hi madd, my dog just died, he was almost 13 years old, i dont know if you could write a short drabble with either chubby deancas or cockles, i know this could count as basically manipulation, so im sorry, you can just delete this
oh my god i’m so sorry about your dog. my sister’s dog died last year and i burst into tears at work, which was really awkward for everyone. she wasn’t even my dog. i’ve never written chubby cockles, so i’mma try my hand at it right now.
The sunlight pouring in through the window slowly pulls Misha out of his deep sleep. He blinks several times and finds that he’s alone in bed. He wants to be annoyed, but the smell of syrup and sausage drifts into his bedroom and that’s all the motivation he needs to get up.
Jensen is eating a piece of bacon and setting plates of pancakes on the kitchen table when Misha walks in. He doesn’t even acknowledge Misha as he heads back to the stove and shoves another piece of bacon in his mouth.
“Have you been cooking like this every day?” Misha asks as he takes a seat and picks up the teabag Jensen put next to his mug of hot water.
“Pretty much. How’d you know?” Jensen brings over a plate of bacon and sausage and sits next to Misha. He gives him a warm smile and grabs the back of his neck in order to kiss his forehead. “Morning, big guy.”
“Yeah, I’m the big guy here,” Misha mumbles before taking a bite of pancakes.
“What’d you say?” Jensen’s already inhaled half his plate.
“You know we go back to work in less than a month, right?”
Jensen shrugs. “Yeah, so?”
“So, um...”
The look on Jensen’s face says he has no idea what Misha is talking about.
Not wanting to ruin the three days they have to themselves while their wives and kids are on vacation, Misha decides to drop the subject.
Except that he accidentally very obviously looks down at Jensen’s waistline.
Jensen’s head drops to his stomach and then snaps back up to Misha. He points an accusatory finger. “You told me in Rome that it wasn’t obvious!”
“Uh, yeah, that was weeks ago. That Jensen was a bean pole compared to the one currently sitting next to me. Aren’t you uncomfortable in those jeans?”
Jensen squirms in his seat, which makes his muffin top jiggle. His t-shirt is tight enough to show the hollow of his bellybutton, and his love handles spill out over his belt loops.
With a sigh, Misha stands up and walks behind Jensen’s chair. He bends down and wraps his arms around his chest, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek before saying anything. “You’ve been lazy since the season wrapped.”
Jensen hums and rubs his hand along Misha’s forearm. “And hungry. Danneel keeps getting on me about snacking too much.”
“Good for her.” He slides his hand down until he can pat the flabbiest part of Jensen’s belly. “Wardrobe is gonna have a field day with this.”
“So hard to care when that feels so good.” He tilts his head back against Misha’s shoulder and slouches down so his stomach pushes into Misha’s hand.
“You better finish your breakfast before it gets cold. And eat as much as you can, because as soon it’s gone you’re going on a diet, big guy.”
feeder!cas and chubby!dean at a state fair because fried pickles are delicious and thanksgiving always puts me in the chubby!dean spirit and you’re all going to hell for reading this
“Do you need anything else, Dean?”
“No, I’m good for now.” Dean takes a bite out of his giant turkey leg. “You good?”
“I’m fine.” Cas sighs and looks off to the left. “Have you heard from Sam?”
Dean wipes his hands and squirms in his seat to try to get his phone out of his pocket. “Damn it.”
Cas levels him with a stern glare. “You put it in your front pocket, didn’t you?”
Dean nods and ducks his chin. It’s been a couple months since he could reach inside his front pocket while sitting, and he keeps forgetting that it’s not a simple task anymore. He pats his belly apologetically and turns his attention back to his food.
Cas continues babbling about the case, but Dean blocks him out in favor of stuffing his face with carnival food. They’re sitting at the end of a long picnic table under one of the tents, and there’s a lady sitting a few feet down who keeps giving Dean judgmental looks. The bench ominously creaks whenever he shifts his weight.
“Dean, are you listening?”
Dean sets down his destroyed turkey leg and drenches his pulled pork sandwich in barbecue sauce before picking it up. “No, not really.”
“You realize we’re here on a case, right?”
“You realize I can see right through your bullshit and know you’re shaking in your trench coat watching me pig out, right?”
