Round 3 Blindfold Fills backup (part two)
Prompt: Dean/tentacles - noncon/dubcon, mpreg?
Dean as a breeder, completely horrified and disgusted at what's happening at first but then giving in and wanting more and more.
FILLED: Cthlulu's a Romantic - Dean/tentacles - dubcon, attempted mpreg
It's almost beautiful in an ethereal sort of way. The problem with killing creatures like this is simple - you can't. You can only put them back to sleep. Putting them back to sleep means taking samples for the ritual.
Dean hates drawing the short straw, but at least the irridescent blue and white of the tentacles gives him something pretty to look at as he strokes along it, looking for loose tissue, for slime, for something he can take back to use that isn't a limb. They're pests more than anything else, have a fondness for pets - when they're at this size, anyway. An adult that's been awake for a few centuries can get to man-eating size, and they can and will eat men at that point.
He brushes away the tentacles when they try to latch onto his wrist, exploring with interest, and he grimaces a little when he spots what look like eggs in amongst the smaller, almost ruffly tentacles nearer to the creature's middle.
He reaches for them. This is a mistake.
Bobby's research had said they weren't poisonous but Dean felt sweat coming to the surface almost instantly, his body seeming to overheat, and if this was some sort of immortal being's fucking neurotoxin he was going to come back and haunt Bobby's ass for the favor of sending him out here unarmed.
The creature seems to react just as violently, the once curious tentacles that had brushed against him wrapping around his wrists and ankles before he can run; he struggles, but they're firm, pulling him apart, and he can only be thankful the creature's not big enough to pull him apart hard enough to actually tear.
"Hi," Dean says, grinning awkwardly at the creature's underbelly. "Could you let me go?"
He struggles, tries to give it an idea of what he means, even if this thing's probably old enough to precede English. "Please?"
The creature continues to hold him tight, further tentacles wrapping around him, sliding up his leg, sliding under his pants and up his leg, and that sweating starts to feel chronic, between his legs absolutely aching and there's a moment of horror when he realises it isn't with a sudden need to pee. He's erect to the point where it seriously, seriously fucking hurts and he's furious with himself and the creature and embarrassment when the pants tear and the creature pushes its tentacles against him, against - "Oh, fuck, fuck, no, not -"
Tentacles move to silence him and to fuck him, and he's pinned between the two, skin flushed and aching to be touched and god help him because the tentacle fucking his ass feels so, so fucking good. He's done anal before but the discomfort, the slightly gross feeling that maybe he's gonna have an accident, it's not there. He just feels filled and the tentacle inside him nudges against his prostate as it fucks further into him, deeper than he thought he could take, and he comes over the blue and white tentacles closer to his cock without even being touched.
The creature isn't done, the spongy, surprisingly dry taste of its tentacles in his mouth still present, and he's drooling from his lips being pushed apart, too full, almost sore with the stretch. It's still fucking him at both ends and he can't fight it, doesn't know when it'll be done.
There's a horrible moment when he realises he doesn't know if it'll be done but the creature shifts, pulls him closer to the ruffly, paler tentacles nearer its core and he starts hardening again, even though he's already oversensitive and it hurts to do so.
The ruffly tentacles close around his cock and he comes in an instant, jerking hard, helpless, feeling as if he needs to come again and again even if he has to be running close to dry by now. The embarrassment is still there but it's overwhelmed by a need for more, more, even if his body can't take it.
The creature pushes back against him with a heaving surge, before ripping the tentacle back out of his ass and there's no pain, just a strange, weird sensation of fullness he doesn't entirely understand until the creature repeats itself in his mouth.
It doesn't even taste unpleasant. It tastes like fucking caviar.
Dean realises as the creature pulls away exactly what it's intentions were and, moreover, that he's an idiot for swallowing what the creature fed to him. He needs those samples, and damned if he's going to pull them out of his ass - he's saving that for a fucking enema, because what he will and won't do for a hunt only goes so far.
He looks over the pale blue and white tentacles, wonders what he needs to do to get them going again.
Wonders why he doesn't object one bit.
