Destiel Kink Meme
Apr. 10th, 2025 09:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
farenmaddox posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
destielfreaksandgeeksThis is the decidedly NSFW version. If you want the less-sexy but still profound fic prompts, head over to the non-kink meme.
How it works:
1. Create a new comment prompting a kinky idea for a drabble/short fic. Make sure you set yourself to ANONYMOUS before posting the comment.
2. Browse through the comment requests for a prompt you'd like to fill, and reply to it with your work! (If you wrote a lot, you can split it into multiple replies. In that case, try to number the replies so people can follow along in the right order.) Make sure you set yourself to ANONYMOUS when posting.
3. Multiple people are allowed to fill the same prompt. Infinite Cakes!
4. You are not allowed to post the same prompt multiple times just to get more visibility. You CAN post multiple different prompts, though.
5. If you want to reveal your identity and claim your work, you can - you are welcome to crosspost to other sites or your own DreamWidth blog as you will. But don't put pressure on the person who made the request to reveal their identity, please!
6. All types of kink are welcome - absolutely no shaming allowed. Since this is a Destiel community, we're sticking with only prompts about Dean and Cas for now.
7. Browse and enjoy filled prompts. Leave a comment on the ones you like to tell them how much you liked it! Have fun!
How it works:
1. Create a new comment prompting a kinky idea for a drabble/short fic. Make sure you set yourself to ANONYMOUS before posting the comment.
2. Browse through the comment requests for a prompt you'd like to fill, and reply to it with your work! (If you wrote a lot, you can split it into multiple replies. In that case, try to number the replies so people can follow along in the right order.) Make sure you set yourself to ANONYMOUS when posting.
3. Multiple people are allowed to fill the same prompt. Infinite Cakes!
4. You are not allowed to post the same prompt multiple times just to get more visibility. You CAN post multiple different prompts, though.
5. If you want to reveal your identity and claim your work, you can - you are welcome to crosspost to other sites or your own DreamWidth blog as you will. But don't put pressure on the person who made the request to reveal their identity, please!
6. All types of kink are welcome - absolutely no shaming allowed. Since this is a Destiel community, we're sticking with only prompts about Dean and Cas for now.
7. Browse and enjoy filled prompts. Leave a comment on the ones you like to tell them how much you liked it! Have fun!
no subject
Date: 2025-04-15 12:59 am (UTC)We know Dean's going to be silly and gleeful about it, but Cas is perhaps more into it than he'd admit to...
no subject
Date: 2025-04-15 08:32 am (UTC)Salt Like Sanctity
Date: 2025-04-19 05:04 pm (UTC)Cas… I need…
It’s formless and aimless, but it’s Dean. Castiel does not ignore the prayers of Dean Winchester when he can help it. He slips into celestial dimension that allows him to forgo the constraints of three-dimensional space, to briefly dissolve his vessel into atoms and then instantly rearrange them in Dean’s bedroom.
Dean is asleep on his bed, facedown in his pillow. Castiel allows himself a moment of what Dean would call “creepazoid” behavior, eyes following the lovely and sensuous flow of the dip of Dean’s lower back as it curves into the firm roundness of his buttocks, lingering a moment on the gleaming golden curls of hair on his thighs where the skin peeps between the embrace of elasticated boxers and the soft cotton fall of a mostly-kicked-off blanket.
Dean is, in this as in all things, a perfect specimen of humankind. Castiel has never truly understood why it’s considered creepy to appreciate beauty. Is he also not meant to stand in awe before the redwoods, the glaciers, the savannas?
Dean snuffles in his sleep, and the longing in his prayer comes again, coats Castiel’s awareness like a spreading pool of spilled syrup.
Cas, please…
Dean has called out to Castiel in his sleep before. He dreams of Hell much more often than he would admit. And in those moments, his mind calls out to Castiel, the one who found him there and took him away. And Castiel can come, lay on a hand on his shoulder, and feel his dreams slip into something more peaceful. If that doesn’t work, he can enter the dream itself and re-enact Dean’s rescue with him. He never minds the opportunity to remember what it felt like to have that warm spark of soul nestled at the center of his grace for those few seconds he needed to chart a course out and take flight.
