Tags: Alternate Universe- BDSM; Russian Castiel; Pakhan Castiel; Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester; Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester; Cock Cage; Orgasm Denial; No BDSM contract; Dean Winchester is a Brat; Happy Ending
Summary: Castiel Krusnic is Pakhan of the Krushnic Bratva, the most feared Russian mafia family on the East Coast. He meets his match the day he comes to collect his earnings from Winchester Restoration, one of the many businesses they launder money through. Dean has taken over for his father, John, after he meets an untimely death. When Dean refuses to pay his portion to Castiel, the mafia boss makes him a deal he canāt refuse.
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When Cas is large like this, wings spread to envelop them, his grace seeps through the edges. It shimmers in a cyan glow, should blind Dean like the sun, but it washes over him like the warm ocean instead. He thinks he should get a tan, sitting under the gaze of his angel like this, wondering what Cas is thinking besides I love him. Because Cas loves him. It' not easy for him to accept this, but with the soft wings gracing his oversensitive skin, it's easy to feel. They've torn each other apart endless times, put each other back with careless, careful hands, but never has Dean felt as warm, safe, loved as he does with Cas so large. He's over two feet taller than his normal size, everything compensating for that, even his wings stretching futher and heavier.
Cas keeps wanting to go back to normal. Dean tells him they're working on it, then proceeds to not work on it. He's sure Sam will figure something out, eventually.
Cas tells Dean that he's holding his grace back as much as he possibly can hold it back. Dean says he should let loose, he would love to see, feel Cas in one of his truest forms, but Cas frowns and states that it would likely kill Dean, burn his eyes out beforehand, rupture his ear drums, but Dean jokes that he can handle it, just like he can handle anything Cas has sent his way. Historically, at least. Secretly, he thinks that'd be a good way to die, and he'd be sent to heaven, anyway, where his angel could join them and they could visit Bobby, hand in hand, have a good pot roast for dinner. This is something he could trust Bobby with, this wonderful thing he's got going on with Cas.
Dean smiles up at him, and he's sure he's flushed a bright pink, pupils blown, and lips kiss bruised. Cas's eyes flash, the grace leaks through the edges of his sclera. They're a brilliant blue, and Dean takes his hand, plans to put it on Cas's cheek, feel the stubble there, but instead Cas takes it in his own. His calluses are more intense like this, rough to the touch, Dean could rub his thumb against them for hours, feel that texture over and over again. Strong calluses from his angel blade, defeating anyone who wants to cause them harm.
His hand slides down until he spreads it across Cas's palm, and the top of his fingers barely reach the bottom of Cas's, where they connect. Dean has to remind himself his own hands aren't small, but it's easy to imagine. Cas can throw him around right now, effortless compared to normal, and he's always been able to throw Dean around, but it feels different, like Cas has to actively think again to keep himself contained. He's always had that strength rippling under the surface of his vessel's skin, kept in check by pure compassion for humanity, affability, but he was used to that, the way his smaller body handled his grace.
"Wow," he mutters, curling his fingers a bit. Cas takes the hint, wraps his own fingers over Dean's entire hand, almost. He hums, voice rough and steady, settling deep inside Dean's chest. Dean closes his eyes and lets it wash over him, reopens them to find Cas smiling at him softly, and he laughs.
"You make me happy," he says, and Cas's entire being flickers.
"Even like this?"
"Especially like this."
He shines brighter, a look on him so natural that Dean can't believe how many people, himself included, were trying to stamp that out, trying to turn Cas into an angel he's not. It's not something he ever wants to do again, let that festering ache take over until it's all he can do but push Castiel away like he means nothing to Dean, nothing to humanity as a whole. Do they know how lucky they are? Does Dean?
"I suppose, even like this, you are willing to get naked with me," Cas states, maybe more to himself than to Dean.
"Have you seen your dick right now?" Dean says, without much thought, but it comes easy to him. Cas's eyes crinkle around the edges, wrinkles he's let his vessel develop so that he'd match Dean, one for one.
"Nonetheless, I don't believe I can prep you right now. That might change your mind."
Dean swallows, probably flushes a little more. Cas is so large, looming over him where they lay down on Dean's bed. Or, well, Dean lays down and Cas kneels over him, the cushion soft under his knees, hard against Dean's back, the weights between them different enough that it's like they're on an air mattress. Cas is dense, bone mass large, wings who knows how heavy; Dean could ask, but he likes the mystery.
"You love prepping me," Dean complains. Cas is still soft, still simple, as he reminds Dean of the size of his hands, tells him that he doesn't want to break him.
