This is just for my Destiel fanfiction. (Just ignore the fact that I'm making this over 10 years after I started writing Destiel. I'm trying to encourage myself to write more.)
Welcome! I'm magickmoons and this blog is exclusively for my Destiel-related fanfic. I've been writing fanfiction since the late 90s and Destiel fic for over 10 years. I will be slowly reblogging my older fics here from my main blog, and /hopefully/ be posting new stuff about once every week or two.
I'm open to requests. Angst and hurt/comfort are where I thrive. I cannot write straight fluff, but can sometimes bring it in with/before/after more angsty bits. I'm more into writing AUs, but can do canon-compliant.
My AO3 link if you don't want to wait for me to move my old fic over here, or if you prefer reading on that platform.
This is part of something I had been working on a while ago that never got finished. I polished this scene up and added some bits to it.
Tags: Omegaverse, Omega!Dean, Alpha!Castiel, sex work, violence
Just perfect, Dean thought as he hit the rough broken cement of the alley, narrowly missing one of the broken bottles that littered the ground. He stared up at the john he had just serviced (very well, if the record-breakingly short time it took the guy to spill his load meant anything).
"Problem?" he asked cheekily as he rubbed his cheek, already aching from the impact of the john's fist. He pushed up to a sitting position.
"Shut your mouth, you omega whore." Another punch followed by a kick to his side sent him back down.
"Seems like you liked it open just a minute ago," he wheezed and curled up to avoid too much damage from the oncoming flurry of kicks. Sam was not gonna be happy when he got home. ("Why do you always antagonize them, Dean?")
Then there was heavy fetid breath sliding past his arms, surrounding him. A hand fisted in his hair and jerked his back. Man, this creep is one ugly fucker. No wonder he has to pay for it. He managed to keep the thought internal -- See Sammy, I do have a sense of self-preservation!
His internal chuckling dried up at the look in the guy's eyes. Murderous rage wouldn't be an exaggeration. Dean dropped his gaze submissively, forced his muscles to relax as much as possible given the amount of pain he was in and tried to clear his scent of fear or aggression.
"Someone's gotta teach omega whores like you a lesson. Always there, tempting good people off the righteous path."
He stared down at Dean with disgust and derision, licking his lips. With a tremendous force of will, Dean said, "I'm sorry," in a soft voice.
"Yeah, you really are." The john landed one more punch, then stood and pulled a handful of bills from his pockets, tossing it at Dean, turning and leaving the alley before they'd even fluttered to the ground.
Dean coughed and groaned and very carefully sat up, taking stock of his injuries. Mostly bruises, he thought, although there was a decent chance he'd be pissing blood for a few days. Breathing was painful, his ribs screaming each time his lungs expanded.
He slowly shuffled around, picking up the scattered money. The part of Dean's brain not occupied keeping himself from screaming at the pain was astonished that the man had paid him at all.
Slow steps approached. Dean froze.
He looked up to see that strange, do-gooder alpha doctor, Castiel Novak. Perfect end to a perfect day, some trust fund kid trying to make up for being born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the advantage of a knot by working a couple of days a week at the cut-rate neighborhood clinic.
"Come in to the clinic, let me fix you up."
Dean looked at the crumpled bills in his hand, did a quick estimate of their upcoming bills and thrust his hand into his pocket.
"No thanks, man. I'll be fine."
Novak frowned. "Dean..." he pursed his lips. "May I call you Dean?"
He looked up at the alpha in astonishment, then smirked. "For the right price, you can call me whatever the hell you want."
He'd never seen someone look so concerned while at the same time so frustrated. It was kind of cute. He took pity on the guy. "Yeah, Dean's fine."
Novak just stared at him for a few seconds. Then he shook himself and continued. "Dean, you are injured; I assume from the man who just left this alley --"
"You spying on me, man? 'Cause that's not cool."
Novak tilted his head as he considered the question. "Not spying, no. And certainly not with malicious intent.
"I feel... somewhat responsible for your circumstances. As such, I seem to have a greater awareness of you than of others."
"Well, let me put your mind at ease. You ain't got nothing to feel guilty for. So just go ahead and forget about me -- you'll be better off."
"What would 'put my mind at ease' would be you letting me examine you. Professionally," he added sourly before Dean could snark about playing doctor.
"Look, I don't got a lotta cash and a little brother who needs clothes and food and all that shit. I'll be fine, so --"
"There's no charge." The alpha looked at him hopefully. "Please."
Dean looked down at his feet, the detritus of the alley around him, bits of broken glass ground into sparkling dust almost glittering through the dirt and mud and blood and spunk that had built up over the years. He was sore all over. He was so tired. Looking back up at the alpha's imploring eyes cut through his last bastion of resistance and he shrugged.