This is different. Dean’s Hell dreams are spiky and taste like sulfur and ashes. What Dean dreams of now is certainly not that.
Castiel skims a hand over Dean’s arm, and sees goose pimples form in its wake. The fine hairs stand up and show as tiny golden threads in the low lamplight. Dean does not wake, and his prayer is taking on a smoky flavor. The sweet-salt-smoke of it reminds Castiel of the whiskey Dean drinks—that they both drink, actually, because Dean always smiles more when Castiel drinks with him. Whiskey tastes the way Dean’s smile goes easy and soft when their shoulders bump against each other while they set and drink and watch boring movies.
Again, Dean begs. More.
Castiel does not understand what Dean dreams of, what he needs, and it seems that he can’t soothe this strangeness through simple touch. He takes the two fingers that he always uses to focus his grace and presses them carefully to Dean’s head. He releases a portion of his awareness from his vessel, lets it travel in radiance along Dean’s neural pathways, until he finds the place where Dean’s own consciousness has chosen to travel tonight. He does not force his own self-image into Dean’s dream, as it is a possibility he may accidentally project his true form and harm Dean in the process. He simply informs Dean’s consciousness of his arrival in the space and allows Dean’s imagination to choose how he will look.
For a moment, he thinks that something has gone wrong, that he has failed to enter Dean’s dream, for he stands exactly where he already was—at the side of Dean’s bed with Dean lying stretched out upon it. But after a second of observation, he finds the error: Dean’s weapons are not mounted to the walls; they have been replaced by posters depicting movies and concerts. And Dean’s eyes are open, staring up at him.
For a moment, Castiel is caught by the way the light catches in Dean’s eyelashes. Then he is taken by the ripe pinkness of Dean’s lips as they part.
“You just gonna stand there? Start getting naked already.”
Dean is dreaming himself in the same plain black underwear, but the t-shirt he was sleeping in has disappeared. Castiel looks down at himself to find that he is still dressed apart from being barefoot. He has never willingly gone barefoot and his vessel’s toes are a strange sight. He contemplates quietly for a moment on the fact that Dean is dreaming of Castiel exactly as he is, but with no shoes on.
He wonders what it means. If it means anything.
It’s only then that his mind catches up to what Dean just said to him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, if you really wanna wear the entire holy tax accountant get up in bed…” Dean says, rolling onto his back and smirking in a way that Castiel has only ever seen him smirk at waitresses, witnesses, and college co-eds.
In bed. In bed?
“In your bed?” Castiel hears himself ask.
“Is there someone else’s bed you were considering?” Dean asks in a wry tone. The confident one, where he thinks he’s correct.
“No,” Castiel says quickly. Too quickly. Dean is going to know.
Wait. This is Dean’s dream. Dean is dreaming about Castiel in his bedroom. Asking him to…
“To clarify,” Castiel asks hoarsely, “you are asking me to disrobe and get in your bed. With you.”
“Cas, what’s wrong?” Dean asks, cocksure smile dropping off his face as he props himself up on one elbow and reaches the other hand out toward Castiel. “Something’s wrong.”
“No,” Castiel says, as the lights brighten and the t-shirt suddenly appears and covers the lovely soft skin on Dean’s chest. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re acting like you don’t know why you’re here. Is it your brain trauma stuff? Are you having an episode? You know where you are?”
That is too many questions, and only one of them does Castiel feel confident to answer. “I know where I am,” he says.
“And you remember that we’re together?”
Castiel can certainly agree that they are here together. “Yes.”
“Okay, fuck, don’t scare me like that,” Dean says, collapsing back down to lie supine and throw an arm over his eyes. “Thought you were having a blip and couldn’t remember. Last time you had one of those, you took off for two days and wouldn’t answer your phone.”
