#Destiel omegaverse

[imbiowaresbitch]

Last six lines

Tagged by @cr-noble-writes so I'm gonna hit @nickelkeep and @bleuzombie (yes, I know Murky got you already) and I'll add in @jemariel @aishitara @anyreiart @eyesofatragedy67

~~

“Alpha…”

Cas stepped closer instinctively, then stopped. Dean was talking in his sleep, and Cas still needed to go.

He pulled on his underwear quickly, stifling a groan as the fabric irritated his sensitive skin, almost chafing. His slacks were next, and he quickly shoved his tie into his pocket. He tossed his shirt around his shoulders, doing up the buttons, only to have to close his eyes and count to ten when he remembered two of the buttons were missing, sent flying in Dean's rush to get him naked the night before.

~~

This is for a sequel to When You Wish Upon A Star.

Participate or not as you like, my loves!

[friendofozma]

Lady at my writing meetup: yeah, fanfiction tropes are becoming common even in mainstream media. Like I like this one little-known niche trope that's been in a lot of published kindle books.

Me, an Ao3 user: oh, cool? Which trope?

Lady at writing meetup: oh, you wouldn't know it. It's really niche. It has to do with werewolves...

Me:

[kappocollective]

My boyfriend (he loves the boys) was telling me last now how he’s worried that the shitty incel the boys fans will get pissed off with spn fans if kripke actually does anything gay with Jensen and misha and I had to break it to him that it doesn’t matter. Incel alpha male the boys fans VS queer fujoshi “literally created the omegaverse” turbo freak spn fans spn fans are winning sorry??

[comet-fire13]

question. technically three. do you want naughty scenes in the sliquid natural Omega verse story? do you have a preference as to who is with? and do you want them to use sliquid natural *in the fanfic*?

totally up to you if you wanna write smut. i'm always down for smut. i have a sweater that says "smut slut"

i'm generally a destiel fan but i'm usually open to most ships (though i don't read wincest)

if you can come up with a reason that they need sliquid natural in the fic then fucking do it !

[dicklessthewonderclown]

i come bearing a two for one special:

the next installment in my spite fueled mpreg elon musk/donald trump omegaverse fic: i feel so stupid, i feel so used

AND

a destiel oneshot, set somewhere in early season 9, featuring hurt/comfort and good old fashioned angst: snow angels

[i-like-rocks22]

I have realised you'll probably all enjoy the presentation I gave at the PowerPoint Party we had for my husband's birthday.

It was VERY detailed.

[salchat]

This is my tiny, innocent Dean. I've drawn him for the story I'm working on at the moment, which I'm having tremendous fun with! It's a version of Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca and is my first venture into the omegaverse, because I needed Dean to be the young omega who gets swept off his feet by the older, widowed Castiel Novak.

It could be a couple of weeks before I begin posting, because I have quite a few things to work out. I may add some Secret Garden to the mix, or a dash of Jane Eyre, just for fun. But one thing's for sure - the path to true love will not run smooth! This relationship is going to have a lot of issues to work through!

Anyway, if you'd like to read a scene, there's one below the cut...

The maitre d’s voice rang through the dining room.  “Alpha Castiel Novak!”

“Oh, good heavens!”  Mrs Butters’ shrill exclamation jolted Dean out of his daydreams.  “It's Castiel Novak! No, don't look!”

He had no intention of looking.  It’d just be another more-money-than-sense alpha knothead, puffing himself up to be admired and fawned over.  Dean didn’t give a shit.  Whereas Mrs B wet her panties every time some new high society stiff arrived at the hotel.  Still, spilling her shit-load of toxic gossip meant that Dean wasn’t getting lectured or slapped or whacked with the hard wooden edge of her fan, so he’d put on his best listening face and count it a win.

She leant toward him.  “Castiel Novak is one of The Novaks.  The Novaks, Dean.”

Who the fuck were the Novaks?

“Fabulously wealthy, one of the best traditional families.”

Assholes, then.

“Their estate is in Eversett.”  She frowned.  “Or Meldonshire.  Somewhere like that.”  She waved an airy hand, her eyes glued to the alpha’s position.  “Lebanon, the house is called.  One of the few Great Houses still being managed as it should.  Oh, he's coming this way! Oh good heavens! Oh my!”

Dean anchored his eyes to the salt and pepper set in order not to roll them.  Mrs B might not want to be seen slapping her omega companion in public, but she had a retentive memory for any little slip-up and would be sure to save up one of her best for later if she caught him.

“But sir, we can set another table next to the dance floor for you.  Really, it would be no trouble.”  The maitre d’ was going full-throttle with the smarm.