Prompt: 2014!Cas/2009!Dean; dub-con, drug use
Set during "The End"
2014!Cas longs for what he and 2014!Dean used to have (b/c you know they were together)
2014!Cas and 2009!Dean get stoned (shotgunning a MUST) and Cas tried to take advantage. His attempts start out sweet/gentle, but when 2009!Dean resists, Cas just takes what he wants.
FILLED: What's Mine is Mine - 2014!Cas/2009!Dean; dub-con, drug use
This Dean is so beautiful. He hasn't lost faith yet, hasn't lost hope. He has morals and standards and it's so fucking funny that he actually hesitates when Castiel offers him a joint.
It's a reversal of their first time and he laughs at the irony.
Dean asks what's so funny, and Castiel just snorts, takes a long puff of the joint before leaning over and pressing Dean's lips open with his own, breathes into him.
Dean's mouth is filled with the smoke when Castiel pulls pack; Dean too stunned to have pulled the breath down into his lungs.
"Dude," Dean says. "What the fuck?"
Castiel smirks. Those weren't quite his words when Dean first breathed into him over two years ago, even if the sentiment was the same. "We were good together, Dean, before Bobby died. We were so fucking good."
"Okay, ignoring the fact you're swearing now, what do you mean good together?"
Bless him, Dean flinches when Castiel strokes his hand down Dean's cheek before offering him another drag of the joint. "What do you think?"
Dean doesn't answer, takes the joint though, eyes red and the confusion not entirely sober.
Castiel takes the joint back, and Dean doesn't completely resist when Castiel shares his breath again, still seeming more dazed than reluctant. "When you told me how much you wanted me, how long you'd wanted it, 'was the one good thing that year, that happened,"
His words are a little confused but he knows what he means and so does Dean from the looks of things. "Cas, I can't, this - this isn't right, you're an angel -"
Castiel rolls his eyes. "You'll get over that soon enough. I just want a taste of what we had, Dean, before you got fucked up."
"I've been to Hell, Cas, I -"
"There's still hope for you," Castiel says. "You figure." He leans in and kisses Dean without the joint this time, grips Dean's wrist and slips his tongue between Dean's lips.
Dean breathes out through his nose at first, responds to the kiss, before pulling away. "I can't, it's not you, it -"
"I know," Castiel says, taking Dean's other wrist, kissing him again and frowning when Dean keeps his lips shut. "I just want it to be good, like it was before," and he kisses Dean on the jaw, then on the neck.
Dean tries to pull away from Castiel's hands, and Castiel glares before letting go.
Dean doesn't get far when he turns to stand up. Castiel floors him, pins Dean's hands behind his back. "Cas, what the fu -"
"I want what's mine," Castiel growls, holding Dean's arms in place with one hand while using his other to unbuckle and unzip his pants. Dean thrashes, frightened, but Castiel's strength didn't entirely leave with the angels. His healing did, his flight did, his time travel did, everything useful in a fucking apocalypse did, but he can still throw a good punch and he can still hold a human down with one hand.
"Cas, don't," Dean says, then, "Cas, please -"
Castiel pulls Dean's pants down enough that he can get his fingers into Dean's ass, feel him tense and tight, panicked, not like the first time.
Castiel wonders how tight that'll feel around his cock. "Dean, you want this. You always wanted this."
"Not from you," Dean spits, and Castiel flinches for one moment at the reminder he's changed before shrugging it off. No one can stop this future. Might as well take what he can get.
He pushes in slowly, knows without lube there's a risk he'll really hurt Dean and he's got no intentions of having Dean bleed all over him. If he's slow it'll just hurt, if he's fast it'll injure, and it's not like he can heal Dean anymore.
"Relax," Castiel says, "That's what you told me. Relax and it won't hurt as much. Feels so good though this way," and it does, it's tighter than he dreamed, knocks the breath out of him, and he mouths wet kisses at the back of Dean's neck, at his shoulder, his spine. "Fuck, Dean, it's good."
Dean seems to be in shock now, silent as Castiel sinks in all the way. Pulling out he's just as careful, and it's easy to set a slow, lazy rhythm like this, stoned to haziness and holding Dean down with ease, better than he'd thought it would be when he first registered it wasn't his Dean interrogating him, it was the Dean he actually liked.
