destielpasta:

Omfg is this a fucking quality filler with super awesome lady-times? WHAT IS THIS SHOW ANYMORE

IS THIS THE REAL LIFE?!  IS THIS JUST A FANTASY?!

(Reblogged from destielpasta)

I’m glad that vamp was primed and ready to slake Dean’s murder lust?

kototyph:

seriously, a cabin in the middle of the freaking forest 

"the woods are really easy to get lost in’"

look at your life, look at your choices

(Reblogged from alullabytoleaveby)

I’m glad that Mark of Cain has not completely destroyed Dean’s sense of humor…’need a hand?’ *chuckles

MY MAMA!JODY FEELS ARE IN HYPERDRIVE; SEND HELP, I REPEAT, SEND HELP. SOS.

Jody Mills instills within me a deep joy and abiding terror: one the one hand BAMF SHERIFF on the other PLEASE DON’T DIE

9x19 female death toll: 1

outpastthemoat:

welcome to the jody fucking mills show

(Reblogged from alullabytoleaveby)

Starting the episode strong: JODY MILLS JUST DECAPITATED A VAMP WITH AN AX

spnficlets:

Dean doesn’t know where Castiel’s newfound and growing affinity for semi-public displays of affection came from, nor does he question it.  He gladly lets himself be pulled around a corner and pushed against a wall because he likes the feeling of Castiel’s body squeezing his against the bricks behind him as their lips meet in the sort of kiss that makes his knees go a little weak.

He courts it at times, slowing his pace as they walk by a particularly enticing cul-de-sac of an alley; and Castiel rarely disappoints.  The knowledge that people are walking by not ten feet away while he’s being manhandled against a dirty brick wall is thrilling, as is the fact that he never knows what to expect.  In these stolen moments, Castiel is a wildcard.  

Sometimes they kiss, hands on one another’s hips and lips locked in an almost gentle give and take until they’re both breathless and overheated and smiling the way only lovers do.  Sometimes Castiel’s hand finds its way to Dean’s skin - to his waist or his side or the back of his neck - and he doesn’t stop touching his righteous man until they’re forced to move.  Sometimes it’s Dean, with fingers tangled in Castiel’s hair, tugging while they bite at one another’s lips and trust their teased-and-teasing groans to the space they occupy together.

Sometimes, though; it’s like playing with fire.  In those rare, beautiful moments when the always-in-control angel loses his cool, his thigh slides between Dean’s and he presses his lips to the side of Dean’s neck as they grind together.  With short, quick thrusts that push them both close; so close, too to the edge, Castiel caresses Dean’s skin with his borrowed words.

Deliciously filthy “fuck"s and blasphemous "God"s slide seductively across Dean’s neck as his fingers find Castiel’s hair and twist.  Pressed together, barely shielded from passersby, they rut like animals, clinging to one another’s clothing and tasting one another’s skin in a space where only they exist.  The bricks are too hard and Dean’s jacket is too thick and Castiel bites too hard and Dean forgets to think about the fact that they could get caught.

He forgets the hunt and the past and the struggle and the future and thinks about nothing except the way Castiel’s lips seek his, the hunger in the wet press and the way Castiel’s hips stutter to a stop; held too hard against Dean’s while Cas tries to reel himself in.  It’s as though he’s only just remembered they’re ten feet away from the rest of the world and he should behave accordingly.  The half-moaned sound of Dean’s name echoes in his ears with the harshness of their breath as it bounces off unforgiving walls.  

In those moments, when Cas has almost managed to pull himself together, when his sharp blue eyes - still burning with desire - meet Dean’s; Dean knows the sheer power of all Heaven’s love contained in one not-quite-human vessel.  In those moments, when he’s toeing the line between being pushed into bliss and pulled back into the world; Dean never looks away as he growls, “Kiss me again.”

(Reblogged from destielpasta)