Cas swallows thickly and stares as Dean picks up a fried pickle and scarfs it down in two bites before returning to his sandwich.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Dean mumbles.
“How much more are you going to...?”
Dean shrugs and eats another pickle. He has two orders of five pickles, a basket of fries, six fried oreos and a funnel cake. The barbecue pork sandwich was good but hardly made a dent. He looks longingly over to the stand where he got it.
Cas immediately gets up and comes back with two more pork sandwiches.
“I love you,” Dean says more to the sandwiches than to Cas.
He starts getting full by the time he’s run out of pickles and is digging into his last sandwich, so he takes a few deep breaths and presses a hand to his gut. He would love to lose a notch in his belt, but he’s going to have to stand up to accomplish that task.
“Are you OK, Dean?”
“Peachy. Can you go buy me another coke?”
“You’ve had two already.”
“Uhh, so? I ain’t exactly counting calories here, Cas.”
Cas tips his chin back. “Well, I am. And I think it’s time you switch to something else.”
He walks off before Dean can ask what the hell he means, but then he comes back with a huge chocolate milkshake and sets it between the oreos and the funnel cake.
Dean glares at Cas as he slurps down the whole shake in a matter of seconds. He tosses the empty cup across the table and asks, “They got refills?”
After Cas leaves this time, Dean takes the chance to assess the situation. The buttons on his flannel are beginning to strain, but he really can’t unbutton it. His undershirt is two sizes too small and the sleeves dig into his arms, and he’s not going to subject the fairgoers to his bare belly hanging out of the bottom of his t-shirt. As he looks at himself, his face starts to flush so he stress eats all the fried oreos two at a time.
It wasn’t exactly a conscious decision to....let himself go so much as it was subconsciously realizing that it drove Cas nuts. The first time they fucked was after Dean accidentally ate a whole pie in one sitting, and it’s really been downhill from there. It was a few months before Dean couldn’t button his pants and had to admit to himself that it was time to buy a new wardrobe he affectionately calls his chubby wardrobe. Two more months before the chubby wardrobe really started feeling tight and Dean considered upgrading to a fat wardrobe.
But he’s stubborn as hell, so now it’s been a little over a month since he outgrew his chubby wardrobe and he still hasn’t replaced it. He has to jump and squirm to get his jeans on every day, and he wears a belt to cover the fact that he can’t do the button. He split the seat of his pants on a hunt about a week ago, and Cas fucked him into oblivion for it. But the bigger he gets, the more he wants to eat--and not just because his appetite is getting out of control. It just feels good.
Cas comes back with a slush this time, and Dean struggles to finish it and the entire funnel cake. He burps and rubs his belly when he’s done, and the lady near him drops her mouth open as if she’s scandalized.
He’s wobbly when he gets to his feet, and his gut succumbs to gravity and drops painfully over his waistband. Cas places a hand on his back to steady him and then curls his fingers into his love handle.
“Bathroom,” Dean says as he waddles toward it. He has to tug his shirt down over and over again to prevent it from bunching up around his belly button, and he briefly wonders if Cas can mojo his clothes to be bigger. Well, he probably can but he definitely won’t.
Once inside the bathroom, Dean locks himself in a stall and unbuttons his shirt. He has to suck in to pull the buttons apart, and it hurts his full stomach. He then struggles to reach his belt buckle, but when he finally gets it free his belly expands and forces the zipper apart. He heaves a sigh of relief and rucks up his t-shirt so he can rub his skin in long, slow circles until some of the pressure dissipates. He runs his fingers over the stretch marks that start at his hips and extend all the way up to his belly button and wonders if he’s making any more of them tonight.
Getting his clothes back on is a much more grueling task, but he manages to get his belt to the first notch and all the buttons buttoned on his shirt without any accidents. He takes a piss and washes his hands for a long time after, staring at himself in the mirror and getting a kick out of how distorted and stretched all the lines on his plaid shirt look.
A guy at the sink next to him checks him out not twice but three times before asking, “Can I buy you another cheeseburger?”
Dean slaps him on the back and answers, “Not a great way to pick up fat guys, buddy,” before leaving.
As Dean walks toward Cas, he gets a whiff of red meat and parmesan and his stomach growls.
