as well. “Open your eyes.” He felt the moment it happened. Cas’ arms, clasped around his midsection, tightened, bringing their bodies even closer together. “You built this?” Cas asked, astonished. Nodding, Dean replied, “Sure did.” Letting his hand fall to hold Cas’ thigh close, Dean directed their travelling companion to the water’s edge. Castiel took in the lay of the land, amazed. The campsite was fifty yards back, above all but the highest of the flood lines marked into the earth on the banks of the creek. Perhaps three old growth pine trees had been felled to open up an alcove for the tent. Dean had built it all with wood from those giants. He’d cemented together a stone pit with a short wood bench on either side. Continued... Castiel’s gaze fell on patch of moss and grass that thinned out into pebbled dirt in the lee of a glacial boulder, ‘bout seven feet back from the pit, deposited there millennia ago, and worn into a kind of bowl shape. The far side of it sat much higher than the other. Zeus stood comfortably, dipping his nose into the water and taking a long, leisurely drink. Dean took his feet out of the stirrups and encouraged Cas do the same with a gentle nudge of the hand. The two let their legs hang loose off the horse’s sides, flexing their feet in preparation to stand on solid ground again. They stayed mounted until Zeus no longer seemed interested in having his nose in the water. Dean walked them back around toward the campsite, to ground even enough for a dismount. “After you.” Dean hooked up the assist strap and offered Cas his forearm as support while he climbed down. Keeping an eye on how well Cas found his feet, Dean smiled when he seemed to be faring well enough. “Feeling steady?” Cas nodded in response. He backed away, a little uneasy on his feet, but standing and moving well enough for a first-time rider. Dean let himself down with ease. Having long ago shed his jacket, Cas wandered back toward the creek bank, rolling up the sleeves of shirt, unbuttoning his waistcoat, loosening his tie and the top few buttons of his shirt. Kneeling on a dry, flat, wide stone in the shallows he brought a handful of clear, fresh water up to his face, rubbing the residual cool moisture in hand on the back of his neck. It felt good in the wake of the heat of the day and unending physical proximity. Two hands went into the water this time and pulled a splash of water up to his face and neck. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back. His elbows rested on his knees, hands dangling. Enjoying and soaking in the light and warmth of the waning sun for no reason more complicated than sheer joy tickling his heart, he let out a subdued bout of relieved laughter. Continued…
October 16, 2025 at 12:22 AM
thebunker.bsky.social
#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #JohnWinchestersA+Parenting
A pang of pain shot through Dean’s heart as he watched the legs in ripped jeans start to flail. His gaze involuntarily dropped to the floor. He didn’t need to look to know and feel what was going down. A large hand had an iron grip on the back of his head. Too much, too far in. He couldn’t breathe. It was blocking his throat completely. Even breathing through his nose did no good. Choking, he started to bring his teeth to bear, then the sudden violence of the thrusts against his face slammed his head back into the wall with stunning force. His arms started frantically looking for purchase on the wall. Malnourished, he didn’t have strength enough to shove the sturdy john away. The only thing that might keep him from blacking out was trying to stand or to turn his head and fall sideways. The effort earned him a moment’s reprieve, saving him from vomiting and passing out. As suddenly as it turned violent, it was over. The cumming penis straining deeper into his mouth stopped, then it was gone and a hand was caressing his face as he hacked up semen in his throat. Disgusted, stomach sick, his mouth and throat hurting, he slapped it away without thinking. That same hand came down backhand on his cheek, hard. One of the man’s feet took a step toward him. Seemingly, he thought better of it when Dean instinctively cringed and uselessly put up shaking arms in defence. Pathetic. The trick laughed darkly as he tucked his slick penis away, zipping and buttoning himself up as he turned away from the boy on the floor, slumped against the wall coughing, gagging and wheezing for air after accidentally sucking another glob of cum into his lung. The man met Castiel’s ice-cold gaze head-on as he walked out of the open restroom door, slipping by him, chuckling. “Your turn, pal.” Castiel icily watched him go, grateful the man would continue living his life as if Hell wasn’t real, only to discover that it is. Continued... Castiel observed as Dean of long ago found his feet and pulled himself up to the sink, curling over it, retching up as much foul-smelling, curd-laden ejaculate as he could, turning on the cold water tap and spitting into the sink. It came out tinged pink with blood and snot. Glancing Castiel’s way, eyes bloodshot and tears running down his face, the boy flipped him off. “Fuck off, pal.” Cas’ gaze promptly hit the tile floor. Dean’s voice sounded raw, weak, and wrecked. Speaking caused him pain. Dean couldn’t see him clearly through watering, bloodshot eyes, and he hadn’t spoken, betraying his voice. There was no need to alter the boy’s memory. He backed out of the room, reaching for the edge of the door, wordlessly inviting Dean to close it. Dean started, letting it go. Castiel turned his gaze to Dean as the door creaked closed beside them. Dean tried to keep his gaze up, look him in the eye, and keep his eyes from watering worse than they already were. He succeeded at none of those things. What he’d done back then staved off him and Sam starving another four or five days. This time, John would return before things got worse. That did nothing to take the edge off how shamed, filthy, and worthless it had made him feel. It still did. His hand started heading up to cover his eyes. “Dean, don’t—” Cas gave his head a gentle shake and brought in his hand to keep Dean’s from rising further. "Feel ashamed?” Dean demanded, interrupting, his lips quivering slightly. Castiel decided against what he’d been about to say, seeming tense for a moment, only to have found something that gave him peace by the time he met Dean’s gaze again. Dean swallowed nervously as he looked Cas in the eye. What he saw therein—there was only one word to describe it. Reverence. Castiel’s expression changed. He regretted realizing something too late. Lower this time, Cas’s hand came to his arm again. “Dean, leave. Please. You don’t need to be here with me for me to see your memories. Continued... I don’t want you anywhere near this because of me.” Dean scoffed bitterly, sniffling. “I already am, Cas.” He shrugged helplessly, fixing his hardened gaze on the closed bathroom door. “I live with this shit every fuckin’ day.” Castiel blinked, shocked, looking away from Dean, taking a small, weaving step backward when a second vertigo wave washed over him. He looked up to Dean, deepening fear and confusion taking over his face. For minutes now, a growing sensation, the onslaught of a fast-moving current, had been worrying him. Now, it began crashing into him, such that even a seraphim found it near impossible to keep steady on his feet. He wanted to stay. Unless he fought it, it would carry him away from this place and time. “Cas?!” Dean latched a hand onto the angel’s forearm when his gaze went unsettlingly distant. He looked like he might keel over backward. Castiel’s attention snapped back to here and now—to Dean. Again, drifting away from Dean, Cas looked at the hallway wall as though looking through it. “Let go, Dean… I have to go.” “Cas, what is it? What’s going on?” Dean’s hold on him got much tighter. The seraph shook his head. Defeated, Dean let go of his hold on Castiel’s arm. What was happening? All this talk about choosing each other, about being what he needed him to be when he needed it, and now the angel was the one freaking and squirrelling the hell outta here? What the fuck? Backing down the hall, his steps getting quicker with each one, Cas let his focus be taken from Dean and turned it to keeping his bearings in the swirling eddy of time and an odd species of gravity. “Cas? Where the Hell are you goin’? I let you in and you just nope the fuck out?” demanded Dean, striding after him. Cas spared Dean one last moment of his undivided attention. He’d turned his back on Dean and begun walking away without having realized it. Continued... He planted his feet in place and turned to look back, taking in the sight of Dean standing just beyond reach, one hand still up in the air a bit, hoping for him to reach back, the look on his face what—the-fucking at him, accusing, and hurt. The moment in time crystallized perfectly in his mind—both what was here in their minds and seeing Dean entranced in the world outside against the backdrop of a majestic hundred-year maple tree and the blue and violet twilight sky, blended. This place, this moment in time, was the beacon to which he would return. Something deep, deep within him didn’t believe they lived in a universe cruel enough to rip them away from one another now. His perception returned to the dim roadhouse hallway—to Dean’s hurt and fear plain on his face. “I have work to do.” Stepping back on his heels, he turned away. His feet stopped walking him away from Dean. Leaving things this way was wrong. Too painful for Dean. Looking back over his shoulder, Castiel smiled, warm and loving, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know I’m gone,” he promised. Cas let his feet walk him around the corner, giving up his hold on this time and place as he vanished from Dean’s sight. Dean rounded the corner and started, freezing. The look on his face hardened. Son of a bitch was gone… • Art by Pimento-Girl Castiel, standing in Bobby Singer's kitchen, stares, unblinking into Dean's eyes, shown from how Dean sees him close up; eyes wide, bright, bright blue under the moonlight filtering through the partially-shuttered kitchen window. Pim's piece on Tumblr: https://pimentogirl.tumblr.com/post/638573812404895744/merry-christmas-pjg2950-i-gift-the-night-we RedBubble: https://www.redbubble.com/people/pimento-girl/shop?artistUserName=pimento-girl