"That's impossible," Dean says. Cas laughs like a bell, probably what the most gorgeous bell in the entire world sounds like, in some monestary in Asia, far away, out of reach, leaning over him, causing his hard cock to twitch and leak. "I want one inside of me," he says, once again not thinking. He never needs to when Cas takes everything in stride.
"Prep yourself for me first. Just a bit. I'll take over soon enough," Cas cajoles, and with just a feather touch, two of Dean's fingers are wet, ready for use, so much easier than trying to fish out the lube bottle in one of his nightstands.
It's not like Dean is particularly tight, not with all they've done. One finger slips inside him easily, second one not far behind in his impatience. Cas wraps a giant hand around his bicep, the entire way around, grounds him when he brushes against his prostate and whimpers.
"Fuck, Cas," he moans. Just because Cas isn't fingering him right now doesn't mean he can't pretend he isn't, like his two fingers are one of Cas's giant ones, stretching him so beautifully. Cas is staring at him, he knows he's awash in the blue grace, he can feel it coming out to explore him, all of Cas's different eyes, and the feathers around him brush against him, making his back arch, because he loves Cas so damn much. He wants Cas, all of him, down to the very core of his being, wants to drown in him, taste him, feel him, cry in his arms and tell him how sorry he is, for all of it, everything.
Mostly, though, he wants one of those fingers. He pulls his own out, wraps his disgusting hand around Cas's bicep, fingers not even touching together, so different from when Cas did this exact same thing.
"Please. I'm ready," he begs, and Cas stares into his soul. Probably literally, he's always complimenting the colors and shapes and patterns and size of it, eager to please Dean, make him see his worth, and with his grace dripping from the surface of his skin like this, he has no idea what Cas sees. If he can even see like a normal human right now, if he's still contained enough, not too otherwordly.
"Please, Cas." His hand tightens and he wonders, breifly, how hard, how painless, it'd be for Cas to put the hand scar back. Claim him forever, this time. Dean would curse him if he dared heal it again, bum some hex bag from somewhere. He could do it.
"Let me know if it's too much, okay?"
Dean nods, feels a palm splay over his chest, over the entire thing, a little pressure. "Yes," he croaks.
It burns a bit, that one finger. Cas is slow to push it in, slower than Dean likes, and he keeps Dean still with his big hand. He's so close to Dean's cock, he could get a much needed touch if he could lift his hips up just that tiny bit, could start frotting against his forearm, won't be enough but will be something.
"I'd have to loosen you with my grace to get my cock to fit," Cas says, like it's just some simple fun fact, but Dean's stomach burns and he throws his head back with a groan, brushing against more and more feathers. He wants to be held by them, thinks that if they can carry Cas, they can certainly support his weight, but he's too focused on thinking about Cas's words to ever request something like that right now.
Cas leans down, his heat overwhelming, and nudges against Dean's jaw line, tucks what he can of his head there, starts mouthing wetly at Dean's collarbone. It seems so small in comparison. If Cas gave him a hickey right now, there'd be no way for Dean to hide it, and he sure as hell wouldn't let Cas heal it.
"Think you can handle a second?"
Dean makes a keening noise, so overwhelmed he swears he can feel tears at the back of his eyelids. It takes everything in him to nod, to encourage Cas closer when he feels the second finger nudge in with the first, and it's so much more than Cas's normal cock. Any more and Dean might burst.
He'd take it all, though, if Cas were offering. He hopes Cas offers. Wants him all.
Cas spreads his fingers. Dean has the air punched out of him, a silent gasp, his back trying to arch, still impossible with Cas's strength. He wants more, would take more, but it's already too much, feels like he might die, even though Cas will never let that happen, not again.
He spreads his fingers, he twists them, he hits Dean's prostate with a deliberate press, and Dean is whining, moaning, trying to move, completely unable, tiny compared to Cas, his angel, this angel who's done so much for him, too much, not enough, he's so close already, hardly a touch to his cock, can barely reach Cas as he fails to thrust.
"Please," he begs again, will keep begging if he needs to.
"Come from my fingers, Dean." And he always says shit like that like nothing unusual is happening, the words are normal, oh Dean, did you know that the world's oldest cat was 38 years old? Now come, Dean, on my fingers, be a good boy just like Creme Puff and this is so normal, so very normal. Wings tighten around him, sweat drips from his pores, and he doesn't understand how Cas only feels bigger as time goes on.