"So beautiful," He half says, half mouths in wet kisses, before he gives up talking in favour of licking and biting at the join of neck and shoulder. He knows it's Dean's favourite, and even if Dean's trying to resist, he still starts panting, lips still bruised from their kissing earlier. "You never did know how beautiful you were."
He doesn't last long, doesn't have the energy to hold back, not when Dean's so tight and hell, the fact he's kind of forced Dean to take it is more of a turn on than he cares to admit.
Dean rolls over onto his back when Castiel climbs off him, wincing, cock hard and flushed against his stomach, and Castiel takes it in his hand, jerks Dean off quick and fast the way he likes it. "Told you you'd like it," Castiel says.
"You fucking bastard," Dean says, shuddering, eyes closed. "You fucking, fucking bastard."
He comes anyway, wet, hot spurts over Castiel's hand.
"Actually, Dean," Castiel says, nuzzling Dean's cheek with his nose, pulling away when Dean snaps at it.
"I never had parents."
Prompt: girl!Dean/Castiel
Dean's father is a powerful politician, and in a botched ransom kidnapping, Dean's younger brother Sam loses his life. So when Dean is mugged on her way home from work, Dean's father wastes no time in hiring someone to keep her safe.
But in this day and age, the rich don't hire bodyguards for protection. They hire angels.
Girl!Dean/Castiel with protection kink.
FILLED: Responsible Driver Required: girl!Dean/Castiel
[oh god yes this prompt <3 <3 <3]
Dogs of Heaven was an appropriate term for angels; imprinting was part of their nature, part of how lower ranks were assigned as guardians.
Castiel had not been meant as a guardian, but since Gabriel took over Michael's duties in Heaven, he had decided to introduce angels to humans in a much more substantial way.
Guardians and bodyguards were not so different, after all.
Castiel picked through the box John Winchester had brought him - Senator Winchester, he corrected himself, despite knowing the man's real name, age, destiny, sins and virtues in a glance. Human titles seemed so pointless given their nature. No human was less transient than another. "These have all been handled by others regularly," he sighed. "This belonged to her mother, this she shared with her brother, and this -" he nudged it aside with a wince - "Is inappropriate. Does she own anything she doesn't share?"
"There's her car. No one else gets to drive that thing."
Castiel nodded. "Where is it?"
John hesitated for a moment. "I haven't used your kind before. How does this work exactly?"
Castiel normally disliked working with new customers. They needed explanations he didn't particularly have the patience to give, not when they would have had them if they'd read the booklet given to all prospective clients. That said, John was a senator and likely spent all day reading already - moreover, having recently lost his son, Dean's brother, it was understandable. "Every human has a distinct scent. We can imprint on that scent, but we can only do so once. The clearer the scent, the easier it is to keep track of that human in future."
"My wife's dead," John pointed out, glaring.
"Her scent isn't."
John was quiet another moment, then, "Is it safe for you to imprint on her directly?"
Castiel blinked. "Most people are uncomfortable with being sniffed by strangers."
"It's for her own good," John said. "Sam never listened to me but she will."
"With due respect, your son didn't get himself killed," Castiel replied, tilted his head to the side when John punched him.
John cradled his aching hand. "That skin's worth the cost. You'd best use it to protect her."
Given Dean's penchant for nicknames, Castiel was a little surprised that his ended up being, simply, "Cas" as opposed to anything offensive relating to their first meeting involving him sniffing her. If anything, she'd shrugged it off, more preoccupied with her grief over her brother's death than with the invasion of her privacy.
She'd been somewhat reticent at first, and it had been both pleasing and disconcerting to watch her starting to adjust to life without her brother as time passed. While she never quite left her shell behind, there were moments where her confidence was clear; she knew she was beautiful, enjoyed flirting with the men and, on rare occasions, women she met in the bars and clubs she frequented, enjoyed bringing them back to her flat and making Castiel 'sleep' on the sofa while she, in turn, slept with them.
John would have disapproved had he known, but she was careful about her identity when she brought them back, so Castiel had no issues with waiting for her to be done and keeping her secrets.
She stood at the door one night after shooing out a stranger, two beers in her hands, her dressing gown loose and a pair of cotton panties the only modest thing on her, smiled at him. "You want some?" She asked.
Castiel knew the entendre for what it was, smiled back briefly. "A beer would be nice, thank you."