“Blip,” Castiel thinks to himself cautiously. He does have occasional memory issues as an outcome of taking on Sam’s PTSD and Naomi’s repetitive re-programming. Dean knows this, but this is the first time he’s referred to it by this diminutive, almost fond nickname.
In Dean’s dream, he is supposed to know why he is here, barefoot and being asked to remove the rest of his clothing. Being asked to get in the bed.
“So, if that’s not the issue, then what is?” Dean asks, taking his arm away and looking at Castiel with concern. “Thought you were sticking around tonight.”
“I am,” Castiel says. “Sticking around.”
“If you changed your mind about fooling around and you just wanna kiss me goodnight and go do somethin’ else, can you just tell me and quit dragging it out?” Dean snaps, annoyed now and reaching down to his knees for the edge of his blanket and yanking it up to cover him to the waist.
Castiel knows this expression, “fooling around,” and has just been invited to kiss Dean in lieu of it. If he doesn’t want to.
Together, Castiel thinks, and re-contextualizes Dean’s earlier question.
Dean’s whiskey-glow dream, smoky and sweet and slow, is about… fooling around. He called out to Castiel in his sleep because he wants…
“Dean,” Castiel chokes. “Are you— are you certain that you want—”
“Cas, if you’re about to remind me that you’re not human, save it. We’ve been over this. Come on, please? I just… want you. You want me. We’re good together. Can’t we just leave it at that?”
Castiel is already frantically wrestling his way out of his coat and jacket. He does not feel capable of forming human words, just now. Once down to his shirt, tie, and trousers, he clambers onto the bed, thighs bracketing Dean’s legs. If he allows himself even a moment to think about this, to doubt, he will not do it.
And Dean wants him to.
“Dean,” he says, sitting on Dean’s legs and frozen with indecision and overwhelm. Dean’s smile has returned, and he is reaching his hands out to grip Castiel by the hips of his vessel. His eyelashes sweep his cheeks and his freckles are golden in the sourceless, honeyed light. “Dean, have I told you how beautiful I find you?”
Dean laughs, but his eyes dart bashfully to one side. “Just about everyday, sunshine,” he murmurs, his fingers plucking at Castiel’s shirt and pulling it loose from where it was tucked into the trousers. “Almost as often as I tell you that you’re the love of my fuckin’ life.”
Dean’s is unbuttoning his shirt, and saying this to him. Castiel can’t comprehend it. He can’t. He casts his grace into Dean’s mind, looking for signs that some dream logic is at work, that Dean doesn’t truly want this.
The oddness of Castiel’s behavior has brought Dean to a half-awake state. He is simultaneously holding awareness of Castiel’s vessel standing beside his bed watching him sleep, and Castiel’s consciousness having joined him in sleep. He could wake up, if he wanted to.
His penis in the waking world is just as erect as what presses at the seam of Castiel’s trousers here in the dream. He is aroused. And he is sinking back into sleep willfully.
Castiel trembles as his tie is loosened by Dean’s hands. He is hungry to suck Dean’s scarred knuckle into his mouth, run the flat of his tongue against it, show it the gentleness it deserves.
“You don’t mean that,” Castiel whispers. “I’m not… I…”
“Cas,” Dean says, cupping Castiel’s jaw with calloused palms. Castiel can feel the history of shovels full of grave dirt and handguns with silver bullets pressed to his face. As if Dean is entrusting him with all of that, even as he is forcing Castiel’s face close, close enough to taste Dean’s breath. “You gotta stop saying stuff like that.”
“Dean, I love you,” he blurts out, closing his eyes against the pain of having Dean’s mouth so close to his.
Their foreheads are touching. Dean’s lips are so close to Castiel’s lips that he can feel his next words as much as he can hear them. “Love you, too. Come on, Cas. Don’t be afraid. Just be here, with me.”
Castiel sucks Dean’s lower lip into his mouth. He has always wanted to, and now he can. He bites at it with his teeth, because he has always wanted to do that, too. Dean’s breath shudders out of him and his shoulders drop lower.
“Yeah, Cas, like that,” he says, his eyes dark and sure when Castiel releases him for a moment. “That’s real good.”
Dean knows now, that the dream has changed. That Castiel is not the one he conjured in his mind who has done this countless times. Not the Castiel who thinks of them as “together” and who could approach this as simply “fooling around.” Dean knows that Castiel is tasting him for the first time. And he opens to it like the first flower in spring. His hands knead on Castiel’s thighs, and he arches his head back to offer Castiel his neck.
Castiel shifts forward in his seat on Dean’s legs. He laps at the stretch of skin with his tongue. Dean is sweet and salty—“like a peanut butter sandwich” he can almost hear Dean laugh. Perhaps like that, perhaps the symbolism of home and humility and humanity is apt. But Castiel is a divine creature, and his mind conjures other connotations. Salt like an offering, salt like sanctity. Sweet like honey, like prosperity and abundance.
“Whatever you want, Cas, we can do anything,” Dean gasps, one hand gripping at Castiel’s loosened tie and the other fumbling at the fly of Castiel’s trousers.
“I want to taste every inch of your skin,” Castiel murmurs into the soft vulnerability of skin behind Dean’s ears. He pulls Dean’s earlobe between his teeth as a point of emphasis, flicks his tongue against it.
“Yeah,” Dean says, voice shaking. “We got time. Okay. What do you want me to do?”
“Be still,” Castiel says. “Accept every word of praise I wish to offer, and every moment of worship I wish to perform. That is what I want you to do.”
“Fuck, Cas, I can’t,” Dean pants, acquiescing when Castiel grips him by the wrists and forces his hands down to his sides.
He has only barely managed to get Castiel’s pants unzipped, and the firmness of Castiel’s erection is still trapped under another layer of fabric. Castiel is dizzy with the glorious ache of it, the heady desire to be touched without actually receiving it a strangely pleasurable pain.
“You will do as I say,” Castiel insists, lowering his head to drag his tongue over a pale brown nipple, smiling as the nerve endings sang under Dean’s skin and triggered a rush of oxytocin that made him shudder and drag in a rough breath.
“What if I don’t?” Dean said, trying to invoke a challenge but only managing to sound needy.
“Do you want me to show you how easy it is for me to restrain you?” Castiel asked, lifting Dean’s arm so he could take his first chance to smell the curious pungency of the smell that gathered there on humans. It didn’t smell like anything. “Dean, are you manipulating your dream to remove the smell of your sweat?”
“Not on purpose,” Dean said. “Do you want us to wake up for this?”
Castiel thought about that. For him, doing this inside Dean’s dream might even be better than outside, in the waking world. Physicality was not his nature. It was awkward at best and occasionally humiliating. And Dean’s dream was smoothing away all those little moments of insecurity from them both. In the waking world, Dean had never invited him to do this.
“Dean, you know that I am really here, don’t you? This is a dream, but it’s also…”
“Also not a dream,” Dean finished. “I’m too chickenshit to say this stuff when I’m awake. But yeah, you’re actually you, huh?”
“And you want this?” Castiel asked, sitting up to bring his face close to Dean’s again. He drops a kiss onto the freckles on the bridge of Dean’s nose.
“Yeah,” Dean says, having to clear his throat.
He tilts his head to bring their mouths together again, slides his tongue into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel knows it is only dream logic that has Dean’s mouth tasting of peanut butter and honey. They don’t need to breathe in dreams and there’s no reason to stop kissing, except that Castiel wishes to see Dean’s eyes and to assure himself again that he sees desire and happiness there.
“Then let’s keep dreaming a while longer.”
Re: Salt Like Sanctity (OP here)
Date: 2025-04-22 01:48 am (UTC)Re: Salt Like Sanctity - Writer replying
Date: 2025-04-22 11:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-04-15 03:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-04-18 12:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-04-18 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-04-25 09:54 am (UTC)