His orgasm is sudden, punched out of Dean casually, and when the first wave of pleasure rolls over him, Cas rips his fingers out and puts that same wet, large hand on his cock, jerks him through the release of his spend, doesn't let up until Dean is scratching at his skin, tears dripping out, nails at a risk of breaking. When Dean simply can't take anymore, Cas stops the movement of his hand, the air flickers with untapped electricity, and he leans down and laps at Dean like a dog at an overflowing water bowl. He cleans Dean's stomach until nothing is left, sweat and come and all, and through Dean's barely opened eyes, he sees Cas smiling, like he just had the sweetest ambrosia.
Dean laughs, wet and bubbly, bones soft in the bed. "I love you," he says. A matter of fact. Dean Winchester loves Castiel. As clear as night and day.
Cas, ever full of energy like this, keeps smiling. Grace surrounds him in a heavenly blue glow and he lifts Dean up, slides his wings under him, wraps them around Dean, and rolls them over before Dean can do so much as protest.
"I love you too," Cas mumbles into Dean, pressing into him with everything he's got, close and warm and safe and alive.
"Don't think you're getting out of fucking me with that monster you've got between your legs, by the way."
Cas chuckles, still tucked into Dean, and Dean knows there would've been a time, many years ago, back before they were this, that Cas would've been confused or concerned or both, but he knows Dean now.
At least, knows him well enough to know he wasn't joking.
When Cas is large like this, wings spread to envelop them, his grace seeps through the edges. It shimmers in a cyan glow, should blind Dean like the sun, but it washes over him like the warm ocean instead. He thinks he should get a tan, sitting under the gaze of his angel like this, wondering what Cas is thinking besides I love him. Because Cas loves him. It' not easy for him to accept this, but with the soft wings gracing his oversensitive skin, it's easy to feel. They've torn each other apart endless times, put each other back with careless, careful hands, but never has Dean felt as warm, safe, loved as he does with Cas so large. He's over two feet taller than his normal size, everything compensating for that, even his wings stretching futher and heavier.
Cas keeps wanting to go back to normal. Dean tells him they're working on it, then proceeds to not work on it. He's sure Sam will figure something out, eventually.
Cas tells Dean that he's holding his grace back as much as he possibly can hold it back. Dean says he should let loose, he would love to see, feel Cas in one of his truest forms, but Cas frowns and states that it would likely kill Dean, burn his eyes out beforehand, rupture his ear drums, but Dean jokes that he can handle it, just like he can handle anything Cas has sent his way. Historically, at least. Secretly, he thinks that'd be a good way to die, and he'd be sent to heaven, anyway, where his angel could join them and they could visit Bobby, hand in hand, have a good pot roast for dinner. This is something he could trust Bobby with, this wonderful thing he's got going on with Cas.
Dean smiles up at him, and he's sure he's flushed a bright pink, pupils blown, and lips kiss bruised. Cas's eyes flash, the grace leaks through the edges of his sclera. They're a brilliant blue, and Dean takes his hand, plans to put it on Cas's cheek, feel the stubble there, but instead Cas takes it in his own. His calluses are more intense like this, rough to the touch, Dean could rub his thumb against them for hours, feel that texture over and over again. Strong calluses from his angel blade, defeating anyone who wants to cause them harm.
His hand slides down until he spreads it across Cas's palm, and the top of his fingers barely reach the bottom of Cas's, where they connect. Dean has to remind himself his own hands aren't small, but it's easy to imagine. Cas can throw him around right now, effortless compared to normal, and he's always been able to throw Dean around, but it feels different, like Cas has to actively think again to keep himself contained. He's always had that strength rippling under the surface of his vessel's skin, kept in check by pure compassion for humanity, affability, but he was used to that, the way his smaller body handled his grace.
"Wow," he mutters, curling his fingers a bit. Cas takes the hint, wraps his own fingers over Dean's entire hand, almost. He hums, voice rough and steady, settling deep inside Dean's chest. Dean closes his eyes and lets it wash over him, reopens them to find Cas smiling at him softly, and he laughs.
"You make me happy," he says, and Cas's entire being flickers.
"Even like this?"
"Especially like this."
He shines brighter, a look on him so natural that Dean can't believe how many people, himself included, were trying to stamp that out, trying to turn Cas into an angel he's not. It's not something he ever wants to do again, let that festering ache take over until it's all he can do but push Castiel away like he means nothing to Dean, nothing to humanity as a whole. Do they know how lucky they are? Does Dean?
"I suppose, even like this, you are willing to get naked with me," Cas states, maybe more to himself than to Dean.