She slumped down on the sofa next to him, thighs warm where they pressed up against his, not bothering to adjust her dressing gown to cover them more. "You're not bad for a stiff, Cas. Thought you'd be squealing on me to dad the first chance you got."
"There's nothing wrong with what you do," Castiel replied, honest, allowing her to clink her bottle against his before she set about drinking. Her breath was already sweet with alcohol and the last of her perfume, not yet showered away.
"Wish more people thought that," She said in turn, leaning against him. "That guy was shit in bed. You wanna help me out?"
"Yes, but I shouldn't."
She laughed, rested her head on his shoulder. "Yeah. Probably not."
Castiel let her lace her fingers with his, squeezed back. Imprinting made fondness for a client almost inevitable, but Dean was far, far less problematic than previous clients he'd had. She was smart, street-smart too, but there was something delicate about her he'd do anything to protect.
He never wanted a chance to prove it but when John openly voiced his support for a particular group of hot topics his private life came under close scrutiny, the tragedy of Sam's murder exploited to full and Dean's personal life becoming something less than personal.
Castiel normally kept his distance, but Dean was unsettled by the attention, the prying into her brother and mother's deaths, drank a little less carefully, tried different clubs from her usual to avoid the press. And at first it was okay.
It only needed to be wrong once, though, and Castiel took the drink out of her hand, stormed across the club's floors and smashed it into the chest of the man who'd tainted it. "I'd think very, very carefully about where you're going," Castiel snarled, eyes flaring white, clear identification of who he was and what he was capable of before shoving the man violently towards the bouncers.
Dean still appeared to be in shock, and Castiel stood at her side, waited for her to settle, not touching her for now and brushing away anyone who attempted to.
"I shouldn't -" Dean began, cutting herself off before she continued, and Castiel shook his head even if she wasn't looking to see it.
"It wasn't your fault. He was the one in the wrong."
"It was, I'm in this stupid outfit and -"
Castiel rested his hand on her shoulder, waited for her to turn to him. "If your father was mugged, would you blame him for carrying his wallet?"
Dean was quiet for a moment, sobbed once before wiping her face, smudging her mascara. "Can I just go home?"
Castiel pressed his fingers to her forehead, blinked when she pulled away.
"You can drive," Dean said. Castiel understood, led her outside, nodded to the bouncers as he left. They'd be keeping a closer eye on their guests in future. Angels didn't only guard humans one on one, and Castiel had no qualms about sending in a colleague to make sure due care was being taken.
Castiel carried her up the staircase when she stumbled on her heels and sobbed again, headed up to her flat and laid her out on the sofa. Taking her to bed felt wrong, and he carried her blanket out of the bedroom and spread it over her. "I should wash," Dean said, once her crying had calmed down a little. "I should wash, I'm gross and -"
Castiel stood up, walked to the bathroom and filled a glass with water, used his other hand to pick up her toothbrush, toothpaste and a pack of facial wipes.
It wasn't the most thorough brushing but at least it was something, and it would do until morning. Wiping away her makeup was easier, took two wipes courtesy of her not being able to shift the worst of it with a proper wash first, but again, it would do.
Castiel looked at her, eyes bloodshot from crying, nose red and shiny, the space under it before her lips the same, stroked his fingers gently down her cheek. "If you need anything, just ask."
Dean leaned into his touch for a moment, then away, then back again, seeming torn before finally asking, "Can I have a drink of water?"
Castiel nodded, got up and headed to the kitchen. It was a strange relief to return and find her asleep, and he pressed his lips lightly to her forehead before sitting down on the floor, waiting for her to wake up. If she had nightmares, he'd be there to wake her.
Keeping his distance felt impossible after that incident and she expressed no displeasure, let him walk with her to the shops for coffee and sit with her in restaurants, let him dance with her when she decided enough was enough and she was going clubbing again. She seemed surprised when his initially awkward dancing improved quickly, but he'd always been a faster learner, and it was even easier when he could sense which of the male dancers in the room were attracting appreciation and which were attracting scorn.
It was scarcely professional, but angels weren't working to human standards.
