Iiiit's a neeew teeeaser!!! OooOo! #spooky

#Suptober Day 6 | Campfire

(They have sex dressed as cowboys. One of them anyway. The other is very, VERY happy to see his biggest kink come to life.)

*runs & hides* 💨

#SPN #Destiel #spnfanfic #Supernatural #SeWarAndPeace #AGoodRunOfBadLuck #suptober25

Sorry I've been so quiet and non-interactive. T.T

Been working on a sweet as apple pie foreplay scene for Dean & Cas' honeymoon for the #suptober event. <3

#Destiel #suptober25 #SexWarAndPeace #AGoodRunOfBadLuck

Sorry I've so quiet lately, everybody. Been workin' on something... <3

Suptober ~ Day Three • Garden

#SexWarAndPeace #AGoodRunOfBadLuck #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #spnfanfic #suptober25 #SuptoberDay3Garden #DestielHoneymoon

Thank you, thank you very much to @thefriendlypigeon.bsky.social. 💙💚

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

#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #Castiel #Dean #AGoodRunOfBadLuck #SexWarAndPeace /end

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...

#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #Castiel #Dean #AGoodRunOfBadLuck #SexWarAndPeace +

A Good Run Of Bad Luck Box 1: Books 1-3 (A Good Run Of Bad Luck Box Sets)

A Good Run Of Bad Luck Box 1: Books 1-3 (A Good Run Of Bad Luck Box Sets) by #GiuliaLagomarsino

www.amazon.com/dp/B0BTV9HFRX

#freebie #AGoodRunofBadLuck #boxset #books #booksky #smutsky #romancelandia #romanticsuspense #smalltownromance #romcom