Plastic Spoontastic!

I wrote a deancentric Godstiel fic where Castiel wins.

Not just the civil war in Heaven.

Dean. And the world.

Eight years after last updated I finally updated it again. Mew souls much welcome, old souls, how I hope to see you again

ALL BLESSINGS COUNTED, NO COUNTINGS BLESSED

wordcount of the series so far: 81k+

Featuring:

a Dean Winchester who would rather the fuck not

a God who keeps insisting this is for Dean's own good

genderbent!Dean and mpreg

blessings of increasingly questionable value

the world's worst marriage

psychological gothic horror disguised as care

Excerpt:

There’s one more thing left to say. Three syllables of absolute finality and he won’t be able to take them back.

“I am his.”

And, since he’s just that stupid, he fucks the script and kneels. Not to Cas, but to them. Castiel allows this for exactly two seconds before he gently pulls him back up and maneuvers Dean into his firm grasp. Cas smiles, radiant and wide, eyes burning through him with choking passion.

“Now say it to me,” he demands.

Beneath his gaze, there is something Dean can’t name, but it reminds him of Alastair and the first time he offered him the blade.

With no hesitation, he takes it and condemns himself.

“I am yours, Qafsiel Kaziel, watcher of dying kings, Adonai. I am yours.”

“Good,” Castiel murmurs with pride and reaches under the veil, uncovering Dean’s face. He places his warm palm on his reddened cheek. It still stings. Currently though, his eyes sting a lot more. In retrospect, he should have asked Nadya if the mascara is waterproof. “Now show it.”

Dean leans in and kisses him, chaste and innocent. That’s definitely not how Cas kisses him back. The feel of stubble against his skin and the wendigo mouth ripping his lips asunder almost drowns down the roar of the crowd cheering. Castiel licks and nips, relentless and hungry, until Dean willingly lets him in. Unable to switch his body to autopilot, he becomes overwhelmed by the sensations. He tries to kiss back and make it a believable show, but, compared to Cas’s efforts, that comes out rather pale. He’s never been this hungry, this thirsty. Not even in hell. He can’t replicate the sheer force of it. But he’s been desperate, he’s been needy and he’s been left alone, so he goes with that horsepower.

Content, Cas hums against his mouth.