October 10, 2025 at 1:33 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #JohnWinchestersA+Parenting
Dean turned to walk toward the car, freezing in place, his breath leaving his lungs when, out of nowhere, he came face to face with a staring creeper in a tan trench coat. “The fuckin’ hell is your…” The look in the considerably older man’s strangely vivid blue eyes made him feel… quiet. His gaze fell to the centre of the man’s chest, like he didn’t have enough strength remaining to hold his eyeballs up. Letting go of his breath, he bowed his head, his breathing going shallow, wincing out of surprise when a gentle touch appeared on his cheeks, guiding him to turn up his face. The man’s forehead gently leaned into his. Dean let out a confused laugh made of scarcely more sound than breath. His body hung from the hands on his face as though disconnected from his brain. There was light—fire—so hot it burned blue, in the stranger’s eyes. It occurred to him that this is probably what someone homeless would feel like; out in the freezing cold day in and day out. Finally able to warm their hands by a barrel fire or around a mug of hot soup, for the first time in far too goddamn long… except that’s the way this man’s presence blanketed and warmed his soul. The skin of his forehead made contact with Dean’s and it seemed to Castiel that in every way but the literal, the ribs caging his heart cracked straight down the middle and, like wrought iron gates, swung open wide, exposing the bonfire in his chest and letting the feeling fuelling it out into the world around him. It was into that bonfire he wordlessly invited the boy to discard anything and everything he needed to. The night's razor-sharp despair that shattered his heart and slashed up his will to carry on, and the pain wracking his body—that was all Dean gave over to be incinerated. The rest he kept for himself, knowing he could carry it. Cas nodded as slightly as he smiled. He would have taken it all away if he’d been allowed. Dean, however, had made his choices. Castiel admired and respected them. Continued... Dean would never remember this. Stepping back, the seraph looked the boy over from head to toe. His heart was whole again, and he was young and hale—his wounded body would heal well. Any work he could do in this moment was done. The boy blinked and started when he woke from the trance he’d fallen into. He had no idea how much time had gone by, but there were tears on his cheeks and he’d been standing there long enough his slightly open mouth had gone dry… Dean looked on, gobsmacked, as a white glow started to show under the skin where Cas’ forehead and his—theirs? Whatever—touched, unable to shake the feeling that he was watching memory and reality intersect. He remembered lingering there on that cracked, buckling sidewalk, feeling shattered. He couldn’t do this anymore. Even little Sammy wasn’t reason enough. It hurt so fucking bad… then, it didn’t and this clean yet pungent smell tinged the air. He remembered looking around like he expected someone should be standing there. No one. Hunh… He had to clean the blood off himself and his clothing. Find band-aids. Get his shit together. He could feel weak, but he couldn’t let anyone see that. Mistakes of that sort get you eaten alive out on the street.* Dean watched his younger self cross the parking lot and head toward the corner store for supplies he needed to shoplift. His too-big cargo jacket came in real handy. He already had an idea or two about where to find a bathroom he could use undisturbed. Castiel’s touch appeared on his shoulder, giving Dean a start. The sensation wrenched him out of his thoughts, putting his feet back on solid ground. He met Cas’ gaze head-on, swallowing the lump in his throat. He’d spent his whole life looking the other way, shoving shit like this aside and soldiering on. Now, he recognized it for what it was: a scar. An indelible mark. Continued... A gnarled, mangled piece of him that would always be the boy in that room who’d first learned what the icy breath of Death felt like—not from some supernatural monstrosity—but by his father’s hands and words, under his father’s roof. Castiel’s other hand came up to cover his eyes, his thumb resting lightly on his lips. Dean laid his head into the touch, reaching up, stopping when his fingertips grazed the back of Cas’ hand. He started breathing in deeply through his mouth. Feeling his heart grow calmer in his chest, it returned to an even, steady beat. His shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t realized they’d been that hunched up. Castiel took his hand away, letting the daylight in. Dean let his hand fall back to his side. Dean looked around, momentarily confused, wincing at the sudden change in light. Daylight? A pine tree line. Water. Just outside civilization. Far enough away, you couldn’t see it. Close enough, you could still smell it. A gentle breeze rustled the trees. Small, quick waves lapped onto the stony shoreline. Dean looked up, wincing at the sun’s obliterating brightness. He stepped back, unsteady. Clunk… clunk. A wooden dock underfoot. They’d been here before. Dean looked at the angel, a sheen of vulnerable surprise in his eyes; Cas remembered. Castiel let his hand come away from Dean’s shoulder. Dean brought his hand back up, catching the seraph’s forearm. Dean stared down at where he held onto Cas, watching the seraph’s hand cautiously turn down, touching him in return. He didn’t know much, at least not compared to some, but he knew in that moment he wanted to hold and be held by the angel there with him. But… he couldn’t move. Drawn as he was, something in his head still occupied space between them. “Dean…” Letting out a sigh, Dean smiled. He didn’t have to look at Cas’ eyes to see the unabashed, inquisitive look he knew went along with the tone of voice. Dean frowned. Continued... As much as he wanted to keep his sights on where Cas had his hand on him, a sound in his ear started getting louder, and louder, and louder until he had to know where it was coming from. Castiel watched, concerned and looking for the source of Dean’s disquiet in their decidedly tranquil reverie as Dean’s attention seemed pecked at by something. Eventually, wrenched away from him entirely. Dean started and dropped his arm, pulling away the instant he blinked and found their surroundings changed… • The sound: water gurgling out of a restroom tap without an aerator. Dean stood aside as a gaggle of the bar’s lady patrons passed between them. None of them looked at either him or Cas like they existed. Dean met Cas’ intent, expressionless gaze. Castiel watched as Dean processed and realized where and when they were. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Cas took a levelling breath as he watched Dean orient himself, forcing his legs to walk down the poorly lit hall. He stood in front of a heavy door held shut by a closer. The sign on the washroom door: MEN. His jaw and cheeks worked, brow furrowed, tendons in his neck went taut. Then came a hand on his shoulder. Something inside him gave. Feeling relieved—steadier—Dean reached for the grab handle, opening the door wide. Within moments of the two men inside coming into view, it became apparent to Castiel what was happening. The jeans on the stocky man facing the wall, propped up by one hand against it, were undone and down to just below his ass cheeks. His skivvies were flying low, too. Lean, limber, bowed legs dressed in jeans bought ripped belonged to the young man on one knee between the flexing ass obscuring their view and the grimy, ceramic tiled wall. Oily yellow lights lit the restroom that indelibly smelled of human effluence and vomit that no amount of cloying air freshener and an insufficient amount of cleaning product could hope to combat. Continued...
October 10, 2025 at 1:33 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
#Suptober Day Four • Orchard

