marietty
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So, the first thing that happens is Castiel comes back.
~~~
"Right," Dean says eventually, gruffly. He looks down at his shoes. "I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life, man. It's—you know, yours. Do your thing, love who you love, whatever. I can't really stop you from loving me, if that's what you've decided to do, but I don't—I can't—"
"I know," Castiel murmurs, still just smiling a little, not looking heartbroken at all. "Don't worry about it, Dean, that's all I ask."
"So we're—" Dean risks a glance up, swallowing thickly. "We're good?"
Castiel hums. "We're good."
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Bookmarked by marietty
18 Feb 2026
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The first time Dean and Cas kiss, it's not really even a kiss at all. It is not, however, the last kiss that they share.
~~~
Dean doesn't think about it. Not about what it means, not about what it makes them, not about how it affects him. This life—that's not how things work. It's just this, these "in the moment" moments that always slip right out of his fingers because he lets them. He doesn't try to hold onto them, and neither does Cas, and maybe they shouldn't.
Cas kisses him like no one else does, like no one else ever has. Dean absolutely does not think about it unless it's happening to him, and then he doesn't have the ability to think at all. What does it say about him that he occasionally kisses his best friend, who's a man? Dean doesn't know, and he doesn't really want to find out, either.
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Bookmarked by marietty
18 Feb 2026
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gorging myself on you, still can't get full (insatiable) by sobsicles
Fandoms: Supernatural
26 Jun 2021
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"Fine, whatever. Love you too, asshole. I hope you enjoy your walk home with your stupid, grainy bread. Taking Nature's Own a little too much to heart, but sure," Dean tells him, flashing him a sarcastic smile and swiveling around in the aisle to march away. He throws out something over his shoulder, careless and barbed. "I'm not paying for that shitty cardboard."
Dean's three aisles over when he realizes what, precisely, he said. Thankfully, when he comes to this conclusion, he's holding a box of poptarts, so when he fumbles and drops them to the floor, it's not a huge mess. He stares down at the slightly dented box of Brown Sugar Poptarts, and he has a very swift and very unshakeable crisis right there and then.
Love you too, asshole.
No, no, no. Why would he say that? Why would he do that? In the middle of the goddamn grocery store while arguing about bread? That's not—that can't be how it happens. That can't be.
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Bookmarked by marietty
17 Feb 2026
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Dean starts falling in love with him on a slow Sunday morning under slanted sunlight that slips through the gaps in the trees.
~~~
"When did it stick for you? When did your six hundred Sundays start?" Dean asks.
"It never started," Castiel admits. "It simply never stopped. My love for you is eternal—existing forever, without a beginning or an end."
Visually, Castiel's love is a circle. Aurally, it's an echo. Kinesthetically, it's breathing. Overall, it is not fate, and it is not chance; it is choice. He would not choose differently if he could go back and do it again, and that's why he didn't choose differently from the start.
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Bookmarked by marietty
17 Feb 2026
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i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees) by sobsicles
Fandoms: Supernatural
29 Apr 2021
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Dean keeps going back.
When he arrives, it's always to blooming flowers and a windmill in the background, not too far from a brook, the sun painting the plains.
He likes it there. He likes to stand in front of the makeshift urn and check that it's still where he put it, switching out the flowers when they wilt. He likes to listen to the sound of birds chirping, insects singing, the faint sound of water trickling in the distance. He likes to turn his face up and feel the sun on his skin, wondering if Cas would do the same if he were here, somehow knowing that he would.
He likes to talk.
There's never a response, but Dean feels the breeze rustle through his hair and watches the flowers bob when bees come to them and stares as the windmill keeps turning, turning, turning. And he imagines that Cas is replying—the windmill is the tilted head, the bobbing flowers are a gentle smile, the breeze is whatever words Dean wants to hear at the time.
Sometimes, it's almost like he's there.
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Bookmarked by marietty
17 Feb 2026