“Sam hasn’t had any luck finding strange incidents at other recent state fairs,” Cas announces, looking down at his phone as if he’s reading a text.
“Well, what city were these rides in last? If one of the rides is haunted, it would move with the fair.” Dean walks toward a food stand and knows that Cas is blindly following him. He orders a meatball sub and a large lemonade.
“That’s Sam’s theory as well, but as I just said, no strange incidents at recent state fairs.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Well maybe the ride that’s haunted wasn’t at a state fair last, maybe it was at a church festival or some shit.”
“Oh. I’ll suggest that to Sam.”
Dean receives his food and hands his lemonade off to Cas so he can eat and walk at the same time. The sub is incredible, and he makes obscene noises and gets sauce all over his face. He eats like a starved man despite the protests from his full stomach.
He gets so focused on his sandwich that he doesn’t even realize they’re at another food stand until he hears Cas ordering an ear of corn.
“What are you--”
“You need some vegetables to balance out the grease,” Cas deadpans as he pours a ridiculous amount of melted butter onto the corn.
Dean shoves the rest of his meatball sub in his mouth and eagerly reaches for the corn.
They walk around waiting for anything unusual to happen for another couple of hours, and it seems the more food Dean sees the bigger his appetite grows. A slice of homemade pie here, half a dozen cheap donuts there. They do a cake auction and win a pound cake that he gets halfway through before deciding it’s too dry and throws it out. He gets a waffle cone with four scoops to get rid of the dryness, a double bacon cheeseburger to balance the sweetness, three more orders of fried pickles because they’re goddamn delicious, popcorn and nachos and chili cheese fries and chicken and steak kabobs and anything else he can get his hands on. His stomach is so full it hardly moves as they walk. It protrudes out from his body so far that he keeps bumping into people, and his face grows hot whenever people stare. His skin is stretched to its limit and everything inside of him hurts and yet he still wants. He eats and he eats until it feels weird not to be eating.
He’s been out of breath for hours and has no idea if it’s because he’s completely out of shape or if he’s so full he can’t breathe. They find another picnic table to sit for a break, and Dean’s belly sits atop his lap like a trophy for the evening. He rubs it and pats it and tries to sink his fingers into his strained skin with no success. He alternates between deep and shallow breaths, and while he’s exhaling the second to last button pops off his shirt and onto the ground.
“How the hell did that not happen earlier?” he asks as he unbuttons the rest of the shirt and can finally breathe better. His stomach pushes further into his lap, and he leans back to try to relieve some of the pinching happening around his waist.
“I might’ve...been keeping an eye on it,” Cas admits.
“Oh, that’s weird because I was just thinking about--wait.”
“What is it? Did you realize something about the case because I think--”
“You’ve been making me hungry all night.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re using your grace to increase my appetite! I fucking knew it. Quit it, all right? I’m not gonna be able to hunt if I gain more weight.”
“O....K,” Cas concedes.
“I’m going to the bathroom. You’re a dick.” Dean holds his gut as he stands and then fruitlessly tries to yank his t-shirt down past his belly button.
As he watches Dean waddle away, Cas sends a text to Sam.
Dean thinks I’m using my grace to increase his appetite lol
several people asked for cas kissing chubby!dean’s tummy despite dean’s protests
“Cas, c’mon, I’m trying to eat. Give me some space, please?”
“You’re already occupying more space than should be allowed on this bed.” Cas scoots in closer to Dean and continues to bury his face in Dean’s stomach.
Dean drops his hand to Cas’ hair and yanks his head up so he can look at him. “You can touch me as much as you want as soon as I finish this pie, all right?”
Cas frowns. “You still have half a tin left.”
“Yes, and I fully intend on eating all of it as slowly as I damn well please. Just--watch TV.” Dean gestures his pie tin and fork toward the television.
With a sigh, Cas flips over onto his back, his head still pillowed on Dean’s stomach. He tries to pay attention to what’s on TV, but Dean hums around his bites, pats his stomach every couple of minutes, and his breathing becomes labored the closer he gets to finishing the pie. It’s driving Cas insane.
“You’re insufferable,” Cas says as he turns back over and rucks up Dean’s t-shirt in order to rub circles into his belly.