“Don’t taint this ground with the colour of the past…You seem like an orchard of mines…So fragile on the inside…Tread careful; one step at a time.”

Teaser • Chapter 3 • Tread Softly Because You Tread on My Memories.

#suptober25 #destiel #JohnWinchestersA+Parenting +
Supernatural Sex, War & Peace Day Four • Orchard “Don’t taint this ground with the colour of the past … You seem like an orchard of mines … So fragile on the inside … Tread careful; one step at a time.” Dripping Wings & Heavy Things Chapter 3 • Tread Softly Because You Tread on My Memories Fog scrambling his thoughts thinned. Dean knew full well where the blinding rage he’d nearly let loose on Castiel came from. A thing with a mind of its own, planted and thriving in the putrid soil of every awful thing he’d seen, done, and suffered. At a loss, he met Cas’ glare for moments, unable to look him in the eye thereafter, ashamed. Seeing Dean fold and offer no defence smothered the angel’s flaming anger like water. His hold on Dean’s head became gentle again. “I’m able to affect what someone feels, Dean. I’m an angel.” Cas’ intent gaze asked Dean to look at him with words unspoken. Slowly, Dean did. “If I hadn’t heard your heartbeat that first night, I would’ve thought you lie dead beside me. Your trust was absolute. I hope some of that was my doing, but not the way you’re afraid of. What happened? What’s changed?” Castiel demanded, but softly. With every word Cas spoke, Dean turned his head further away again, almost cringing. Castiel’s tone returned to its gentler register. “Dean, talk with me.” “I can’t, Cas… I can’t talk about it. Any of it,” Dean shrugged helplessly, childlike. There was too much that was too awful for words. He couldn’t say it out loud, but he didn’t want to carry it alone anymore. Cornered. Unwilling to stay, unable to go. There was no way out… “I can help y—” Snapping, Dean shoved Cas back against the side of the Impala. “You want to know? Fine! Look!” Castiel’s gaze fell for a moment as he gauged whether or not Dean’s inviting him in might inflict even more damage on the bond they shared. “Fucking look!” Dean shouted from inches away, shaking him again. Their unyielding gazes locked and stayed that way until Dean felt something give. He exhaled sharply, blinking. A single tear ran down from one of his eyes. Face devoid of comprehension, Dean wiped it away. Slowly, understanding followed. Dean couldn’t speak aloud the things he carried—not even close—but he wanted Castiel to know, to understand. Resting a comforting hand on either side of Dean’s rigid neck and jaw, Castiel guided Dean’s face back toward him and looked into him, eyes wide, drawing nearer. Castiel’s piercing gaze transfixed Dean. Somehow, it rounded off hard edges—hypnotized—made his head wobble on his neck. Had him wanting to fall in, let go, and peacefully… drown. "Where’s your brother?!” The vicious shout fractured the silent night air, despite coming from inside a motel room. Castiel walked over the empty parking space outside the window into the room. Closed, smoke-discoloured venetian blinds couldn’t keep his eyes from seeing what transpired on the other side. Dean stood close behind him and to one side, near enough he could feel his warmth. Dean scrunched his eyes closed and opened them again. The blinds were gone. He looked in on himself, witnessing the memory disembodied. He watched himself shrink back from his father as his dad took step after shuffling step closer, looking exhausted, ragged, fresh from a hunt, down into the bottom of the bottle in hand, his pupils so dilated they were almost black. The demon possessing John Winchester tonight was not one born of Hell, rather the cornfields of Tennessee. “Don’t shrug at me and tune out when I’m talking to you!” John swung. Continued... The hit landed on the side of Dean’s head square and with full force; it took his knees out from under him. He fell back into the wall, his shoulders and the back of his head making full-on contact. The hit robbed him of any control of his arms. Couldn’t break his fall. Another blow landed on the side of his mouth. He spent weeks after this worried he’d lose a tooth. Somehow managed to salvage it. If he made too loud a sound, John hit him harder. So, he closed his stinging lips, gritted his aching teeth and kept quiet. John seemed to realize what he was doing couldn’t show. He stuck to body shots. Hits to the head landed in his, at that time, longer hair. On Dean’s raised arm. Long sleeves it was, then. I lost Sammy. When you screw up so badly it can get someone else killed, this is what happens. I deserve it. Water sprung into Dean’s eyes as he watched his father work him over from the sidewalk, through the motel wall. Suddenly, this weird vertigo got ahold of him, inexorably drawing him into the room even though his feet stayed in place on the pavement. No. No, no! His heart started beating frantically, fear he’d never shown before had the muscles in his face and neck taut, his eyes wide, and tears falling without his eyelids having to move at all. He would have given anything not to be inside this memory again, but felt powerless to stop it. Cas’ arm came up in front of him, his forearm against his belly—he jumped at the touch—and, in an instant, the vertigo and fear disappeared. The gravity dragging him back into being that boy inside all over again had been severed with what seemed an odd, surprising finality. He turned his head to watch Cas watching him—them?—without pity or condolence, taking it in, unblinking. Never look away from suffering. Bobby’s words echoed in his mind. The corner of Dean’s lips turned up as he looked fondly over the angel’s profile. A blunt, aching feeling took a squeezing hold of his heart. Continued... Castiel stood, watching, as the man Dean loved, trusted, and idolized lay down a beating on his son—his baby boy—that would kill Dean if he didn’t stop. Then, he did. His hand went still, cocked back in the air. Dean found his feet again, the way he always did, as John turned and stumbled away, summoning every scrap of restraint he could muster. “Get out.” Dean looked up at his father, bewildered. John would lay one on him then send him to another room, out to the car, or somewhere out of mind if out of sight wasn’t possible, needing to pretend he didn’t exist for a while, but never… “Where am I gonna go?” “I don’t know and I don’t care.” The words hit Dean in the face like a slap. “Uh… I need to—” …wash the blood off before I go. He tried to say it, but the look on John’s face kept his mouth closed better than wearing an iron mask. John lumbered up to him and brought his face in close to the quivering boy’s, looking him in the eye, daring him to flash the faintest hint of defiance at him. “Get the fuck out. Or I’ll kill you.” The words hit harder than any physical punishment he’d ever taken. Dean felt something in him shatter. Hurting so badly and thoroughly, it was impossible to pinpoint what it was. Stunned speechless, unable to look his dad in the eye, Dean made one foot move, then the other. He almost forgot his jacket with keys and wallet in the pockets on the way out. He walked out the door feeling as though he was swimming through the air, dazed and untethered. He felt the body he lived in, the clothing he wore, his plasticky, numb skin, the blood pooling in bruises underneath and drying on it, didn’t feel real. The world around him didn’t feel like something substantial enough to hold on to, not anymore. John passed out on Dean’s bed within minutes. He never remembered what happened that night. Perhaps because it was easier for his conscience that way. Continued...
October 10, 2025 at 1:33 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #Castiel #Dean #AGoodRunOfBadLuck #SexWarAndPeace /end
Draping off the thickest region of his thighs. Swaying wood beads, dyed blue and green, weighed down the knotted ends of the drawstring. Their lips and bodies met with uncareful force. Still wasn’t enough for Dean. His hand found the back of Cas’ head as his tongue made way through Cas’ lips. Fresh, simple and clean as their idyllic haven; such was the nature of their bodies, hearts, souls, and the love they shared. When Cas finally stopped kissing him, Dean had only enough breath left to whisper, “How…?” The angel smiled softly, laying one last butterfly kiss on his lips. “Your blood, sweat…” Cas wiped a falling tear from Dean’s cheek. “and tears, have built this place. Seemed only fair I contribute my own.” Dean stared, in awe. His grace. Had to be what made such an impossibility… real. “Hungry?” Mute, yet smiling as Cas swept yet another tear away, Dean nodded enthusiastically. He was, and for so much more than food and drink. Cas looked back over his shoulder kitchen-ward. “Coffee’s ready. Do we want to sit out there?” Overjoyed laughter burst out of Dean. “Yeah, we do.” Cas left him behind with a loving kiss, heading back to the kitchen. Dean wandered back outside in a bit of a daze. He couldn’t help the way he stared, amazed and dumbstruck at the flower beds, seeded but empty last night, and this morning, bursting at the seams with fully grown, full-bloom wildflowers. The potent urge to pick a few different colours and decorate his angel’s hair and ear with ‘em seized him. The screen door creaked open behind him. He turned, looking Cas in the eyes, and remembered the last time he encountered Castiel as something resembling a new age sex guru slash hippie flower child hybrid. He looked and backed away. He caught the beginnings of Cas’ frown. “Dean, what’s wrong?” Dean clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and—through considerable force of will—rooted his feet in place, determined not to retreat or look away from the knowledge he carried... Continued... How different their fate could have been. He was determined to do it right this time. Offering up Dean’s hand thrown mug of steaming coffee, Dean took it, soothing his nerves with the rich, nearly creamy taste, and sorely needed hit of caffeine. Holding the cup to his mouth with both hands, taking a slow, steady sip, the relief he felt was palpable. He took a long, deep, unsteady breath. The smile on his face stood in for, “Thank you,” just fine. He walked to the edge of the top step, still captured by wonderment at the gardens; rose and morning glory vines twisting and winding around their retaining walls. Dean held on tight to Cas’ hand in return when he felt the angel reach out and hold his. “It’s… heh. It’s a stupid idea.” Quite possibly the single fruitiest idea to ever cross his mind. Still, he wanted to see what it looked like for reasons he couldn’t put into words. Cas cocked his head to the side, curious. “What idea?” Dean shook his head, laughing morosely at his predicament. The lyric echoed in his mind; if you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to wear flowers in your hair… “For a second there, I kinda wanted to see you with a few flowers in your hair.” He tried to smile but sadness quickly washed it away. The way Cas looked at him was inscrutable. Wide open, but no hint of what he thought, one way or the other. A blank slate. The same look he had every time he encountered a new idea. Then came the beginnings of a smile. Dean felt his eyes start to water and his vision blur a little. Letting go his hand, Cas set down his mug, walked a few steps down from the