"Have you seen your dick right now?" Dean says, without much thought, but it comes easy to him. Cas's eyes crinkle around the edges, wrinkles he's let his vessel develop so that he'd match Dean, one for one.
"Nonetheless, I don't believe I can prep you right now. That might change your mind."
Dean swallows, probably flushes a little more. Cas is so large, looming over him where they lay down on Dean's bed. Or, well, Dean lays down and Cas kneels over him, the cushion soft under his knees, hard against Dean's back, the weights between them different enough that it's like they're on an air mattress. Cas is dense, bone mass large, wings who knows how heavy; Dean could ask, but he likes the mystery.
"You love prepping me," Dean complains. Cas is still soft, still simple, as he reminds Dean of the size of his hands, tells him that he doesn't want to break him.
"That's impossible," Dean says. Cas laughs like a bell, probably what the most gorgeous bell in the entire world sounds like, in some monestary in Asia, far away, out of reach, leaning over him, causing his hard cock to twitch and leak. "I want one inside of me," he says, once again not thinking. He never needs to when Cas takes everything in stride.
"Prep yourself for me first. Just a bit. I'll take over soon enough," Cas cajoles, and with just a feather touch, two of Dean's fingers are wet, ready for use, so much easier than trying to fish out the lube bottle in one of his nightstands.
It's not like Dean is particularly tight, not with all they've done. One finger slips inside him easily, second one not far behind in his impatience. Cas wraps a giant hand around his bicep, the entire way around, grounds him when he brushes against his prostate and whimpers.
"Fuck, Cas," he moans. Just because Cas isn't fingering him right now doesn't mean he can't pretend he isn't, like his two fingers are one of Cas's giant ones, stretching him so beautifully. Cas is staring at him, he knows he's awash in the blue grace, he can feel it coming out to explore him, all of Cas's different eyes, and the feathers around him brush against him, making his back arch, because he loves Cas so damn much. He wants Cas, all of him, down to the very core of his being, wants to drown in him, taste him, feel him, cry in his arms and tell him how sorry he is, for all of it, everything.
Mostly, though, he wants one of those fingers. He pulls his own out, wraps his disgusting hand around Cas's bicep, fingers not even touching together, so different from when Cas did this exact same thing.
"Please. I'm ready," he begs, and Cas stares into his soul. Probably literally, he's always complimenting the colors and shapes and patterns and size of it, eager to please Dean, make him see his worth, and with his grace dripping from the surface of his skin like this, he has no idea what Cas sees. If he can even see like a normal human right now, if he's still contained enough, not too otherwordly.
"Please, Cas." His hand tightens and he wonders, breifly, how hard, how painless, it'd be for Cas to put the hand scar back. Claim him forever, this time. Dean would curse him if he dared heal it again, bum some hex bag from somewhere. He could do it.
"Let me know if it's too much, okay?"
Dean nods, feels a palm splay over his chest, over the entire thing, a little pressure. "Yes," he croaks.
It burns a bit, that one finger. Cas is slow to push it in, slower than Dean likes, and he keeps Dean still with his big hand. He's so close to Dean's cock, he could get a much needed touch if he could lift his hips up just that tiny bit, could start frotting against his forearm, won't be enough but will be something.
"I'd have to loosen you with my grace to get my cock to fit," Cas says, like it's just some simple fun fact, but Dean's stomach burns and he throws his head back with a groan, brushing against more and more feathers. He wants to be held by them, thinks that if they can carry Cas, they can certainly support his weight, but he's too focused on thinking about Cas's words to ever request something like that right now.
Cas leans down, his heat overwhelming, and nudges against Dean's jaw line, tucks what he can of his head there, starts mouthing wetly at Dean's collarbone. It seems so small in comparison. If Cas gave him a hickey right now, there'd be no way for Dean to hide it, and he sure as hell wouldn't let Cas heal it.
"Think you can handle a second?"
Dean makes a keening noise, so overwhelmed he swears he can feel tears at the back of his eyelids. It takes everything in him to nod, to encourage Cas closer when he feels the second finger nudge in with the first, and it's so much more than Cas's normal cock. Any more and Dean might burst.
He'd take it all, though, if Cas were offering. He hopes Cas offers. Wants him all.
Cas spreads his fingers. Dean has the air punched out of him, a silent gasp, his back trying to arch, still impossible with Cas's strength. He wants more, would take more, but it's already too much, feels like he might die, even though Cas will never let that happen, not again.
He spreads his fingers, he twists them, he hits Dean's prostate with a deliberate press, and Dean is whining, moaning, trying to move, completely unable, tiny compared to Cas, his angel, this angel who's done so much for him, too much, not enough, he's so close already, hardly a touch to his cock, can barely reach Cas as he fails to thrust.
"Please," he begs again, will keep begging if he needs to.
"Come from my fingers, Dean." And he always says shit like that like nothing unusual is happening, the words are normal, oh Dean, did you know that the world's oldest cat was 38 years old? Now come, Dean, on my fingers, be a good boy just like Creme Puff and this is so normal, so very normal. Wings tighten around him, sweat drips from his pores, and he doesn't understand how Cas only feels bigger as time goes on.
His orgasm is sudden, punched out of Dean casually, and when the first wave of pleasure rolls over him, Cas rips his fingers out and puts that same wet, large hand on his cock, jerks him through the release of his spend, doesn't let up until Dean is scratching at his skin, tears dripping out, nails at a risk of breaking. When Dean simply can't take anymore, Cas stops the movement of his hand, the air flickers with untapped electricity, and he leans down and laps at Dean like a dog at an overflowing water bowl. He cleans Dean's stomach until nothing is left, sweat and come and all, and through Dean's barely opened eyes, he sees Cas smiling, like he just had the sweetest ambrosia.
Dean laughs, wet and bubbly, bones soft in the bed. "I love you," he says. A matter of fact. Dean Winchester loves Castiel. As clear as night and day.
Cas, ever full of energy like this, keeps smiling. Grace surrounds him in a heavenly blue glow and he lifts Dean up, slides his wings under him, wraps them around Dean, and rolls them over before Dean can do so much as protest.
"I love you too," Cas mumbles into Dean, pressing into him with everything he's got, close and warm and safe and alive.
"Don't think you're getting out of fucking me with that monster you've got between your legs, by the way."
Cas chuckles, still tucked into Dean, and Dean knows there would've been a time, many years ago, back before they were this, that Cas would've been confused or concerned or both, but he knows Dean now.
At least, knows him well enough to know he wasn't joking.
Dean's life wasn't much to write home about, but at least he had a home these days, having put down roots in the tiny southeast Texas town where he once found sanctuary at Sonny's Home for Beta and Omega Boys. He had a decent, if unglamorous, job as a line cook, and the best boyfriend ever in fellow Sonny's alum, Castiel Novak. Best of all, his little brother Sam was about to graduate high school and go chase his highfalutin dreams at Stanford.
Then, Sam dropped a bomb. His ex-girlfriend, Sarah, was pregnant and neither teen was willing to give up their chance at college. Dean, never the type to get out of Dodge where family was concerned, now had a dilemma that threatened the modest, uncomplicated life that he and Cas had anticipated together.
Tags: Rated T, Discussion of Abortion, Teenage Pregnancy, Omega Dean Winchester, Beta Castiel, Beta/Omega, Established Relationship, Dean Winchester/Castiel, (Past) Sam Winchester/Sarah Blake
Excerpt below the cut:
Sam looked as if Dean had just gutted him, and skinned him too for good measure. "Sarah's pregnant!" he blurted.
Dean blinked, utterly thrown. "ā¦Sarah?"
Bobby ran a hand over his face. "Daniel Blake's daughter."
Dean's brow furrowed while Sam's chin wobbled, though he was also scowling as if Dean were being deliberately obtuse. "The guns and antiques guy? The one who haunts flea markets and garage sales?" He snapped his fingers as the face of a pretty brunette beta finally came to mind. "That debate competition in Lufkin, right? Cas and I drove you."
"It was Model UN." Sam muttered sullenly, though he shrank in his seat, voice thickening with tears, "but yeah."
"Iā¦" Dean gulped back a wave of nausea as his vision tunneled, "I thought you didn't go for it, Sam. That you chickened out on asking for her number."
Sam scoffed, arms tight around himself as if it were all that was holding him together. "Yeah. About that."
"It's his, Dean," Bobby said heavily, "I saw the girl, she's sureā"
"Obviously," Dean cut in sharply. "Contrary to popular belief about women and male omegas, the vast majority of us fucking know who sires our kids!" He glowered at Sam, "Did you doubt her? Did you seriously ask if it was yours?!" he seethed.
Sam hesitated a beat too long. "Iā¦never asked that. I kinda knew whenā¦" He trailed off helplessly.
Right, those good ole Alpha sniffers. Hadn't stopped Paternity Court being a thing. "You got Sarah Blake pregnant." His voice was flat, dead.
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Summary: As a hunter for HunterCorp, Dean is no stranger to magical auctions--places where curses, spells, and even supernatural creatures can be bought. A chance meeting and a series of questionable decisions leaves Dean the owner of Castiel--an angel deemed so dangerous that he is delivered to Dean in chains.
With no way to undo the spells binding him to Castiel, Dean resolves to make the best of the situation. As Castiel becomes first his partner and then his friend, Dean wars with his feelings towards Castiel and the knowledge that, if he ever wants to keep Castiel, he's first going to have to set him free.
And that means changing the world.
Sneak Peek: Castiel stands tall and firm as a pillar as Dean moves around him, trying to find the clasp fastening the gag on his face. Dean finally finds it on the side of Castielās face, just at the bolt of his jaw. The clasp glows with the same soft white-blue light as the collar, and when Dean unfastens it, he can feel the faint tingle of power buzzing through his fingertips all the way down his wrist to his elbow. The sigil on the back of his hand ripples, almost in warning, but Dean pushes the sensation away.
Dean pulls the gag away from Castielās face carefully, revealing plush, pink lips, chapped around the edges, and a jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds. Heās frozen, taking in the incongruities of Castielās face and appreciating how the different pieces all fit together. In the wake of a pretty face, Dean loses his head, and thatās only the first of his mistakes.
Without thinking, Dean reaches forward to touch along Castielās jaw, right where he can see where the gag has cut harsh red lines into the sides of his face. He has just enough time to note the sudden tensing of Castielās muscles before, quick as a striking viper, Castiel twists and sinks his teeth into the ball of Deanās thumb, teeth grinding against his last knuckle.
Tags: No archive warnings apply, hurt dean, hurt cas, slice of life, getting older, permanent injury/condition, medical issues, cas works at the gas n sip, mechanic dean, healing together :0, they're both 50ish, cas has aphasia and partial paralysis, dean has early-onset dementia (no magical cures here)Ā
Summary:
After Dean is diagnosed with early-onset dementia, it feels like his whole world is taken out from under him as he struggles to accept the idea that his own brain is slowly turning against him. Determined to maintain as much function as he can for as long as possible, he takes up the doctor's advice and attends cognitive stimulation therapy. There, he reunites with his childhood best friend, Cas, who had a stroke and suffers from speech and movement difficulties. Life has dealt out some pretty crappy hands to both of them, but having some company through all of the ups and downs certainly does make things easier.Ā
Excerpt:
The provided lunch is as bad as ever, making Dean long for a burger like never before, but he doesn't say anything about it, instead watching Cas eat and rambling on about the latest episode of Doctor Sexy, M.D. that just came out.
It's then that he discovers Cas goes to these sessions twice a week instead of just once, so Dean signs up for a second session immediately, even if his condition isn't bad enough to warrant that yet.
So now he goes to the retirement home on Mondays and Saturdays, something his coworkers had raised some eyebrows over when he told them that he wouldn't be in on Mondays for the foreseeable future. Dean has a tendency to work overtime late into the evenings anyway when he has a project he likes, so it's not like he's not working forty hours a week.
One thing he's noticed lately is that he's starting getting a little jealous of or bitter towards some of the old people in his life, like Bobby or his neighbor Mrs. Butters. They're both way older than Dean, but they don't have dementia or anything and still live normal lives. It just doesn't seem fair.
Not that he's saying he wants them to have some condition like that, he justā¦ It'd just be nice not to feel so alone, that's all.
That must be how Cas feels, he realizes during the next cognitive stimulation therapy session, watching his friend limp towards the selection of board games after Dean told him to choose this week. Cas comes back with chess and a sheepish smile, and Dean can't help but smile back fondly.
"You really wanna kick my ass that badly, huh?"
"Yes," Cas replies simply, tilting his head a bit as if to challenge him. "You, umā¦ Um, will l-lose."
"Damn straight."
Dean does, in fact, lose. Repeatedly, actually, but he couldn't care less, not when Cas keeps making this cute squinty face every time it's his turn and methodically moving each piece around the board. A few times, Cas even uses his bad arm to move a piece, either too concentrated on the game to notice or just finally getting comfortable enough with Dean being there to show some weakness.
It gives Dean an idea: if Dean picks an activity that he's terrible at and fails miserably, Cas might be more willing to give it a shot too, which will help them both out in the long run.
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Author: FriendofCarlotta
Artist: hellion-cat and onowey
Summary:
As a teen, alpha Dean Winchester lost his sense of smell in an accident, leaving him unable to form scent bonds. Ever since then, he hasnāt engaged in anything more than casual hookups.
Castiel Novak is an omega, but due to a gland disorder, heās never developed a scent. Any previous sexual and romantic partners werenāt shy about expressing their disappointment.
When Dean and Cas meet in real life, they don't realize that they already know each other: as CJ Shurley, Dean's favorite author, and Winpala, a member of CJ's Discord server. Will they choose to pursue their real-life spark or deepen the bond with someone they only know online?
Tags: Modern AU, Alpha Dean, Omega Cas, 2-Person Love Triangle, Top Dean/Bottom Cas
Excerpt below the cut:
āCharlie,ā Castiel sighs, rolling his eyes as best he can without dislodging Charlie from his chest. āIām not going to get involved with someone I met online. Least of all someone I had exactly one semi-pleasant conversation with.ā
āIām not saying you have to,ā Charlie says, raising her chin so she can look up at him all innocent and wide-eyed. āJust, if he comes back, chat again. Maybe send him a DM. See if you guys click.ā
āAnd what if we do? What if we do, and heās into male omegas, but then I tell him about myself and he pulls away.ā Castiel sighs, feeling heavy and tired all of a sudden. Heās had a little over thirty years to get to terms with his gland defect. But sometimes the unfairness of it all hits him all over again.
Technically, biologically, heās omega. He slicks when heās aroused and he can bear children. But heāll never be able to form a scent bond. The single most important way to connect with a partner on an emotional level is simply unavailable to him.
āWhat if he doesnāt?ā Charlie asks.
Castiel stares at the frozen image of Londonās Tower Bridge on the TV screen. āThen that would be literally the first time thatās ever happened,ā he says.
Sure, heās hooked up with people. Twice, he even entered into relationships. But they never lasted past a few months because his partners always grew frustrated with their inability to scent him. It is what it is. He should just resign himself to being a lonely, depressed, socially awkward bachelor for the rest of his life.
Tags: Canon Divergent; Post Purgatory ;Top Cas/Bottom Dean; Dubious Consentacles; Inappropriate Use of Angel Grace; Sounding ;Spanking; Restraints; Edging; Anal Sex
Summary: Dean spent a year fighting his way through Purgatory, looking for Cas and a way out.
Cas didnāt make it out with him. Well, not in one piece.
Blasted from his vessel during their escape, Cas is left as little more than a wavelength of celestial intent, only able to communicate through warm touches and scribbled notes. Determined to make him whole again, they set out to find his missing vessel.
Turns out finding Cas' vessel is only half the journey.
Sneak Peek: The stars were ridiculous out here, thousands of them, sharp and bright, scattered across the sky like somebody had spilled diamonds across black velvet. The Milky Way stretched overhead in a pale river of light.
āSam went through this astronomy stage when he was a kid,ā Dean said softly. āHad all these books, star charts, the whole deal. He taught me a few of the constellations, likeā¦ā he nodded towards a cluster of stars. āThe Big Dipper. Everyone probably knows that one. And, shit, whatās that W looking one?ā
A tendril flicked his ear. āWhat the hell, Cas? Oh! Cassiopeia, duh.ā He chuckled. āWe used to tell ourselves that it stood for Winchester.ā He tilted his head towards where he knew Cas was. āSo, uh, you make any of them? You know, way back when?ā
An invisible hand settled against his cheek, turning his head. Deanās eyes scanned the stars. āOrion? You made that?ā His head was guided into a nod. āSo, youāve always had a thing for hunters then?ā he teased.
The pressure at his cheek didnāt answer in words. Instead, it turned his face back towards where Cas was sitting beside him.
Dean swallowed.
And then he leaned forward.
Cas met his lips immediately, invisible, but so soft and warm. The hand on his cheek shifted to the back of his neck, pulling him closer in a way that made Deanās chest go tight for reasons he didnāt want to name too clearly.
The kiss deepened. Dean let out a quiet, broken exhale as Casā tongue met his, one hand braced on the hood of the Impala like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. When they finally broke apart, Dean blinked once, staring at empty space in front of him. āā¦So thatās a yes on Orion?ā
Tags: Canon Divergent; Post Purgatory ;Top Cas/Bottom Dean; Dubious Consentacles; Inappropriate Use of Angel Grace; Sounding ;Spanking; Restraints; Edging; Anal Sex
Summary: Dean spent a year fighting his way through Purgatory, looking for Cas and a way out.
Cas didnāt make it out with him. Well, not in one piece.
Blasted from his vessel during their escape, Cas is left as little more than a wavelength of celestial intent, only able to communicate through warm touches and scribbled notes. Determined to make him whole again, they set out to find his missing vessel.
Turns out finding Cas' vessel is only half the journey.
Sneak Peek: The stars were ridiculous out here, thousands of them, sharp and bright, scattered across the sky like somebody had spilled diamonds across black velvet. The Milky Way stretched overhead in a pale river of light.
āSam went through this astronomy stage when he was a kid,ā Dean said softly. āHad all these books, star charts, the whole deal. He taught me a few of the constellations, likeā¦ā he nodded towards a cluster of stars. āThe Big Dipper. Everyone probably knows that one. And, shit, whatās that W looking one?ā
A tendril flicked his ear. āWhat the hell, Cas? Oh! Cassiopeia, duh.ā He chuckled. āWe used to tell ourselves that it stood for Winchester.ā He tilted his head towards where he knew Cas was. āSo, uh, you make any of them? You know, way back when?ā
An invisible hand settled against his cheek, turning his head. Deanās eyes scanned the stars. āOrion? You made that?ā His head was guided into a nod. āSo, youāve always had a thing for hunters then?ā he teased.
The pressure at his cheek didnāt answer in words. Instead, it turned his face back towards where Cas was sitting beside him.
Dean swallowed.
And then he leaned forward.
Cas met his lips immediately, invisible, but so soft and warm. The hand on his cheek shifted to the back of his neck, pulling him closer in a way that made Deanās chest go tight for reasons he didnāt want to name too clearly.
The kiss deepened. Dean let out a quiet, broken exhale as Casā tongue met his, one hand braced on the hood of the Impala like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. When they finally broke apart, Dean blinked once, staring at empty space in front of him. āā¦So thatās a yes on Orion?ā
Carry On, Author presents: Written Interview #3: Xev3n
Do you love fanfiction? Are you curious about how some of your favorite authors make the fics you know and love? You're in the right spot!
In This Interview On Ao3, Xev3n discusses the intricacies of their fic, What Wakes The Void, their writing process, and how they got into fanfiction and fandom in the first place!
Find Xev3n on AO3 and here on Tumblr
Interested in having one of your fics featured on the program? Send a message, or an ask, here on Tumblr to request a slot on the show.
If you are over 18, come join the Discord to discuss the interviews and episodes, or drop a link to one of your fics in the recs and promotions tab!
Tags: No archive warnings apply, AU/Modern, Bartender Dean Winchester, Forensic Auditor Castiel Novak, Dean and Cas Use Their Words, Dean and Cas become friends, Low AngstĀ
Summary:Ā
A chance recommendation takes middle-aged and newly-unemployed Castiel Novak to The Pirateās Den where the most gorgeous man heās ever seen serves him the best burger heās ever eaten. As he and the man talk, he reflects on how stark and narrow his life has become.
Dean Winchesterās cutting his last tie with this little town at the end of his shift. His car is packed and heās ready to see where the open road leads. The thing is, this guy that just came in looks like Dean feels: beat-down by life, sad, and scruffy. He needs a good meal and some good cheer, and thatās kinda Deanās specialty.
They talk, they laugh, and they connect. When itās time for last call, will they go their separate ways, or will they take a second chance?
Excerpt:
āThinking again?ā Deanās voice is calm, even, and the undertone is friendly.
Castiel snorts. āYes. Iāve been told I overthink things.ā
āAn overthinker, huh? Well, Rodin, that offer of coffee and a listening ear is still open. If you, uh, wanna talk, that is. I meanā¦you seem like a nice guy, so Iām guessing your employerāuh, former employer, sorry manāmust be a real piece of work.ā
āYou donāt know that, Dean. I could be a āreal piece of workā,ā he accentuates the words with the air quotes that delighted Dean earlier, and Dean laughs, āas you put it. I could be a serial killer, for all you know.ā
Dean shrugs. āWell, I suppose I could go find you some Corn Flakesā¦ā
Castiel laughs, helpless, caught in the gleam of Deanās eyes.
The staff table is roughly the size of the large tray Dean handles so expertly. There is a chair angled in the corner next to the swinging kitchen doors, and a chair angled in the corner at the back of the first booth. The space does not look large enough for two tall men, even though Castiel has lost weight. āAre you sure about this, Dean?ā
Dean just laughs. āHere. Iāll just,ā he pulls the table out away from the chairs and into the aisle, āyeah. Slide on in there, and Iāllā¦Well, hell. That sounded different in my head.ā Dean blushes, rubs a hand down the back of his neck.
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