Going clubbing on occasion changed gradually, bit by bit into clubbing regularly, though he noticed her drinks had switched from open glasses to bottles, a precaution he wished she didn't feel the need to take. Clubbing regularly changed back into kissing people she took a liking to, and he figured she'd be happy bringing others back to the flat eventually, enjoyed the thought of her relaxing.
He hadn't entirely expected her to push away someone who switched from kissing to groping, even though her scent indicated she enjoyed the touches, but there was no rushing healing.
He hadn't expected at all that she would push them away, walk over to him, and kiss him instead.
"I want you, Cas," Dean said. "Come back to my place."
Castiel took a breath that shook more than he ever would have expected it to. "I always do."
The drive home had never felt longer and he kept wondering what to say, if he should say anything, but this was Dean's territory and if he let her control it, he knew she would stop before things made her uncomfortable. Knew he could stop himself, could smell fear on her if it was there, knew the difference between the excited scent of nerves and the sharp tang of panic.
She walked him up the stairs, steady this time, and Castiel found himself hesitant for the first time at the door to her flat.
She turned to him, looked uncertain but for reasons he couldn't quite tell. "You still want this?" She asked.
Castiel understood the uncertainty then, kissed her, wrapped his arms around her and supported her weight when she took it as permission to jump into his arms. He was ten, twenty, thirty times her strength if not more, and it was easy to carry her, kick the door shut behind them, her hands reaching behind him blindly to lock it.
"Bedroom, now," she said, and he felt dizzy with the warmth of her, the permission to hold her, to smell her, the anticipation of what she was allowing him to take.
He opened the door, eased her down onto the bed, stripped off quickly before stretching out over her and holding still the second she said stop.
It wasn't a panicked stop, it was a moment of quiet stop. She wanted to look at him, and Castiel realised that even if he held his body in little regard, she appreciated it. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his chest, thumbed the mole next to his nipple before thumbing that in turn. "You're gorgeous," she said, sitting up and pulling her dress off over her head.
Castiel's breath stopped for a second at the discovery she wasn't wearing a bra, just black panties. And as much as he wanted to pause and admire her, he wanted to admire all of her, gripped the elastic around her waist and started to pull, slow, waiting for her to say stop again. She didn't, let him pull them down her legs before discarding them and stretching out over her again.
She shivered when he kissed her, her chest warm against his, her thighs warm and soft and inviting against his own. He'd meant to kiss and stroke every inch of her, meant to suck on her nipples and lick at the slick folds of her cunt, but she knew what he needed better than he did, slipped her hand down between his legs and wrapped it around his cock, pressed it up against her.
"What about condoms?" Castiel asked, hating to kill the moment, even briefly, but she pressed her free hand against his cheek.
"Have you got anything I can catch?"
"No," Castiel replied, "But if you get pregnant -"
"I'm on the pill," Dean said. "I just tell people I'm not because I don't trust them."
It wasn't an implication so much as an outright statement, and when she moved her hand from his cheek to his hip and pulled down, his breath was knocked clear out of him again, this time as much by what she had said as by the feel of her.
And she felt incredible. Castiel had seen sex over and over in Heaven, had watched it as a daily part of people's lives, but with Dean he'd craved touch, more than he had with anyone else he'd ever imprinted on; with Dean he knew it wouldn't have mattered if he'd imprinted or not, he'd still want this more than anything he'd ever wanted for himself.
Dean spread her legs to let him in deeper and Castiel understood in an instant why humans wrote about love and sex in the same breath even without religion causing them to. Sex had only been an idea of interest before, not something that appealed, not something searing and intense and desperate.
With her hands free she kept one on her own breast, pulling and twisting at an already hard nipple almost lazily, her other hand on his chest and rubbing at his own, and he knew it reduced their ability to manoeuvre when he kissed her but it was almost impossible to resist, her kisses hungrier now, biting at his lips and sucking on his tongue.
She was hot against him wherever he touched, slick too where he pushed into her with his cock or his tongue, and he felt a twinge of guilt when that heat became too much, when he felt his back tense up and his skin draw tight.
"Do it," she gasped against his ear, almost sobbed, "Do it, do it, please,"
He muffled his yell against her neck when he came but his true form wouldn't allow it, cracked the glass on her bedside table, and he could only be thankful that the loud music of the club had already numbed her hearing. He'd come before, experimented with his form, but there was nothing like this - nothing to begin to compare to it.