“You saying I’m fat?”
“No, of course not. I would sooner use the term ‘enormous’ to describe you.” Cas begins kissing a path down Dean’s gut, taking his time near stretch marks.
Dean puts down the empty pie tin and drops his hand back into Cas’ hair, this time just to pet and guide him. “Have I really gotten that fat?”
Cas pinches a roll of fat and answers, “Possibly, yes. And it’s all right here.” He emphasizes his point by lifting up and grabbing as much of Dean’s belly in his hands as he can manage.
Dean laughs and tries to swat his hands away. “That tickles, dude.”
He resumes his kissing, this time picking up the pace and throwing in some raspberries, too.
Dean laughs and shouts, squirming under Cas and trying to get him to stop.
After about a minute, Cas scoots up the bed to lay his head on Dean’s chest and wrap a protective arm around his growing midsection. “You’re not actually concerned about your weight, are you?”
Because i do this to my girlfriend and she fucking hates it- dean having a slight fetish and just really enjoys watching cas eat certain snacks cause gdamn if that profile isnt one of a god what with the sharp jaw, high cheek bones & button nose. {insert tai chi breakfast clip here} AMIRITE
you didn’t ask for chubby!cas but i’m doing it anyway.
It begins innocently enough.
Cas falls, moves into the bunker, begins to eat regularly like a normal human being.
It really shouldn’t be anything special.
And yet.
Dean stares. He knows he stares. He starts cooking a lot more, and when Sam notices and asks about it, he shrugs and says he just likes cooking. They’re slowing down anyway, it’s not like they have to eat fast food shit all the time.
That’s what Dean tells himself at least. And if Sam also notices the way Dean goes a little slack-jawed while watching Cas eat, he doesn’t say anything.
He really can’t help it. It’s just obscene, the way Cas crams food into his mouth like he did all those years ago when he could eat a few hundred cheeseburgers without blinking. It’s simultaneously desperate and reverent, pleasurable and urgent. He eats like he’s starving, but also like there’s nothing better he’s ever tasted in the entire world, like there’s nothing he’d rather do than eat all the time.
And he does. Sure, Dean eats a lot himself, but Cas fucking puts him to shame. He’s always got a snack in his hand or his head in the fridge, and he gets seconds at lunch and thirds at dinner no matter what the fuck Dean makes for him.
For a while, Dean wonders where the hell he puts it all. That is, until about three months in when Cas wanders into the kitchen one morning scratching his belly, and Dean almost spits his coffee. His stomach hangs over the waistband of his pajamas and peeks out of the bottom of his shirt, which is stretched so thin that the outline of his belly button is visible through it.
Dean doesn’t eat breakfast that morning. He holds his fork over his plate of eggs and stares as Cas sleepily walks around with his gut hanging out like it’s just always been there or something. Dean continues to gawk as Cas downs a mug of coffee before piling the rest of the eggs (Dean doesn’t bother telling him to save some for Sam) onto a plate and plopping down at the table. Dean swears the chair creaks a little with Cas’ new weight.
They make small talk while Cas eats and Dean stares, and when Cas is done he leans back in his chair and rubs a hand over his belly before asking, “Dean, would you make me some pancakes?”
Two pancakes turn into ten, and this time when he’s done Cas grabs his stomach in both his hands and groans about how he ate too much.
Without even thinking, Dean crosses over to where Cas is sitting, rucks up his shirt and massages the soreness out of his full belly.
Cas closes his eyes, moans, rubs his hand up and down Dean’s arm in appreciation. Dean almost comes in his pants.
It only gets worse. Cas keeps eating like it’s his job, and the weight keeps piling on. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, and so Dean takes it upon himself to replace his wardrobe for him. Cas actually thanks him for that one, saying, “All of my clothes were getting too tight.” (Which, really, was a huge understatement. It had been several weeks since he could fit into anything other than pajamas and sweats, and all of his shirts had become crop tops. His belly hung low and heavy and round, his sides spilled out of his clothes, the hems of his sleeves ripped around the girth of his arms. And Dean was reluctant to buy him shit that fits.)
The way he eats gets worse, too, because now instead of a strong jaw clicking with each bite there’s a double chin and chubby cheeks and Dean can hardly look at Cas anymore without popping a boner.
Sam approaches him about it one night after Cas goes to bed, slapping Dean on the shoulder and saying, “Dude, you’re getting off on Cas gaining weight, aren’t you?”
“What? No! Why would you think–”
“OK, I’ll pretend like I don’t see you absentmindedly rubbing his gut while we watch TV. It’s cool.”
Dean doesn’t say anything.
Six months go by before Cas announces one morning, “I’ve gained 57 pounds since I fell.”
“Good for you, man,” Sam comments genuinely without looking up from his laptop.
Dean, on the other hand, meets Cas in the doorway and squeezes one of his love handles. “You’ve never looked better, Cas,” he whispers.
Cas moves into his personal space, bumping his belly into Dean’s. “You’ve spoiled me, Dean.”
“I spoiled you? The hell you talking about? You ask me to make food for you, and I do. Not my fault you eat everything in sight.”
Cas grabs Dean’s hand and moves it over his stomach, pushing his palm into the soft skin in a slow rhythm. “Yes, but your constant staring and unsubtle adoration of my body is good motivation to, as the phrase says, eat like a cow.”
They stare at each other. Cas smiles when Dean’s eyes accidentally glance down at his lips. They keep staring.
“You guys are gross,” Sam interrupts, still not looking up from his laptop.
Cas and Dean are married and are cleaning out their closet and see their suits they wore on their wedding day and they see that Dean has "outgrown" his a little since then... Take it away!
“Cas! Hey, Cas! Come in here!”
Cas drafts his email and closes his laptop before heading toward his and Dean’s bedroom. He stands in the doorway and crosses his arms, watching Dean rummage through the closet. OK, fine, he watches Dean’s ass as he rummages through the closet.
“This is a nice view, Dean, but why exactly am I here?”
Dean turns around quickly, holding up a tux in each hand. “Look what I found.”
Cas steps into the room. “Are those our–”
“Wedding tuxes, yeah. I didn’t even know we still had these, dude.”
“I didn’t either,” Cas answers absentmindedly as he runs his hands over the sleeve of his own suit jacket. It brings back a lot of good memories, of nervously saying vows and ripping them off in the bathroom for a quickie before the reception and then ripping them off again on the dance floor at the reception and then ripping them off again in the hotel room later that night–
“C’mon, let’s try them on,” Dean says excitedly, already heading toward the bathroom.
“Um, why?”
“Because! It’ll be fun.” Dean moves in close to Cas and whispers in his ear, “And we can roleplay our wedding night.”
“Dean, I’m not sure that’s a good–”
“Why the hell not?”
Because it’s been 10 years since our wedding, and you’ve put on at least 50 pounds since then. “Fine. Give me mine.”
Their bathroom is too small for both of them, but they go in together anyway. Cas easily pulls on his pants, but admittedly it’s pretty tight in the waist. He has to suck in to button it. No surprise there, it’s not like he expects to look exactly the same he did a decade ago.
Dean, though.
“Goddamn it,” he mutters as seams start to rip around his thighs.
Cas stares blankly for a second, mesmerized by his shirtless husband attempting to squeeze his ass into pants at least three sizes too small. Eventually his brain goes back online, and he reaches forward to grab the flaps of the fly from Dean so he can help.
“You know, you didn’t have much of an ass when you first wore these,” Cas comments as another seam rips.
“Hey, you calling me fat?”
Cas lightly smacks Dean’s belly and watches it jiggle before returning his attention to the pants. “Yes.”
Dean grunts and sucks in, squirming around to try to get the pants to make it over the last little bit of his (huge) ass. Cas pushes Dean’s belly up and tells him to suck in as much as he can while he does the button. It takes a lot of effort, but finally the button meets the hole and Cas does the zipper up quickly.
He steps back and announces, “There. Now whatever you do, don’t breathe.”
Dean holds his stomach up and responds, “I can’t breathe.”
“You’re going to have to let go of your stomach in order to get your shirt on.”
Dean looks down at himself and bites his lower lip. Very carefully, he drops his belly. It hangs so far over his waistband that the fly is completely out of sight.
After a total of five seconds, the button pings off, the zipper pushes itself down, and Dean heaves a sigh of relief as his belly spills out in front of him. He rubs his hand down the center of it reverently.
“That was impressive,” Cas says, staring at where Dean’s hand disappears under his gut.
“The back ripped, too.”
“Are you serious?”
Dean turns his hips, and sure enough the pants are ripped clear down the middle. Cas can’t help himself. He pushes up behind his husband and grabs a handful of his ass.
“Have I ever told you that you have the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen?”
“Yeah, dude, like every day. C’mon, let’s see if I can get the shirt on.”
Dean starts with putting on a wife beater that barely even covers his belly button. As he’s straining to get his arms through the sleeves of the button-down, Cas states, “I don’t think I realized until right now just how big you’ve gotten.”
“Well, gee, Cas, that’s nice of you.” Dean makes a strangled noise as he finally gets both arms in. They’re stuck at an angle out from his body, unable to move anymore without tearing the entire backside of the shirt.
“Of course I know you’ve gained a significant amount of weight since our wedding day. But it’s been so long that you were thin that I sort of forgot that you were thin.”
“Not helping, Cas. You’re going to have to button for me.”
The shirt is only slightly easier than the pants. Dean still has to suck in, and Cas rips a button off just trying to pull both sides together. He manages to get all the rest up, but there are gaping holes between every button and once again, the shirt barely even covers his belly button.
Cas laughs and says, “OK, breathe out. It’s going to be a mess.”
Every single button pops off, and the back rips. Dean struggles to yank the shirt off of his thick arms, and then they decide not to even try the jacket.
Dean stands in his boxer briefs and stares down at his stomach. He grabs it between his hands and says, “In hindsight, I should’ve known that wouldn’t work out.”
Cas pushes his own hand onto Dean’s stomach and kisses him on the neck. “I love your body now more than ever, fatass.”
Dean rakes his eyes over Cas’ body and says, “I notice your tux still fits.”
Cas hungrily seals their mouths together. “Yes, we can still do half the roleplaying.”
In the blink of an eye Dean lifts Cas up onto the counter and whispers in his ear, “Let’s rip yours up like I ripped mine.”
chubby!dean going on a hunt after being out of commission for a couple months with a broken arm (unable to exercise very well), and falling behind, nearly getting hurt again. Sammy gets upset because he thought his brother wasn't ready, and gives him the cold shoulder. but cas comes along and makes dean feel better with a big hug and sweet words of motivation and happiness :):)
this got out of hand.
It hadn’t happened since the Leviathan, when Cas was gone and Sam was hurt and Dean woke up hopped up on drugs in the hospital.
It didn’t affect him much, then. Breaking his leg. He was back up in a few weeks, no problem.
But now he’s old. He’s got a house of his own with everything he could ever need. He’s got Cas.
So when he fractures his arm on a hunt and gets laid up for two months, it affects him more this time around.
For starters, Cas suddenly turns into an overbearing caretaker. He doesn’t let Dean leave his bed for the first week, and he makes all of his meals for him and does his laundry and checks his cast every five seconds. Dean rejects it at first, but then he realizes how nice it is to be pampered and decides to just roll with it.
So by week two, he’s decided to wear pajamas 100 percent of the time and only leave his bed when he needs to use the bathroom. Sam calls him lazy, tells him he should be back on his feet by now because “it’s not like it’s your leg that’s broken, dude.”
Dean tells him to shut his cakehole.
By the beginning of the third week, he’s feeling antsy. Cas helps him into a real change of clothes, and the two of them go to an iHop down the road. By the end of the meal, Dean is so stuffed he’s finding it hard to breathe.
“Dude, how much did I just eat?” he asks, looking down at the empty plates in front of him and trying to remember everything he ordered. He rubs his belly with his good arm, trying to knead the taut skin but it won’t budge.
“No more than you’ve been eating the past few weeks,” Cas says casually as he finishes off his own meal.
He looks down at the plates again and tries to remember what Cas has been feeding him since he got hurt. Usually he’s sitting in bed watching soaps when Cas comes in and sets a plate or two down next to him. He eats blindly, knowing the food is good without really processing what it is. He moves his hand to the waistband of his jeans and realizes that the button is incredibly strained, the flap flipped over his belt loops to accommodate his girth.