Dean didn’t catch the words of the response – just a rumble, like something heavy dragging over gravel.

“Or with a view of the terrace.  It would be the work of a moment, Mr Novak.  And a much more pleasant situation.”

The rumble was louder but no more distinct.

“Then please, allow me to bring a bottle of our best champagne.”

The gravel scraped again.  

“Whiskey.  Yes, of course, sir.  And the a la carte menu.”

The gravel stirred itself into a snarl.  Jeez, this guy was more knot-headed than most.

“A hamburger.  Of course, sir.  Followed by a slice of… pie.”  The weird newcomer might as well have requested a lump of dirt followed by a morsel of shit.  Dean couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk.  He couldn’t stop the rumble of his far from satisfied stomach either.

“Dean.”  The fan rapped his knuckles.  But she hadn’t noticed the smirk.  “Dean, stop daydreaming.  Sit up straight.”

Huh.  She was regretting taking the best chair now.  Dean, with the kitchen door flapping open and shut at his back and regular nudges to his chair from passing waiting staff, had a direct view to the next table-for-two.

Mrs B leant toward him.  “What’s he doing?”  Her pink lips moved in an exaggerated stage whisper.

“You want me to look at the alpha…uh, Mr Nover?  Novem?”

“Novak!  And yes, of course I want you to look!  Tell me what he’s doing!”

Dean looked up.  The alphas face was in shadow, downturned as if he were studying the thread-count of the tablecloth.  He had a lot of dark, messy hair.  One hand was visible, a fingertip pressing down on the blade of his fish knife so that the handle wobbled up and down.

“They say he can’t get over the death of his wife, you know.  Such a beauty, so spirited.  Amara was her name.  So sad.”  Restless fingers twitched at the stem of her wine glass.  “What’s he doing?”

“Nothing,” said Dean.  “Just sitting.”

“He must be doing something.”  Mrs B started twisting in her chair but caught herself in time, before she gave herself away as the insatiable rubber-necker that she was at heart.  “Tomorrow you can sit here and I’ll sit there!”

“Yes, ma’am.”  A passing waiter narrowly missed his head with a tray of soup.  She was welcome to Dean’s seat.

“Hasn’t he even smiled at the Contessa?  He must have noticed her, and I’m sure they know each other.  They were both at the Duke or Northerton’s ball two years ago last Christmas.”

The Contessa di Faraglione had been the object of Mrs B’s gossip for the past week since she’d arrived with her retinue of servants the week before.  She was old news now, though.  This Novak guy was the target now, and Dean would be used to help engineer an opportunity of speaking to him, which would be really embarrassing.  Like when Mrs B had made him take her card to the Contessa’s suite, claiming some kind of distant family connection.  The butler had told him to fuck off.  Probably.  Dean didn’t speak Italian.

A gust of warm, savoury air and a swell of noise at his back announced the opening of the kitchen door.  Dean hunched forward so he didn’t get a tray dumped on his head.  But the waiter was one of the more agile.  He swerved around Dean, hung a right and brought the tray down in a sweeping arc, perfectly timed to present its load to the occupant of the next table.

The occupant of the next table looked up at his meal and smiled.

And okay, yeah, it was a nice-looking hamburger.  Normally it would have had Dean transfixed, salivating with envy.  But it wasn’t the juicy patties and shiny, domed bun that brought Dean’s mind, his heart, his every-fucking-thing to a juddering halt.

Dean hadn’t seen the ocean until he was fifteen.  Before that it had been one dusty town after another, Dad dragging him and Sammy around like unwanted baggage.  But when a job had finally taken them to the coast, it’d been like all the heat and grime was washed away by that fresh, salty air.  And the colours in that huge ocean had taken his breath away.

It was the same now.  The drab, grey despair that made up Dean’s life was suddenly gone, and his world was full of ocean blue depths in the eyes of this strange alpha – strange but gorgeous, from his eyes to the soft bow of his lips to the commanding strength of his nose.  

Dean was heartily glad of his over-powdered cheeks.  Fuck, what was he thinking, blushing over some rich alpha who wouldn’t look at Dean once, let alone twice?  He really needed to get a hold of himself.

But the way that guy was looking at the burger was like he hadn’t eaten in years.  Imagine if he looked at Dean that way.  Although, maybe he’d been sick or something.  The shadows beneath his cheek bones looked sharper than they should and beneath his eyes too, little round ridges of dark cast by the bright chandeliers above them.  This alpha needed burgers and plenty of them.  Dean’s skin itched with the need to cook and cosset and caress, and Jesus fucking Christ, he was really losing it here, wasn’t he?  Really giving into his inner lapdog who just needed an alpha to boss him around to be happy.