deck, bent over the garden wall and choose a handful of daisies—the exact colours he’d wanted to go for, orange, white, pink, and purple—snipping the stems with his fingernail. Arranging them into a miniature bouquet as he ascended the steps, he presented the colourful flower palette to Dean, the look in his eyes alone asking to Dean to make the wish come true. They sat on the steps... Continued... Arranging them into a miniature bouquet as he ascended the steps, he presented the colourful flower palette to Dean, the look in his eyes alone asking to Dean to make the wish come true. They sat on the steps with coffee by their sides. Castiel looked him dead in the eyes, smiling as Dean wove and braided the stems into his hair over his ear. Dean leaned in close, gently running his fingertips over the delicate petals, combing through his hair onto his bare skin. Greying hair and beard, lines belying his age and skin that didn’t hug his bones and muscle quite so tightly as it used to… but Jesus. He looked perfectly lovely with daisies perched beside his arresting blue eyes, neatly trimmed three-day shadow and the defined arch of his eyebrow. All we have left is each other… Dean smiled bittersweetly. This time around, that wasn’t true. We have each other, and we have a place to call our own. Not too shabby if I say so myself. Pulling Castiel into a punctuating kiss by the chin, his work was done. He picked up his mug and, scooching closer, blew off a last little bit of steam. Every penny spent on those beans was worth it. Roping his arm behind the angel’s back, holding him closer by the waist, Dean lay his head down on Cas’ shoulder, taking lazy sips of coffee until the mug ran cool, then dry. For the first time in all the years of his life, he knew what peace felt like. ALT Text for Pigeon's art is on the next panel. Art by The Friendly Pigeon Dean is seated on a dark green decorative armchair with buttons pressing divots into the upholstery of the chair back. Cas is kneeling before him on the floor in front of the chair. Their arms are wrapped around one another. They're resting, eyes closed, in each other's arms. A neat trick of perspective makes it feel as though they could be laying together on mattress with Dean's leg wrapped over Cas' body, when Dean is in fact seated on a plush armchair. The overall motif of Pigeon's digital painting is emblematic. A cornucopia of ferns and colourful wildflowers grows from wherever there is a crevice behind or around the central figures in the painting. The look of the chair and flowers gives the impression Dean and Castiel are on the road spending their night in an abandoned, derelict home. Find Pigeon's work here: https://x.com/_FriendlyPigeon/status/1884694056623612083 https://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/post/774115122080792576/i-was-inspired-by-some-mood-boards-on-pinterest https://www.instagram.com/p/DFbBEy0oqMC/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== Pigeon's Art Shop: https://thefriendlypigeon.squarespace.com/thefriendlypigeon-shop/p/wmrzejz7fxnhrep-c8p8s-6e68r-4jtz2-f3g47-arw4j-z9sbn-wm83w-sgkze-gx8g9-apjcd-63m8a-eyr7t-kls6n-ghzrp-w6w68-rjejb-lh3bf-fcatj-fg5bx-s2f6w-82cr5-kbsar-824tk
October 5, 2025 at 4:36 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #Castiel #Dean #AGoodRunOfBadLuck #SexWarAndPeace +
Holding his arm out over the garden soil, he wrapped the other hand over his forearm, pinching together the flesh underneath his human bones. Drip, drip… drip. Drops of light splattered open on the dry, crumbly soil, sitting on the surface a moment before soaking into the ground and streaking away throughout the gardens surrounding the cabin, travelling by capillaries too small for the human eye to see. The sound of Dean’s steps approaching inside the deck door brought him back to their shared plane of perception. His eyelids shooed the light out of his eyes. He firmly pressed his palm to the bleed, sliding his hand along the skin, hard. A last, minute grace whisp evaporated from underneath his palm’s trailing edge. He lay his open palm on the rough earth, a knowing, loving smile taking shape on his lips. He cast his gaze skyward, taking in a deep breath. It would rain overnight. The screen door creaked open and Dean’s boots hit the porch. Dean stalled. “Cas?” Castiel stood, lightly brushing granules of dirt off his palm, looking up to Dean. The love on his face, in his eyes, pinioned Dean in place. His heart leapt, swelling in his chest. He smiled softly back as Cas closed on him, planting a lasting kiss on his open mouth, arms going around him, holding their bodies together. It hadn’t been, but he could’ve sworn minutes had gone by before the seraph’s lips, tongue, and arms let him go. Their gazes met. Not a word needed to be said. Parting, Dean held up the lambs’ fur denim jacket he’d had made for Castiel, wearing one of his own. Sliding one arm in, then the other, Dean lay the jacket over his angel’s shoulders. Perfect. Comfortable, and not too loose. Undeniably handsome. Unable to help his dumbass, giddy grin, he blushed. Hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, they leisurely sidled down the stairs, ‘round the garden walls, heading for the treeline at the back of the plateau. […] A sleepy, orgasm-inebriated smile formed on Dean’s face. Continued... Thumb painting a meandering patch of Cas’ cum into the skin of his stomach, he watched the angel get up onto his knees to crawl off the edge of the bed. Not having Cas’ legs around him, his penis now missing from where it laid spent on the wonderfully sensitive skin in his hip groove… nope. Didn’t like it. Dean surged up and struck, seizing Castiel’s trailing foot by the big toe, collapsing face down on the mattress, satisfied he’d inexorably captured his prey. Cas, knowing the mischief was coming before Dean trapped him, tried and failed to get off fast enough. Finding himself standing—hopping—on one leg, he half-heartedly tried yanking his toe free. All he succeeded at was putting a lustfully impish grin on Dean’s lips to match the look in his greedily glaring eye. While Cas failed at freeing his toe, he succeeded wonderfully at showing off his own cum-spattered stomach and thighs, and his dangling, half-swollen cock and bouncing balls. Score. Dean’s grin widened. He wanted Cas and his body back in bed with him and he wanted it right fuckin’ now. They stared each other down, locked in stalemate. The sound of a bubbling, rumbling growl in Dean’s stomach split the heavy silence. Dean muffled his plaintive moan and cackling laughter, simultaneously hiding away his deep red blush in their pillowy down comforter. Humiliatingly defeated by his own traitorous stomach. He dared a secretive peek at the angel’s reaction; tittering laughter and an all-out Cheshire grin. He could hold onto Cas’ toe or flip Feathers the bird, but he couldn’t do both; bird it is. Cas’ laughter deepened. He came back to the bedside. Kneeling, he kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth, settling back into resting his temple on his palm’s heel. He lay an arousing, teasing touch in the small of Dean’s back. “Don’t tempt me,” the seraph warned seductively. Like that, Dean was drowning in want for sex again. Still, he was hungry—no, starving—and…the re was time, and time after that... Continued... and still more time later on. It was the second of many, many days to come. The tension in his body snapped and evaporated under the angel’s soothing touch. “I’ll shower, then make breakfast while you shower and dress.” Dean’s stomach spoke again, wholehearted in its agreement with Castiel. Dean laughed, even with Cas nuzzling a kiss against his face. Cas’ fingers slipped off his skin and the seraph’s body heat abruptly disappeared. Cracking open the eye not buried in down feathers and cotton, Dean watched, his vision hazy and dreamlike, as Cas’ naked ass went to their dresser and pulled out a pair of linen pants, throwing them over his shoulder. He descended the loft’s ladder without looking back… Dean stepped out into the living room stretching dull aches out of his muscles, still airing out his nude body. He inhaled the scent of breakfast—farm-fresh bacon, eggs and thin breakfast steaks—and rather suddenly felt aggressively hungry. He snatched up the pair of jeans—only jeans—Cas had laid out on the back of the couch. Zipping up the fly and buttoning his waist, it was evident from the faint scent wafting out of the kitchen coffee was on the stove, but not ready quite yet. Giving his stomach a soothing scritch and taking a deep breath, Dean decided fresh mountain air was probably the next best thing available to wake himself up. Cas had the inside door wide open, and fresh, cool air wafted in through the screen door. Petrichor… it had rained last night while he was out cold. Limbs and eyelids still heavy—sue him, he wasn’t used to that much physical exertion in a night—he wove slightly as he lumbered toward the door and out onto the deck, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. No sooner had he opened his eyes when his gaze snapped to the explosion of colour where just last night there were beds of hardscrabble topsoil where only the sparsest hints of green, nevermind flowers, had managed to miraculously grow wildly out of control... Continued... In the unforgiving mountain soil. He couldn’t pull any more air into his lungs. Water clouded his vision. Dreaming. He had to be… Dean clapped his hand over his eyes. The need to breathe overpowered the muscles wrapped taut around his ribcage. He slipped his hand down his face just enough to see once again. The flowers were still there. He dashed to the rail, leaning over as far as he could without ending up ass over tea kettle in a bed of crushed flowers. Brilliant, rich red roses on vines nearly reached where stone foundations ended and the deck posts began. His mouth hanging open in awe, his breath came to him in short, hard, deep bursts. The Lace’s pure white blooms with their tiny dots the colour of dried blood in the centre and the scotch thistle had grown tall enough he reached the blossoms hardly having to lean over the railing. He’d never seen daisies that tall. Or so colourful! Dean ran to the end of the deck. There, in a swath of flowerbed only just wide enough for a bush, Dean had planted a single raspberry bush clipping, holding the faint hope that it might have the gumption to grow. A hope that proved in vain—until now. The bush stood no less than four feet tall, maybe five, bursting over the stone and mortar retaining wall, its thin branches weighed heavy and low with plump… succulent berries. Potently sweet, and nicely tart. Delicious beyond words for no reason other than how rarely real, fresh fruit could be found in the world nowadays. Dean sprinted back the screen door, flinging it open wide as he ran back inside the cabin, he stopped on a dime at the sight of Cas in the midst of following him out onto the deck, naught on but a pair of linen pants laced up at the waist, his brushed hair somehow still mussed up, having dried into these adorable natural curlicues, echoed in the hair on his chest and stomach, dipping to the unseen places below his pant’s waist. They hung from his hips, fluttering over the mound of his cock... Continued...
October 5, 2025 at 4:36 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
Day Three•Garden

Show me your garden that's bursting into life.

AO3~ bit.ly/SexWarPeace
Official~ bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...
eBook~ bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...

@thefriendlypigeon's store: Old Love @ thefriendlypigeon.squarespace.com/thefriendlyp...

#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #SexWarAndPeace +
Supernatural Sex, War & Peace Pandorakiin Art by The Friendly Pigeon. The Alt Text for Pigeon's art is included on the final panel. “Show me your garden that’s bursting into life.” — Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars” — Castiel’s cheeks flushed. He quickly took interest in the chip of ice tink-tinking around the bottom of his whiskey glass. “If you could go back, would you do anything differently?” One eyebrow jumping straight up, Dean met his gaze, blindsided by the question. “Crossroads deal? Hell…?” A smile, real and fond, without pretense or obfuscating charm, came into being on Dean’s face. “No.” “Not because…” Dean shimmied his elbows on the rail closer… until their shoulders kissed. “Yeah. Exactly because. Easy as pie to see this would never happen without that. We’d never meet. Sam wouldn’t be here. Changing any choice along the way, no matter how small, could mean we’d never have ended up here.” “I’m amazed you feel that way.” Castiel’s eyes, big and bright, and right up close, had his heart thrumming faster and faster every moment that went by. “Hey, I’m not saying I would do it all over again. I just wouldn’t change it**—**any of it.” Putting on a lopsided smile, Dean winked, grinning as he tipped another sip of whiskey past his lips. He didn’t want to ask how much Sam and Eileen had to shell out for it. Forget “Nectar of the Gods”, this stuff could bestow immortality. “How about you…? God?” Dean emphasized. Cas shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t have profoundly understood why God needed to be cast down without that experience.” “C’mon! You were a colossal dick.” Cas’ grin was nothing less than shit-eating. “Still am.” “Fuck you, man.” Cas downed a whiskey sip with a, “Please, do,” chaser and a daring smile. Leaning in closer, his boring gaze demanded Dean come up with something. “All right, okay. That, uh… that waitress… out in—” Dean shuddered at the memory. “That, uh, definitely had me questioning my life choices…” “Oh!” Cas winced, his voice rife with unattraction, holding up one hand as if he needed to physically push the vivid image of Dean’s memory out of his mind. For what little good it did, his eyes stayed squinted until the recollection cleared. The woman had a soul as sweet as the real strawberry milkshakes the quaint diner she staffed served. Either by accident of genetic design or badly-healed injury, her nose, instead of the unremarkable slant of most other human beings, she, in no uncertain terms, possessed the snout of a pig. Kind, beautiful eyes, a winning smile, a bit heavier than Dean’s usual dames, silky, flowing hair, breasts-every ounce of them natural-that could make Elvira green with envy; all of it for naught but for one godawfully unlucky accident of birth. “So fucking sue me, dude. She was funny as hell and she had a nice laugh, fun humour, and a great smile. It was just that unfortunate little thing with her nose goin’ on… and the outta control acne bloom on her ass and thighs… ‘Ey, I hadn’t gotten any for a while, so… y’know, I went with it. Add to that the cowboy hat and the whole reverse-cowgirl thing…” The memory of her unfortunate appearance faded long ago, he remembered the sensation of her around his cock best of all. “No one, and I mean fuckin’ no one else I’ve ever had could work their cooch on my dick like that. Not even Lise. Still remember it, clear as a blue sky. Whoever she found in this life, he’s one lucky sonuvabitch.” Smiling fondly on him, Castiel assured him, “I understand.” “I’m sure you do.” Cas’ tongue pulled whiskey lingering on his lips into his mouth. As the angel turned pensive, his gaze fixed on his glass until the moment he spoke. “No one else?” Dean grinned and laughed into his whiskey glass as he took another sip, shaking his head as his elbows found the railing again Continued... He shifted his hips to weigh against Cas’, holding the glass in both hands. “Present company excepted.” Dean’s eyes drilled that truth into his mind, before leaning in for a light and sweet, if lingering kiss. He needed more of those lips like air but… later. There was time. Frowning, Dean swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “I’d… uh, I’d have gone back to see Bobby sooner.” Cas roped a comforting arm over his back, kissing his shoulder through his shirt. “He would have liked that.” “Yeah.” There were tears underneath the word. “I know that now.” Dean took the comforting kiss to his temple, his eyes drooping closed. Dizzying need had him swaying on all fours, leaning heavy into Cas’ loving touch. Something the angel slowly, quietly, and softly but insistently gave him more of. Kisses wandered leisurely around his cheek and neck. Dean dropped his shoulder, laying his neck open, happy to bask under raindrop kisses. “What’s meant to grow here?” Dean sucked a hard breath in through his nose, waking himself up from pleasure’s dreamlike stupor. “Hmm?” Cas pointed a finger, waving it over the seeded yet barren stepped gardens Dean had mortared together, stone by stone culled from the plentiful lakeshore. “When it’s fertile enough—hopefully next spring—wildflowers. Black-Eyed Susan, daisies, fiddleheads, Queen Anne’s Lace, cornflower, thistles, columbine, milkweed, coneflower. Anything with a flower and hardy enough to grow.” The cabin was sizeable already. Building out onto even more of the land—here had to be a reason… “Why so much ground for it?” Dean cleared his throat. Biting his lip, he forced himself to look at Castiel. He wanted to see the angel’s expression as much as he was afraid of it. “Apiaries.” Bewildered was Cas’ first feeling. “We have…?” Dean nodded, beaming like sunshine. Bewilderment turned to innocent excitement under a thick varnish of burning desire. The timber of Cas’ voice hit rock-bottom. “Where?” Continued... Grinning, Dean nodded his head toward the woods on the other side of the cabin. “North side of the property, by the treeline. If we’re lucky they’ll started building hives in the trees too. C’mon.” He kissed the angel in lieu of, “You’re welcome.” He stood up tall, his fingers slipping out of Cas’. Sauntering back to the floral oval framed screen door, Dean cracked it open, pausing. Fire in the hearth and candlelight lit the cabin, with twilight swiftly settling over the mountain lake valley. “If I can swing it, next year I want to try planting raspberries, maybe rhubarb.” Cas stopped cold. “No apples?” Dean’s garden growing without apples felt viscerally wrong. Dean shrugged off his disappointment. “Nah. Nothing I’d ever put in a pie will grow here. Ground’s too fallow. Even if I did manage to get a small tree going… too much effort for far too little reward. If I can get this garden to take for the bees’ sake, that’ll make me happy.” Dean winked and stepped inside. “I’ll get our jackets.” Cas’ bootfall on the step back up echoed the thwack of the closing screen door. A powerful urge cemented him in place. He… he couldn’t bear new life for the man he loved, but he could help it grow and flourish. He stepped back down and crouched down on one haunch. Undoing his cuff, he rolled back the sleeve. Turning up the vulnerable underside of his forearm, grace shone to life in his eyes. Filaments of light shimmered into being underneath his human skin, snaking through his human flesh, pooling at the tip of the thumb’s nail on his free hand. With some effort, he pooled a tiny, fluctuating well of grace under the skin of his upturned arm. Pressing the cutting edge of his thumbnail to his forearm, he slipped it across his skin, leaving an angry red divot a little more than an inch long behind. Into that trench of marred skin slowly pooled a miniature river of pure energy—the stuff from which all life is born, and to which all life returns. Grace. Continued...
October 5, 2025 at 4:36 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
Previews for Ch. 5&6 LIVE on the website!!💙💚

bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...

AO3 bit.ly/SexWarPeace
eBook bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...
TTS bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...

Eye Ease bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...

Patreon patreon.com/pandorakiin

#SaltAndBurn1520 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #spnfanfic #TheySilencedThem #spnfandom
The Nah/That's The Stuff meme, expect it's Jensen photographed at a Supernatural Creation Convention. Nah : Dying needlessly in a nondescript barn that smells like horseshit, hanging from rebar like a slaughtered animal on a meat hook. That's The Stuff : Facing down the spectre of your homophobic father and internalized homophobia for the sake of having something extraordinary with your best friend (read: the love of your life).
August 31, 2025 at 5:50 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
Previews for Chapter 5 & 6 to be released this week on AnyType! 💙💚

bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...

AO3: bit.ly/SexWarPeace
eBook: bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...
TTS: bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...
Eye Ease: bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...

Patreon: patreon.com/pandorakiin

#SaltAndBurn1520 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural
The Nah/Hell Yeah meme, expect it's Jensen photographed at a Supernatural Creation Convention. Nah : Dying needlessly in a nondescript barn that smells like horseshit, hanging from rebar like a slaughtered animal on a meat hook. Hell Yeah! : Facing down the spectre of your homophobic father and internalized homophobia for the sake of having something extraordinary with your best friend (read: the love of your life).
August 13, 2025 at 4:15 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
Ever wonder what happened between Dean and Lee when they were younger?

I did.

And now I know.

#destiel #DrippingWings #SexWarAndPeace #spn #supernatural #spnfanfic #BabyBisexuals
A magazine modelling photo of Jensen Ackles in his early twenties. Golden brown hair, shirtless, slight build. He has his thumb hooked the waist of his blue jeans, his hand resting directly over the family jewels. Holding a tan cowboy hat in one hand just far enough off his groin area for it to feel like a tease. A movie still of Christian Kane in his early to mid-twenties. He's in a gym wearing an army green tank, sweating from being in the middle of a workout. He's very well built by comparison to Dean, who's 4-5 years his junior when they first experiment in Baby's back seat.
July 1, 2025 at 10:05 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
#destiel #spnfanfic #DrippingWings #SexWarAndPeace #TheSilenceIsOver #SPN #Supernatural #HellYeah
NAH: Your best friend confesses to you how profoundly and thoroughly he loves you minutes before he's taken captive by an ancient, unstoppable force to save your life. HELL YEAH: Your son rescues him and you have damned good sex in the back seat of your sexy ’67 Chevy. Nah/Hell Yeah Meme featuring an unimpressed Jensen Ackles photographed at an SPN Creation Con. In the second row panel he looks VERY intrigued.
June 30, 2025 at 11:19 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
Chapter 3 : Tread Softly Because you Tread on My Memories is DONE!!

#destiel #DrippingWings #SexWarAndPeace #LFG

#TheySilencedThem #TheSilenceIsOver

HELL YESSS!!! The hard sprint to the finish line is ON, baby!!! WHOO!

Final word count:
A screencap of the Microsoft Word word count dialogue box the the stats for the final version of Chapter 3. Pages: 127 Words: 62,644 Characters (no spaces): 285,231 Characters (with spaces) 347,381 Paragraphs: 1,485 Lines: 4,407 The hard sprint to the finish line is ON, baby! WHOOT!
June 26, 2025 at 2:17 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
I'm staring down the barrel of editing 120+ pgs of writing. Instead of forcing me to do it at a desk, The Dumpster God was kind, bringing me this Alvin masonite field drawing board for free. It's in inexplicably perfect condition. I can work on my couch now.

Thank you.

🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

#destiel #spnfanfic
An Alvin masonite field drawing board that I found in my building dumpster one night when taking a piece of my furniture down. Right in the open on the very bottom of a mostly empty bin. No filth or damage to speak of. Resting on top of it is a 60 page stack - the first half of chapter 3, now ready to edit by hand after a first pass with a digital editing tool. A little of centre, up and to the left sit "artfully" arranged pens for editing; red, blue, and green. Wish me luck!!!
June 9, 2025 at 12:41 AM
thebunker.bsky.social
Alt Text from the main post continues here. <3

A song for your Destiel playlist from mine. Clay AIken's "I Will Carry You":

www.youtube.com/watch?v=RP_r...

A few other places to find @thefriendlypigeon.bsky.social's awesome work:

Twt: x.com/_FriendlyPig...
LinkTree: linktr.ee/thefriendlyp...
Even if he did go out onto the battlefield looking for anything to save her, he had this awful feeling in the pit of stomach that if he left her side, he would come back only to find that she had died there alone, and not only would he not find anything that could help her, he would have abandoned her to die without comfort. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t hardly get sound out of his throat, nevermind…! Her touch against the side of his leg went limp, and he snapped back to her side. “Ohhh, no you don’t. Cass… c’mon, babe. C’mon!! You gotta tell me what you need! I have no fuckin’ idea…!” He slid his arm underneath her armpit and wing, gingerly getting her most of the way into his arms, propped up on his thigh. The whole time, her limbs, neck and head moved like they were made of rubber. She wasn’t even giving him the gears about the whole “babe” thing. She hated it. “Cass…!” She was dying. Leaving him, when they’d only found whatever it was between them hours ago. They’d never even had a chance to…! <CASS!> He screamed it with his whole heart and soul, holding her close and gently rocking her in his arms. The only sounds he could get out of his mouth now were high and squeaky. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when her hand weakly touched his chest over his heart. He relaxed his hold on her to look her in the eyes. She smiled contentedly, resting her palm on his cheek again. <I need you.> He wiped tears away on his shoulder. <Cass, babe, I don’t understand. What do you need me to—> <Take off your clothes.> He sat there staring aghast at the angel in his arms. She was at death’s fuckin’ doorstep, and she wanted his clothes off?! <Dean, please… there’s… there’s not much time…> That snapped him out of it. Quick as he could, he got his shirt off and his belt unbuckled. For the rest, he had to lie her down. She lay there motionless. Continued on Panel 6... Her eyes being barely open could have been a function of exhaustion as much as it could have been a function of her eyes being too lazy to close themselves in death. He was gonna be utterly fucking sick. Kneeling before her, he got her head in his hands again. <Babe, what now?> Nothing. <Cas! Don’t do this to me, man! C’MON!> She blinked, looking up at him, dazed, smiling lovingly again. <Carry me with you. Wherever you go.> His throat seized up completely. What?! No, no, no, no, NO! She closed her eyes and lay there peacefully in his hands. <Cas…?> He couldn’t even think in anything other than that terrified, squeaky voice. She stirred weakly, seeming confused. < Lie face down… so… so I can lie on your back.> He was taken aback, staring at her, almost feeling indignant. Her quiet, lilting chuckles echoed in his head. <Dean, please… for once, do as I…> She’d barely finished speaking, and he was almost flat on his front on the stone in front of her, keeping the tenderest parts of his body off the stony ground with one hand. When he glanced back at her, his eyes silently pleading with her to move and climb on, she smiled, grateful. Agonizingly slow, at first it was a tentative touch of her ice-cold hand, then using her armour to pull the rest of her along, she lay herself on his back, pelvis square on top of his ass, stomach contoured into the small of his back, her arms, wrapped around his torso, her legs hanging off of his and her feet hooked over his calves. How cold she was had him desperate. Nothing living should be that frigid. They lay there with nothing between them. He could feel her weak breathing pressing into his back. She lay her head down as if to sleep on the back of his shoulder and lay there quietly, basking in the heat of his body, as the chill of the amorphous armour she wore… started to spread. He realized what was happening. She meant for him to carry her this way and to find the rest of the garrison. Continued on Panel 7... “Carry me with you.” Jesus fuckin’ Christ, angel! Don’t scare me like that! <If the armour disintegrates and I fall, I’ve died… Leave me behind, Dean.> Castiel exhaled, peacefully resigned. He could think of much, much worse ways to go. <Do not fuckin’ ask me to do that. I won’t.> He could feel Castiel's smile. It wasn’t that her face moved against his skin. He could… feel it. Not only that, he understood why. Castiel had never before felt it would matter to anyone in all Creation if he died. It was… nice to feel wanted, even if only at the end. Dean felt a lump catch in his throat again. Again, he cried. A being ancient beyond reckoning, and this was how the Heavenly Father treated his son? No parent who could do that to their child deserved anyone’s faith. <Carry me…> Cas was fading into delirium. He waited for clearer instructions. <Cas…?> Silence. <Cas…> Even in his head, he whispered it, frightened the armour around him would crumble at any moment, heralding Castiel’s death. It felt like something fractured in that moment. The feeling inside it spilled out, falling from his lips a moment later. “I love you.” Static on the other end of the cups-and-string phone of their bond. Even as the misery of imminent grief twisted up his expression, and tears kept coming, he steeled himself, getting up onto his hands and knees, then onto his feet. Balance was odd, but the armour helped him carry the weight. Heck, he barely had to exert strength moving his own body. It encased his feet, leaving his face and hands mostly uncovered. The suit was sealed at the wrists and neck. Nothing seeped in and nothing leaked out. Cas’ arms were wrapped around his lower ribcage, his head lying down to sleep behind his shoulder. He stepped. Her body walked with him. It was the weirdest feeling. The way their bodies slid against one another inside the armour… it felt like what negligible space there was between them was filled with… lube. Continued on Panel 8... A moment of dread washed over him. He had to march, God knows how many miles, with the angel’s lubed body sliding against his backside every moment of every… single… day. Only a couple of minutes gone by, and already his dick was paying enrapt attention to every move he made. Hardening his resolve, among other things, to bear this state of affairs, Dean decided he would not be held responsible for relieving himself along the trek. Full stop. A quick wave of vertigo washed over him. He frowned, standing stone still and paying intent attention to his body. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it; the sensation was so weak he could hardly feel it beneath all the noise of arousal driving him up the wall. It felt as though his whole being was a spool of the finest thread he could imagine, and something, or someone, was slowly, steadily, and carefully unspooling that string and threading it through the umbilical connection of the bond between them. Cas. Tears welled up in his eyes. This time, it was joy. He smiled. He laid his hand over one of hers, holding it firmly to his body. <Take it. It’s all yours.>
April 22, 2025 at 11:58 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
"They lay in a growing pool of the angel’s lifeblood, as each reached out for the other, melding together in a way that terrified him."

Art: @thefriendlypigeon.bsky.social

Ptrn: www.patreon.com/thefriendlyp...
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#destiel #spnfanfic #spnfanart
SUPERNATURAL Sex, War & Peace Scene | I Will Carry You Supernatural Sex, War & Peace Scene | I Will Carry You “Cass!” The bewildered, frightened angel held tight in his arms continued shrieking and flailing in agony like a wounded eagle from the wounds inflicted on her body and wings. If she kept up this ruckus, the hellknight would realize he and Cass hadn’t been obliterated by whatever they had unleashed on Cass. He squeezed his eyes closed and summoned up the state of mind and heart Cass had been trying to teach him so they didn’t have to speak a word to each other to communicate. The way Cass explained it was like prayer, except between them. Not a broadcast. Much more… focused. Intentional… and open. <Cass! It’s me!> Easy. Take it easy. He slowed his breathing, hoping the angel would do the same. Dean’s eyes shot open in shock when he realized something of the angel was filtering back down the line toward him. It wasn’t words, at least none that meant anything to him. There was relief, elation, confusion, trust… and love. There was no mistaking the emotion. Castiel had probably never experienced anything like it before, and had no idea what he was feeling. He lay there in shock, wide-eyed, having a hard time breathing as Cass became still in his arms. Not dead or dying, but peaceful. He wished like crazy he could be looking the angel in the eyes right now, but it was clear that he might as well have been. They lay there, in a growing pool of the angel’s lifeblood, as each reached out for the other, melding together in a way that terrified him, while their minds and souls opened up, blooming before one another in ways eyes cannot see. Only their hearts could perceive the beauty of what they were revealing. Nothing concealed or held back; no thought, feeling, or sensation without witness. Continued on Panel 2... Dean didn’t have to say a word to ask and understand; a bond like this went deeper than anything he would ever know, with anyone else… ever. It couldn’t be unmade or undone, not even by their own will. He gasped, exhilarated. Water found its way into his eyes. <Humans never do anything in half measures… do you?> Cas was quietly chuckling away inside himself, waiting for Dean to find the will to speak. Feeling the direction his thoughts were careening, Dean veered off the tracks an instant before it was too late to unthink it. <Heh. Yeah, well, you know me! Go big or go home.> <Hmm… yes. I do.> The way he held onto the angel a whole lot tighter right then didn’t have a goddamn thing to do with keeping him any safer. Like nothing he’d ever felt before, he just… needed to. For his part, Cas was happy to let him. He lay there, sweetly chuckling away in his arms. There was little to nothing he wouldn’t give to be able to hear that heavenly sound until the day he ceased to exist. <What happened?> Dean blinked. Cas didn’t remember what had been done to him. A little bedside manner goes a long way. Cas didn’t need to see his memory of it. <I’m gonna have to start telling those jokes you hate so much. Laughter is the best medicine, and the only thing I have on hand to patch you up with.> He laughed a little. <That terrible, is it?> Cas began to stir, trying out his tattered body, taking stock of what still worked… and what plainly didn’t. Dean watched for a few moments that felt like eternity, horrified as Castiel moved to right himself and return to the battle, hobbling and broken. Unthinking, Dean locked his arms around the angel, determined not to let go unless the angel cut his arms off at the shoulders. <Release me! The battle isn’t over! I must—!> <If you go back out there, you’ll die.> <I am not afraid of—!> It was selfish, and he knew it. He’d never kept anything in life for himself. Continued on Panel 3... Other than his baby brother, there wasn’t a goddamn thing he’d ever laid hands on that he wouldn’t have given up to help someone else. If this was the only thing in his life he ever kept for himself, whatever befell them at the end of all things would be worth it, simply for being able to have and to have held this angel for whatever time they could carve out for themselves. It dawned on him that he knew now, in the most visceral way, what that promise meant. <If you die, I won’t get outta here. Inias might try, but the others would gladly grind me into the ground under their boot heels.> It wasn’t a lie; it was the only card he had left to play. Castiel lay quiet in his arms, withdrawn. <If you go back out there, I won’t make it.> The other angels would leave him behind. He’d end up back on the rack. No, even Inias wouldn’t put his ass on the line to save him. To Inias, he was an assignment. Nothing more. If push came to shove, probably not even that. Biting the inside of his lip, fighting tears out of his eyes, Dean held onto the angel much tighter. <Fight another day, Cass. There’s no shame in that.> He watched as the angel covered his bleeding wounds with a thin film of what little armour remained to him, keeping the trail of his blood from lengthening and betraying that something dead or dying lay hidden underneath the jagged shale outcropping, keeping them out of sight. The sounds of battle raged. The ground beneath and the stone above them shook and rattled. They clung to each other and waited soundlessly, excruciatingly aware their cover might fail and crush them at any moment, until only the wails of the dying could be heard. His shoulder, hips and back screamed in pain when he finally moved from lying on his side on their stone bed. He bit back a cry, keeping the breath heaving in and out of his nose as quietly as he could. Continued on Panel 4... He crept over Cass, careful of her shredded, fractured wings and the gouges out of her paradoxically slight body, putting no more than an eyeball above the ledge to get the lay of the land. The battlefield was empty of soldiers; the armies of Heaven and Hell had either retreated or fled. Despite everything they’d heard, he had no idea who’d “won”. Angels and demons alike lay gored on the stone plain. The stone was black with blood that glinted red under the glare of the never-setting wheel of fire in the sky. The stench was nauseating. He learned everything he needed from crawling on his belly to a few other safe vantage points. They had been lucky. He’d managed to drag Castiel to, more or less, the edge of battle. It wouldn’t be hard to leave the battlefield unnoticed. What was impossible was knowing which way which army had gone. Spider-legging on hands and toes across the sand and stone between him and the angel, Dean kept his head down. It took surprisingly little time to grow used to the connection that now existed between them. Like it had always been there, waiting to be found. She'd been fading while his attention was focused on the world around them. When his touch found her again, it took everything his angel had to force open her eyes and smile at him. <Dean…> She couldn’t even talk through her mouth anymore. “Hey, hey… Cass, what’s wrong? What’s happening?” He asked frantically, picking her head up off the stone. He felt useless. She was dying, and all he could do was give her a softer place to do it on. He clapped a hand over his mouth before the sob came out, but of course, she heard it. Delirious, she smiled and reached a trembling hand up to lay it comfortingly on his cheek. He laid his hand over hers and held it there. “Cas…!” He cried, panicking, and his brain kept screaming at him, “Do something! Do something!!” but… One more time, he glanced over the ledge, desperate to find something he could use to help Cas. Continued in the thread below...
April 22, 2025 at 11:58 PM
thebunker.bsky.social
"There's things I want to experience differently than before. Maybe for the first time."