“Huh,” he says to himself.
Maybe he hasn’t noticed how full he’s been lately because he’s been wearing elastic waistband pajama pants.
While Dean quietly assesses the situation, the server comes back and asks if they need anything else. Cas orders chocolate chip pancakes with extra whipped cream.
“Dude!” Dean chastises.
“What? You said earlier you wanted to try them.”
“Yeah, but. I’m about to bust.”
There’s some room in Dean’s stomach by the time the stack of pancakes arrives. He eats vigorously, commenting between bites about how good they are. Halfway through the stack he has to discreetly unbutton his pants. He groans when he’s done, setting down his fork and announcing, “I could eat like 10 more of those. No! Cas, don’t order more.”
He doesn’t even bother covering up his unbuttoned jeans as they leave. He’s practically waddling anyway, so who really cares.
He decides no more real pants until he’s better.
By week five, even the elastic in his pajamas is feeling tight. His t-shirts are riding up and hugging his hips and arms, the seams ripping up by his shoulders. Cas brings him whatever he asks for, and he can’t remember the last time his stomach felt empty.
One night, Cas sets down a plate of cheeseburgers and starts to leave the room. Dean turns the TV on mute and says, “Hey.”
“You need something else, Dean?”
“No, just. Uh, why don’t you come sit with me?”
A small smile pulls at Cas’ lips as he takes the empty side of Dean’s bed. They watch TV together and occasionally talk, Dean belatedly realizing that he ran out of cheeseburgers quicker than he expected. When he asks Cas how many there were, Cas says four.
“I’m still hungry, we got any pie?”
He falls asleep with his cast flung over his full belly. Cas isn’t next to him when he wakes up in the morning.
He keeps asking Cas to stay, and they end up holed up in Dean’s room pretty much all day every day. Cas keeps bringing food, and Dean keeps eating until his appetite has grown so much that he wakes up in the middle of the night with a grumbling stomach. Cas buys him bigger pajamas.
When his arm is almost totally healed, he kisses Cas in bed one night and whispers, “Stay.”
He doesn’t wake up alone the next morning. Cas’ arm is wrapped protectively around his growing belly, and Dean’s good arm covers Cas’. When Cas starts to stir, he pinches Dean’s fat and rolls his skin between his fingers.
“You hungry?” Cas grumbles in his ear.
“Always.”
Cas kisses him behind the ear and says, “Stay here,” before he disappears to go make breakfast.
Everything comes to a screeching halt three days later when Dean gets his cast off.
Sam’s been keeping his distance, so the first day he walks into the kitchen to find Dean sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal, he says, “Whoa.”
“What?” Dean grunts.
“Who are you and what did you do with my brother?”
“The hell you talking about, Sammy?”
“Nothing, just…is Cas fattening you up for a ritual sacrifice or something?”
“Bite me.”
“So, uh, when are you going to be ready to hunt again? Any of your clothes even fit you anymore?”
Dean scoffs at him and angrily eats his cereal.
Cas comes in then, greeting Sam before placing his hands on Dean’s shoulders and leaning down for a kiss. Dean tips his head back to catch his lips, a goofy grin on his face as he focuses back on his cereal.
“What the fuck is going on?” Sam asks.
“Dean, would you like some eggs?” Cas says.
“Yes, please. And bacon, too?”
“All right, um,” Sam interrupts. “We’re hunting again. Soon. So if you guys could stop this weird domestic–”
“Yeah, yeah, we got it, Sammy.”
While Cas goes out to buy Dean some clothes that’ll actually fit him, Dean checks himself out in the bathroom for the first time since he got hurt.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathes as he turns this way and that, grabbing his gut in his hands and yanking his t-shirt down to watch it stretch over his strained skin.
He’s gained weight everywhere, really. His cheeks are chubby, his pecs are soft, his arms rest away from his body because there’s too much going on up by his armpits. But the belly is really the most noticeable part. He rubs it and smacks it, fascinated by how round and heavy it is. It hangs over the waistband of his pants now, the lower curve of it covered in faint stretch marks. He kneads his skin lovingly, briefly wondering what it would look like if he was truly stuffed to capacity. As if in response, his stomach grumbles. He heads out into his room and scarfs down two candy bars before deciding to weigh himself.