The waiter flickered across Dean’s vision again and Mr Novak was left alone to enjoy his hamburger.  He picked up his knife and fork and raised them.  Which was a thing you did, Dean supposed, in a high-class dining room.  You ate a burger with a knife and fork.  But then his forehead crinkled into the suggestion of a frown.  He shook his head.  His rounded lips flattened into a tiny smile.  He put down his silverware.  And he picked up the burger in both hands.

“Close your mouth, Dean.”  Mrs B’s spoon scraped her bowl, chink, chink, chink, even though there was hardly any of the creamy sauce left.

Dean closed his mouth.  Then his eyes returned to the table over her shoulder.  Mr Novak hadn’t taken a bite.  He was still holding his hamburger in two hands, staring at it like he’d found the Holy Grail.

Then his eyes flicked up and fastened onto Dean’s.  Dean should look down.  He should drop his eyes like the shitty little omega-nothing that he was.  Instead he stared into the ocean.

And Mr Castiel Novak smiled at him.  Just a little smile.  Barely there before it was gone, and then he was chowing down on his meal, all his attention on his food, his eyes closing as he chewed his first mouthful, then opening again to get a load of the burger cross-section he’d created.  Did it have pickle, Dean wondered?  Mayo, cheese, the works?  Would he bite down through the whole lot, getting all the flavours in at once, in between those perfect pink lips?  And was Dean salivating over the man or the burger?

He was looking at Dean again.  Looking and smiling and nodding as if they were having an actual conversation about how great hamburgers were in general and this one in particular.

“Dean!”  

A sharp pain on his knuckles brought Dean’s attention snapping back to his employer.

“Dean!  Bridge!  The Spanish drawing room!”

“Yes, ma’am.  Sorry, ma’am.”  Bridge.  Of course it was time for bridge.  His world closed in with an almost audible snap.  Bridge was played at eight o’clock sharp every night and Dean and Mrs B were there, every single night; she to play and gossip and drink sherry, he to sit in a corner and try not to exist too loudly until he was needed.

He pushed his chair back, clumsily, and was sworn at by a passing waiter.

“Dean!”

Jeez.  He wasn’t the one who’d sworn, was he?

“Yes, ma’am.”  He rounded the table and pulled out his employer’s chair and collected up her purse and her wrap.  And he didn’t even glance over his shoulder to the most perfect alpha he’d ever seen, as he followed her to another evening of excruciating dullness in his excruciatingly dull life.

[deancaslvr]

What I love about fanfiction is that it has endless possibilities and creative freedom, like even though it can be just endless stories about two characters/ a ship every story is different and written in a different expression even if the general plotline is the same.

it isn’t the characters that make fanfic beautiful, it’s the countless amount of writers and them spilling a piece of themselves into there work

it’s truly wonderful.

[deancaspinefest]

willing to bite my own chain

Author: an_ardent_rain | Artist: verobatto

Posting on Tuesday April 8

Dean is the heir to his father's lands, an omega, and now... a prisoner in a strange land. Castiel, the youngest son of his captor's kingdom, is strange. Dean hates him, but he's short on allies and desperate to find a way home from this place with regressive views and too many secrets to count. Castiel's elder brothers, Michael and Lucifer, are vying for the right to succeed the king, but when they uncover a magical conspiracy Cas decides to throw his hat in the ring for heir. The only problem? He has to be mated to be king. Dean and Cas must work together to dismantle an oppressive regime, save the kingdom, and maybe, along the way, find time to fall in love.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

He tried to remember the layout as he went stealthily forward. He was still trying to move quickly, but he had the element of surprise in his favor now and it was more important to stay undetected. From what he had seen, and what little he knew about Dean and omega men in general, he knew that he had an abnormally strong sense of smell. He cupped his hand to gather water from a trickle in the stone and patted it to the skin of his neck and his wrists. Hopefully that would help disguise him some, confusing his own scent for that of his surroundings. He also took a few deep breaths, trying to center himself and flush out any strong emotions. He would be calm. He would be collected. He would be as still and smooth as the surface of a lake.

Some light seeped in, and there were grates up to the city that kept the dark from being too overpowering. The little glowstone was faint, but it was enough to help guide him. He’d been going for maybe half of an hour when he noticed that the light in front of him was brighter than it should be. It flickered, as though the light of a torch or lantern. He carefully squeezed the stone and stuck it in his pocket. He took deep, slow breaths and moved with deliberate steps. And he repeated the mantra in his head over and over again: as still and calm as water.

