casthegrumpy:

this is exactly how it sounds. 1.7k of dean being heterosexual as fuck

Dean Winchester is straight. Ask anyone.

He’s in his element around women. Whether he’s smooth talking their numbers out of Starbucks patrons or buying them drinks at bars, Dean Winchester is a woman’s man. He likes curves and softness and women.

Men… unsettle him, somehow. There’s something about how so many of them are big enough to look him directly in the eyes when he’s talking to them. Or how some of them are incredibly strong. Like this one bartender — Dean spent about 45 minutes considering if his fingers would even touch if he wrapped both his hands around his bicep.

He almost asked the guy if he could try, but that would be ridiculous and could be misinterpreted. So he did what any normal person would do and rationalized that the man’s bicep was roughly as thick as his hotel alarm clock. So as soon as he and Sam got back to the hotel, Dean beelined toward the nightstand and wrapped his hands around it.

“Dean?” Sam deadpanned, watching Dean cradle the clock.

Fuck. It was so close. Dean’s fingers could just meet, but now that he had it in his hands, was this the best proxy for the bicep? It was such a close call that a centimeter would matter. Would he really never know?

Dean huffed. Now he’ll be thinking about it all night. And Dean will invariably end up getting frustrated and having to go to the bathroom to jerk off just to calm down.

Dean spun and gingerly held up the alarm clock for Sam’s inspection.

“Hey, uh, would you say this is about how big the bartenders arm was?” Dean asked casually, lowering his voice in a way that says I’m asking because I’m a man.

Sam’s face made a quick series of expressions that made it clear he thought Dean was insane.

“I have no idea, Dean,” Sam said slowly. “I can’t say I noticed his arm at all.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Considering Sam was the smart one, he could be so obtuse sometimes.

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casthegrumpy:

Jensen can feel his phone vibrate in the pocket of his fed suit, but he stays in character for Jared’s coverage. The director has them run the lines three times before he yells, “cut!”

Assistant directors and make-up specialists bustle onto the set and Jensen quickly peeks at his phone to see a new Twitter notification from Misha.

“Everything alright?” Jared asks, holding still while his hair gets patted back into place.

“Yeah, Mish is just on Twitter,” Jensen replies, stuffing his phone back in his pocket without opening the tweet.

“Dude, you have his tweets on notification?”

Jensen bristles. “So?”

Jared looks like he’s about to respond but then the director is yelling, “alright, quiet on set,” and everyone clears out of the camera space. Jensen is all too happy to obey.

The cameras haven’t even started rolling yet before he feels his pocket vibrate again, twice this time, indicating a text message.

His lips twitch into a frown as he fights the urge to check the message over the next five minutes of filming. It might be unrelated to Misha’s tweet. But sometimes Misha will text him whenever he feels particularly proud of a tweet and wants Jensen to respond. And damn it if Jensen doesn’t think it’s a little adorable.

The moment the director calls for cameras to stop rolling Jensen tugs the phone out and verifies it is a text from Misha.

Mish: *winking emoji*

Jensen frowns deeply and pulls up his notifications.

“Plumbers crack…” Jensen mutters as he hits play.

Okay, the video is adorable. And sweet. And a little insane. So Misha can put in the effort to make the video but can’t bother to put on a belt to make sure his ass crack isn’t tweeted to 2 million people?

“This is why we have editors, Mish,” he dictates as he types out a reply tweet.

Before he sends it he pulls up his text thread with Misha.

Jensen: It’s sweet but I’d rather everyone not see your ass babe

Misha: Maybe it misses you.

Jensen: I’m on set man don’t do this to me

They’re setting up the cameras for Jensen’s coverage so he knows he’s short on time.

Jensen: Why “You are not alone?”

Misha’s response is a link, and a smile starts tugging at his lips before it even loads: misha4president.com. Then he starts reading:

‘Isn’t it time for a world leader that’s openly bi… partisan?’

Vote Misha! Misha Collins is the only candidate with the balls to run as a bipartisan candidate, throwing his hat into the ring as both a Democrat and a Republican. But future Commander-in-Chief Misha Collins isn’t content with just being “bi” (partisan.)

Jensen power walks into a relatively quiet corner of set, phone already pressed to his ear.

“Hello?” Misha’s voice asks innocently.

“Bi-partisan, huh?” Jensen asks.

Misha’s low rumble of a laugh hits Jensen hard.

“Surprise,” Misha offers.

“Not to me. Subtle, though.”

“You didn’t see the Eiffel Tower comment then.”

“Mish,” Jensen groans.

“And I’m running for president!”

“You’ve got my vote,” Jensen smiles, then pauses. “So that’s why ‘you are not alone?’”

A small pause. “The message works in any context.”

“But this context…”

“Yeah, maybe,” Misha says quietly.

The director is calling everyone back to their places, and Jensen pulls the phone closer to his ear.

“I’ve gotta get going, but I’m proud of you,” Jensen says quickly.

“Thanks,” Misha says, a smile audible in his voice.

“I’ll call you as soon as I’m done.”

As Jensen walks back to his mark, he pulls Twitter back up and goes into his drafts for his unfinished message. He adds the hashtag and hits send.