He’s been about 190 since his late 20s, but it’s not like he regularly steps on the scale that lies unused in his bathroom.
He’s 230 now.
“Son of a bitch,” he says again.
“Dean?” Cas asks from the other room.
“Yeah, in here.”
He doesn’t step off the scale. Cas comes up behind him and hooks his chin on his shoulder, wraps one arm around his belly.
“Two-thirty? I expected more, honestly,” Cas says with a squeeze to the lower roll of his stomach.
“What size jeans did you get?”
“Big enough to grow into, if you want.”
Dean turns and gives Cas a skeptical look. He slides his arms around Cas’ waist and pulls their bodies together by his ass. “If you wanted me to get fat, you should’ve just said so.”
Cas smiles and leans in for a brief kiss. “You’re perfect any way you are, Dean.”
Dean rolls his eyes and smacks Cas’ ass. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. C’mon, we got a hunt to get to.”
It’s not that Dean’s out of shape. He just isn’t used to carrying an extra 40 pounds, and he hasn’t hunted in two months. He’s rusty.
That’s why he almost gets killed on day two of the job.
“Look, Sam, it was an accident!”
Sam slams the motel door behind him and turns on Dean with a humorless laugh. “Yeah, an accident to sit on your fat ass for two months getting soft. You could’ve died, Dean.”
Dean gets into his personal space almost to the point where his stomach could bump into Sam’s. “You got a problem with my weight?”
“I’ve got a problem with you not being on top of your game.” He stomps back to the door and slams it again on his way out.
Cas sits quietly on the bed, so Dean goes over to him with a sigh and plops down next to him.
“I didn’t push you to eat more than you usually do,” Cas begins. “I just didn’t...stop you when you wanted more. I didn’t mean to hurt you on hunts.”
Dean rubs his thigh and soothes, “Shh, Cas, it’s OK. It’s not your fault. But, uh, Sammy’s got a point. I need to drop this weight if I want to hunt.”
Cas looks at him sadly. “You don’t want to though.”
“Not really, no. Kind of like it,” Dean mumbles.
“I like it, too.”
“Well, uh. I just need to start exercising again. Learn how to carry the extra weight?”
“In the meantime,” Cas pauses and takes Dean’s hand in his own. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
who are your favorite authors for chubby fics? either destiel or cockles
uhhh well tbh i don’t really pay that close of attention to pairings when i’m reading chubby fics bc i’m there for the chub and everything else is secondary but here are my fave authors:
Cas just keeps right on with poking Dean's side until he hits a particularly ticklish spot and Dean lets out a totally involuntary high-pitched squeal.
"That was a very attractive noise, Dean," Cas says seriously as he pokes the spot again.
Dean grabs Cas' hand awkwardly and crushes his fingers. "You're an asshole."
"I simply enjoy testing how much your skin gives."
Even bigger asshole. "All right, I get it. I know I'm growing love handles, no need to rub it in."
Cas tilts his head and asks, "Love handles?"
"This," Dean says exasperatedly as he takes handfuls of both of his hips and shakes them a couple times.
"Are you implying that it is common practice for humans to grab onto another's hips to gain leverage while making love?"
"What? No, Cas, I'm--love handles means I have extra fat around my hips. I guess I need to lay off the..." He pauses because he really does not want to have to say it, "pie."
As if on cue, Cas' kitchen timer goes off and he turns to the oven to pull out a sheet of cookies. "Well then it's a good thing I made cookies today instead."
Dean rolls his eyes and looks at the cookies. He takes a whiff. Peanut butter chocolate chip. Is this a fucking joke.
Cas tentatively picks one up, blows on it and then holds it out in front of Dean's mouth so quickly that Dean has no time to think of any other reaction besides eating the whole thing right out of Cas' hand.
Jesus Christ that's a good cookie.
Ignoring Cas, Dean reaches for the cookie sheet and shoves another one into his mouth without even checking to see if it was cool enough. Before he knows it, a third of the pan's gone and his stomach is starting to protest.
He burps and drops a hand to his stomach and then--