Sure enough, as he moved closer he could smell a seeping cloud of desperation coming from around the corner. He had found him.

Castiel braced himself. A conversation would be the best case scenario, but he wasn’t setting his hopes high. And in any case, he would most likely need to subdue him first to even get him to listen. He took one breath, then another, readying himself for a fight. And then he ran around the corner, barrelling towards his prey.

Dean was there, standing on an old barrel and trying to open the grate above him. A lit lantern sat on the ground beside the barrel, throwing a flickering orange shape onto the roughhewn stone floor..

There was no way to be quiet in the moment of ambush, and as soon as Dean heard him he acted. He jumped off the barrel and kicked it towards Castiel. Castiel dodged, steps barely faltering, as he reached him and grabbed Dean by the neck and shoved him into the wall. Dean grunted, one arm grappling at Castiel’s wrist, the other going for his belt.

Of course, Castiel realized. He would have had time to grab a weapon. He jumped back a split second before Dean was brandishing a dagger, swiping at the spot where his belly had just been. Any slower and he might have been gutted.

“Prince Dean of Winchester,” Castiel said. “I’m here to bring you back to the palace.”

Keep reading on Ao3 after Tuesday April 8

[imbiowaresbitch]

Is This Seat Taken?

Profound Bond on discord is to blame for this one. @profoundnet

Dean finds himself dancing with an intoxicating Alpha at a club, and when the Alpha drags him to a nearby hotel, things escalate quickly.

Also known as kinky date night for the guys.

~~

Dean’s fitted white t-shirt was glued to his body with sweat, his blood humming with the music thumping through the club, the energy of the crowd intoxicating. His jeans hung low on his hips, and he could scent the heavy musk of arousal of the Alpha pressed against his back. He hadn't even turned to look at the Alpha’s face, just leaned back against the broad chest, grinding back against sharp hip bones and a steadily thickening cock, and together they moved to the music.

Dean didn't want to look. There was no way the guy’s face could be even a tenth as attractive as his scent, and okay, Dean wasn't shallow, he just wanted to enjoy his night out. 

Big hands landed on his hips, the Alpha’s thumbs sliding through his belt loops and his fingers sliding dangerously close to Dean's dick, and he felt the man dragging his jaw against the side of Dean's throat. 

The fucker just scent-marked him, and Dean moaned, reaching back to grab the stranger’s hair, pulling him closer with a rough tug. The unknown Alpha growled at the pull, then dropped a sucking kiss against Dean’s pulse, just an inch from his scent gland. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” Dean groaned, his ass going slick as heat and lust and need poured through him. 

“You smell so good, Omega,” the Alpha growled, his voice a deep, husky rasp, and Dean’s hole clenched, his gut cramping as another trickle of slick slid down his thighs.

Jesus fucking Christ, that voice! Dean could probably cum just from that dark, gravelly voice whispering dirty suggestions in his ear.

“I taste even better,” Dean replied, projecting his voice over the music, and smirking as several people around them turned to check him out. A possessive growl filled the air, the scent around them filled with Alpha aggression, and Dean laughed. “You callin’ dibs?”

~~

Read the rest on AO3 here!

It's unbeta'd, and I wrote it in a handful of hours. Enjoy. 😜😈 Mind the tags!

[transthatmasc]

While I have a general preference for Top!Cas/Bottom!Dean, I’m not really all that picky— same with Alpha/omega, whatever is fine normally. But older Dean and younger Cas and Dom!Dean/sub!Cas are both such absurd concepts to me that it’s difficult or not worth getting over to read something. Nothing about Dean is dom, bless his heart. He is so impressively a sub that it’s not even funny. And don’t get me started on Cas

[amialunatic]

Years old destiel fics making me question everything wasn't on my bingo card of 2025.

And I don't even ship them in canon?!?!

[cheeseyberg]

2024 election results rolling in: oh no

Me: retreats further into my fandoms to avoid reality

[dicklessthewonderclown]

downloaded almost a million words of destiel omegaverse fanfiction for my flight from la to the east coast. obviously not gonna read it all, but i refuse to be caught unprepared and fanfiction-less

[crazy-together-reddie]

i hate dean’s macho masculine energy so much i have to immediately go read fanfics of this boy pregnant after every episode

[salchat]

I'm posting the last chapter of my story tomorrow! Excited!

The final chapter is longer than all the others and is as stuffed with fluff as Winnie-the-Pooh!

If you want to join in tomorrow, start reading now... it's about 230,000 words long.

Destiel, Omegaverse, Spn version of Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca.