Ops! Esta imagem não segue nossas diretrizes de conteúdo. Para continuar a publicação, tente removê-la ou carregar outra.
Arranged marriage AU based off this fanart
-
Angels falling.
Each one painted to perfection, with horrified expressions, and flailing arms. The top of the background started as a faded blue only to become an orange almost brown colour at the bottom, meant to be hells flames ready to scorch the falling species. The painting itself was held in a gold frame, as if it was something to be proud of, to hold up for anyone passing to see.
Castiel hated the painting, he always had, yet now it was the only thing he could bring himself to look at. Not his father who stood in front of him, not the other king who stood a few feet to the right of Chuck, and especially not Dean Winchester. He refused to look at Dean Winchester who was sat at the other end of the plush couch.
"Castiel," Chuck demanded, though Cas's glare didn't falter. His arms staying crossed over his chest, lips pressed in a tight line. "You are being a child."
He didn't reply, not caring for the sternness in his father's voice. "There are people waiting to see you, could you at least pretend to be excited?"
"Excited for what?" Castiel snapped, his gaze finally going to Chuck. "To be married off to some boy."
"Is that such a bad thing?"
"Could you have at least found someone who can eat a meal without spilling it all over himself."
"Hey," Dean snapped, Cas's gaze immediately darting to the other.
Dean was sat with one ankle rested on his other knee, his arms crossed at his chest, over the red jacket he wore. It was a nice coat, made from a velvet material, with gold buttons the same shade as the gold that lined his black pants, and would have still been a nice jacket if Dean hadn't been so fidgety. Constantly tugging at the hem, at the collar, at anything he could get his fingers on. They'd known each other for little over three days and Cas wasn't sure he'd seen Dean sit still once.
"I'm sorry," Castiel replied, purposely speaking harsher than before. "Did you not spill soup all over yourself last night?"
"Well maybe if you weren't such a pretentious di-"
"Dean," John snapped, even Cas flinching back at the hostility. "Now both of you on your feet. We're already late and like Chuck said, people are waiting."
Without another argument Cas stood, his arms staying crossed in front of his chest. He sent the painting one last glare before following his father and the Winchester's down the hallway, towards the ballroom. His glare had returned to the back of Dean's head, his heels clicking against the tiled flooring.
For a moment that's all he focused on.
One click, two clicks. The beat steady and familiar, unlike the situation he walked towards.