She pushed him away and he barely found the energy to shift at her command but he did, saw her slip her hands between her legs, rubbing at her swollen clit with one, sliding two fingers of the other up inside her, and though watching was amazing he couldn't leave her to this alone, pulled her fingers out of her to replace them with his own, shifted down a little so he could suck on her nipple as he'd wanted to before, fascinated at how it stood hard even though she was lying down, and her shuddering clenching around his fingers, her hissed groans and the way his fingers struggled to gain any purchase was indication enough when she came.
The bed was damp where her hips rested and Castiel wondered how much of a sin it would be to clean the mess using his powers; figured it wouldn't be too wicked if he only cleared the sheets.
"Cas," Dean said, breath steadying as she wrapped a hand around his and pulled him back up to lie next to her. "If you leave me over a paycheck, I'll fucking kill you."
Castiel gave her an unimpressed look before kissing already kiss-bruised lips, knowing they might ache, knowing they didn't seem to mind. "If you think I could consider it, you're not as bright as I thought."
Dean squeezes his hand and grins before snuggling into his chest. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Castiel replied, pressing a kiss to her hair before shifting a little to get comfortable on the mattress. "You're more than welcome."
John Winchester could keep his checks in future. Castiel could afford to retire for a few decades, and if he happened to keep an eye on one of his imprints - it wasn't as if that was a crime.
Even if it had been, Castiel doubted that would stop him. John would have been welcome to shoot him.
Even if he'd been human, taking a bullet for Dean would be worth it.
The End
Prompt: Misha/Mark Pellegrino, D/s
Neither Misha nor Mark(sha) can figure out who is the dom in this situation, but they're both pretty sure it's themselves.
FILLED: Oh No You Didn't - Misha/Mark Pellegrino, D/s
They'd been having the same argument for some time now. Mark didn't care what Misha's social studies suggested or what Misha's wife's thoughts were - as far as he was concerned, if you were on the bottom, you weren't the dom.
Yes, Misha was the one yelling "Harder!" when Mark spanked him, Misha was the one who came up with the idea of spanking, but Mark was still the one carrying it out.
Misha didn't like the idea of limits, tested his as far as he could take, let Mark slide four lubed fingers into him though he hadn't yet been able to take Mark's fist; practical issues meant they couldn't exactly let Misha stretch himself with a plug given he was filming almost as often as Jared and Jensen these days.
Mark hadn't met anyone like Misha before, but most people returned the favour talking about him; he was one of those guys where at school or at work you'd get "John's friend", "The red-haired one," "The jock-looking guy" and "Mark". It didn't matter if there were three or four other Marks in the same building, everyone knew who Mark was.
Hell, even when Mark Sheppard turned up on set, if you asked for Mark people still knew you meant Pellegrino.
Misha was a weird enough name that he didn't need to lay claim to it, but Mark knew full well if Misha had been a John or a David then he'd be treated like the only John or David on set. People like Misha weren't supposed to turn up more than once in your life, running through - often naked - and throwing everything into disarray. It had been enough when they filmed that dumbass movie - he really, really needed to stop letting his agent talk him into things while drunk - but bumping into him an age later and finding the guy's only added another fifteen buckets of crazy to his behaviour was something else.
Misha finally had a day off from filming and Mark waited for him to be done updating his wife on his shenanigans as per usual - Mark didn't catch much from the other end of the line except a request for more details, and damn, Vicky really was a catch - before Mark gagged him and wrestled him onto the bed, handcuffing him to the headboard.
Misha just kept smirking, as much with his eyes as to the stretch of his lips still allowed by the gag, and Mark rolled his eyes before lubing up the anal beads.
He tried not to think about the fact Misha was the one who'd picked the beads out, revelled instead in the noises Misha made as Mark pushed them in; it was a good job pretty much everyone knew Misha was a pervert, else he'd be concerned about anyone overhearing. Misha didn't exactly keep quiet about these things.
"You really like these, don't you?" Mark said, feeling the strange little slack-tight-slack-tight rhythm as he pushed the beads in, before hooking his finger through the little loop on the end. "I've been thinking about this all day," he says, before fixing a cock ring around Misha's erection. "About what to do to you, what to say to you, what a slut like you really wants."
Misha actually snickered, and Mark tried to keep a straight expression but completely failed, laughed back before pulling the beads out and getting off the bed. Misha looked at him, confused.
"I'm going to get breakfast," Mark said, watching the confusion turn to surprise, then disbelieving anger.
He grinned, wickedly.
"A sadist says no," Mark said, pulling on his pants and a shirt before heading out.
He wouldn't take too long. Maybe enough time for a coffee and a sandwich; he hadn't decided yet whether he was feeling kind enough to bring something back for Misha.
But it was so fucking worth it for the look on Misha's face.
Prompt: Uriel/Castiel, bloodplay
Uriel/Castiel, bloodplay. Maybe something based around 4.16? Here's a screencap (http://i46.tinypic.com/vym6bo.jpg) from that ep to get you anons going.
NO non-con please as that squicks me, though dun-con is fine.
FILLED: Uncovered Tastes - Uriel/Castiel, bloodplay
It doesn't matter that they're both angels. Hell leaves its marks.
Castiel first tastes his vessel's blood when he and Uriel are sparring, savoury and metallic, an odd mixture of pain and numbness where he tongues the split on his lip.
Uriel looks at him with hunger and it stirs Castiel, but these are not times for playing games as they would have in Heaven, before the battles they'd prepared for aeons ago began to rage around them. Castiel heals his lip and cleans himself up, leaves to return to the front lines.
When they see each other next, Uriel's strikes are not eager for weak spots, don't seek out winning openings with expert precision. Uriel seems determined to split his lip once more, but halts after a strike that leaves Castiel bleeding from his nose, and Castiel's breath halts for a second when Uriel pulls him closer and presses fingers across his lips, catching the blood where he can.
Uriel pulls his bloodied hand away afterwards and looks at it, and what had been a stirring the last time is replaced this time by a surge of arousal. Uriel licks his fingers with a curious expression, and Castiel shivers before flying away without a word. He doesn't know how to discuss this new development between them; without their true forms everything feels slightly strange and unreal, though their true forms rarely bleed.
Uriel spreads him out on the bed, almost reverent, patience he does not normally have showing in this as it had in Heaven. Uriel's hands are careful with him and Castiel thinks the earlier incidents forgotten, maybe even an embarrassment, but once they're both stripped and Uriel stretches over him, it's to reach for a blade on the bedside table.
Castiel's erection jumps, and he's as surprised by his own reaction as by Uriel's brazen decision to bring the knife to bed with them.
Uriel turns the blade over in his hands before saying, "You will ask me to stop if you need to."
Humans would likely make the statement a question, but Uriel knows him well enough not to neeed to, and Castiel hisses, arches into the slide of the blade down his cheek, scoring a line fine enough that it takes a moment to sting, and Uriel's tongue follows the path the blade left behind, cleaning before Castiel can heal.
It turns from a point of curiosity into something he can truly appreciate when Uriel moves down to his chest, because he can follow the lines Uriel creates, caught between his own arousal and the ebb and flow of pain and blood alongside it, the strange beauty of Uriel's fingers smearing patterns into his skin. The cherry red of blood alongside his own pale flesh is hypnotising, and it's no less spellbinding where it stains Uriel's fingers and lips.
Uriel carves a whorl into Castiel's stomach that has him bucking away from one touch and into that which he does not have, the need for Uriel's attention to his cock turning painful, and his shivers and sighs turn into a yell when Uriel sets the blade aside and wraps bloodied fingers around his cock, smearing blood and pre-come up and down the length.
"You may have your turn next time," Uriel says, pressing his lips to the skin of Castiel's inner thigh. "If you wish."
Castiel folds his arms across his face, almost ashamed of the depth of his own arousal as he reacts to Uriel's hands. "This is yours," Castiel says, and it's true - he has no interesting in doing the same to Uriel but he would take it from him again and again, the release and claim of having his skin opened and bled by Uriel's trusted fingers something he can't put into his own words.
Uriel wipes a thumb across the head of his erection, before leaning over and tonguing the slit, and when Castiel begins to come it's cruel and perfect that Uriel switches to holding him by the hips, stops them being able to buck up when he tries. It's a frustration and makes him come all the harder, restraint something else Hell tainted him with a desire for.