Art&Inspiration: @thefriendlypigeon.bsky.social

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#destiel #spnfanfiction #spnfanart #AltTextFTW
Supernatural | Dripping Wings & Heavy Things Chapter | For the First Time… Cas closed and shuttered the motel room door and window behind him, setting their duffle of clean clothes and sheets on a dining chair as he came closer, his unblinking, unsettling gaze fixed on the sight of him standing there, jacketless, shirtless, and shoeless. He’d been thinking about this all day. It *felt* like he’d hardly thought about anything else. He had, but... not finding himself in the same predicament as Cas had earlier was little short of a miracle. The angel’s hand reached for his belt and for some reason, he stood up straight and squared his shoulders. Cas’ fingers slipped between his skin and dress pants in a slow, sensual, wholly unintentional taunt. Cas hadn’t looked him in the eye for some time. He had his eyes fixed on the widening space between his skin, slacks, and briefs, anticipation tinting his otherwise blank expression; like the seraph had never seen the parts of his body underneath before, and couldn’t spare attention for anything else as he drifted closer. Not even taking off his own clothes. Dean felt himself relax and he began to laugh very quietly at just how enrapt Castiel was to the possibility of getting eyes on his cock. Reaching for the folds of Cas’ shirt, bloused out over his pants waist, he lifted a bit, pulled, found a couple buttons to undo underneath his deep blue tie, and freed the angel’s front shirt tails. The urge rang his brain like a bell and he listened; dropping one hand to Cas’ groin, he found and conformed his palm and fingers to the smoldering organ and sack underneath the seraph’s slacks, giving the whole package a massaging tug. Castiel’s gaze punched a hole through his sternum as his chest and stomach heaved stiltedly, jaw clenching, the hand sneaking into Dean’s pants frozen. The seraph’s abs and ass clenched, lifting his cock into Dean’s hand looking for a fuller stroke... Dean pulled his palm away keeping hold of his groin by only his fingertips, teasing, waiting, for Cas to cave to desire and bring the organ straining against its’ cloth prison closer. Striking fast, Cas took hold of him with both hands by the belt at the hip bones and hauled him close. Every nerve in Dean’s body stood every hair on him on end. For all the effort moved the angel, a mountain might as well have reached out and dragged him forward. Cas brought him close enough their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces yet scarcely touched. Fearful, Dean watched from the sides of his eyes as Castiel stood nearly motionless off center of him, head bowed, his beyond-human awareness drawing Cas’ eyes to his body’s every nervous spasm. Dean tried to pull breath and failed to fill his lungs, trapped inside the unmoving cage of his chest. His heart pumped every beat out deep and hard, muscles in his neck twitching as the angel’s gaze slowly climbed the slope of his unsteady shoulder, to the artery thrumming in his neck. To Cas’ ear, all other sounds fell away from the rush of blood through his lover’s vein, to the uneasy jitter in Dean’s heartbeat; sounds unlike anything his body had made in their loving so far. The jolt was slight but Castiel felt it when the backs of his fingers withdrew from between Dean’s clothing and stomach, tracing slowly toward his side and soon enough, taking hold of him by the flesh of his hip and pressing their bodies together. Suddenly, Cas’ whole presence softened. He jumped again when Cas’ gentle hand touched and cradled the side of his face from jaw to temple. Eyes falling closed his jaw went slack as his head fell into the heated, perfect pillow of Cas’ palm. Tension fled his whole body in the self-same moment. The featherlight touch of Cas’ breathing kissed the heartbeat in his neck the instant before his angel’s lips... Slow and steady, Castiel’s tongue slipped out of his opening mouth, lapped at his skin and deepened the kiss. Cas breathed him in deep, holding onto it long and hard, gently exhaling from the mouth. The angel’s wet lips drifted up to rest on his ear. “What do you need?” The sound was almost a whisper, calling him back from losing himself in the loving caress of the hand on his face. “Heh… I, uhh… I dunno.” He felt Cas smile against his cheek. “A long, hot shower…” Dean smiled softly, taking Cas’ meaning even through the fog of arousal settling over his mind. He closed his eyes and laid his head into Cas’ hand, halfway tempted to fall asleep standing like a horse. Dean took a deep, slow breath to wake himself up. “Hmm… yeah,” he whispered. Cas’ hand turned his head and lips to meet his kiss and time fell away. When he came to, it seemed as though the sun was lower in the sky than when their unending kiss started. Rubbing his hand across his eyes, he was vaguely aware that he’d never drowned in a kiss like this before in his life. The breath he took in was deep, steady, and sure. Slowly, he backed away from Castiel, stunned by the resounding protest in his skin wherever they no longer touched. His gaze met Cas’. In that moment he knew what bewildered innocence felt like from inside it. At nearly the same time they smiled and quietly laughed. Dean nodded, let go, and headed for the bathroom. Cas followed on his heels, opening the top drawer of the dresser beside the bathroom door. Dean paused, missing something but unsure what. He looked back to see Cas holding up a small black travel bag for him. Turning, Dean clamped his hand down on the bag and came back to him with the kind of firm, certain, impassioned kiss that was his usual wont. Dean took the bag. Cas grinned, nodding. All right… Background: All three panels feature a washed out version of Pigeon's art and a slim black border. Cas tentatively reaches into Dean's dress pants, Dean untucks Cas' shirt.
November 26, 2024 at 1:27 AM
thebunker.bsky.social
COMING SOON (I mean it this time...):

Chapter 3: Tread Softly Because You Tread on My Memories

He Wishes for The Cloths of Heaven ~ W.B. Yeats

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths...
Inset in white text over a canvas textured background filled with the image of a young man in tight leather pants: The Supernatural Logo with two outstretched, stylized angel wings, with the anti-possession tattoo in the center. SUPERNATURAL Dripping Wings & Heavy Things Coming soon! Chapter 3 | Tread Softly Because You Tread on My Memories Tonight, a rustling wind turned the leaves of the trees and the shrubbery in the garden plots outside the motel windows into instruments of rhythm. Dean laid himself out on the bed, ankles crossed, stainless steel whisky flask with the top screwed off on the night table, seeing in his waking gaze, something other than the swirl-spackled ceiling above him. Lee had to be one of the funniest people he'd ever met. Always had a story to tell... Shoot. CLACK... miss. Dammit. Eyes on the pool balls, Dean. The pool balls. Shaking his head, Dean refocused his attention on Lee's tale, chuckling. His friend moved himself into line with his shot as he continued with the story, this incredible grin starting to light up his face... Lee took his risky shot and scratched, but he didn't give a shit. He should have, though... Lee couldn't continue his own story, he was laughing so hard. Hot damn, if seeing a handsome human being laughing that whole-heartedly didn't do things for Dean. He set the cue ball up on the line, and the expression on Lee's face fell. Dean smiled and laughed meeting Lee's resigned gaze as the guy shook his head. Dean stretched out his shoulders and settled down into position. Nice and smooth now...
November 22, 2024 at 3:48 AM