Uriel takes care of the clean-up and of his own pleasure, and Castiel watches, wonders if Hell's perversions are infectious or simply reveal tastes that might not have been discovered otherwise. He knows Uriel's beliefs tend towards the former - Hell's near all human formed, and his distaste for humans is scarcely subtle.
Castiel isn't so sure. He suspects in his case, at the very least, it simply gave him a chance to explore something that was always there; he just didn't know about it until he wore skin that bled and flesh that could not hide arousal.
Their journey on Earth was far from a spiritual one.
Prompt: Dean/Castiel - 5.08, non/dub con, exhibitionism, 1st time
Variation on a prompt above:
Dean finds out where Gabriel zapped Castiel off to during "Changing Channels": he was trapped in a gay porn where he was playing an angel (complete with fake wings, and nothing else) caught by human 'hunters' (or 'demons' with red horns) and fucked in every possible way. In the video, it's non-con at first then Castiel clearly gets into it, sucking and fucking and licking and moaning and coming multiple times. Dean watches the entire video, possibly masturbating. Afterwards/later, Dean calls Cas to his motel room (Sam is off sky diving) and reenacts his favorite parts of the video. First time D/C, please.
FILLED: Rewrite - Dean/Castiel - 5.08, non/dub con, exhibitionism, 1st time
When Dean first started watching the video, he figured he was going to Hell for it.
Five minutes in, when he'd kept watching, he figured no - this was the point where he was going to Hell.
Ten minutes in, when Castiel had stopped crying tears and started crying out, he figured that actually, this was the point of no return.
Gabriel was fucked up, but Dean was a hundred thousand times worse for watching the video; he'd seen Castiel looking dishevelled and hurt and shaken after being trapped in a TV world, he hadn't thought Gabriel would be fucked up enough to put Castiel in a porno.
And Dean was watching it, had moved from his hands over his eyes to his hands over his mouth, and the full body shot of Castiel, spread wide, legs spread for a guy beneath him and a guy above him, both of them balls-deep in his ass, and Castiel's face just wore this look of complete, complete surrender - that sent his hands lower.
His stomach churned but his cock was hard as a fucking rock. How couldn't it be? Cas, his Cas, stretched open and begging for more, staring at the camera as if he knew Dean was watching, begging until a third guy's cock filled his mouth - how couldn't he find it ball-bustingly hot?
It was fucked up a hundred different ways and when he came he ran for the bathroom pretty much instantly, had to clean up, clean his cock and his hands and his face as if he could wash away the guilt of what he'd done, of what he'd seen, of what he wanted because god help him, he wanted more.
He couldn't help but panic when he heard his voice called from the other room, found the video still running but no one else in the motel room, and "Dean," was repeated.
Castiel was on screen, the men standing around him, some of them still jerking off on his skin, and Castiel was stroking himself with one hand, fingering his ass with the other, eyes closed, face streaked with come.
"Dean," Castiel gasped in the video, and Dean's stomach bottomed out.
Castiel came for the third time on screen, in full view, the camera lingering over his body from the cock leaving wet bursts across his stomach to the bliss on his face.
Dean's name was on his lips.
Dean should have left it at that, burned the video, pretend it never happened. But he couldn't look at Castiel without seeing him spreadeagled and begging and knowing that Castiel had thought about him when coming; it gave the staring another depth he hadn't really considered seriously before.
Dean wasn't very good at leaving things, and it wasn't as if Castiel seemed to have much to do these days - besides, he got crabby if Dean left him alone for too long. Dean understood that fair enough, Castiel didn't exactly have many people to talk to.
He called Castiel up and put on the video, grabbed Castiel by the wrists before he could leave. "I saw everything," he said, felt searing guilt when Castiel's expression turned distraught. "Gabriel's a fucking asshole but I can't lie, I thought it was hot. I thought you were hot."
"It felt real," Castiel replied. "I'm sullied."
"Fuck that shit," Dean snapped, because he needed Castiel to know what Gabriel did wasn't fucking okay, and what Castiel did in response was. "Fuck that shit, Cas, it's not your fault if you enjoyed it after long enough, it's not your fault if you got into it, and I don't think there's anything fucked up about you."
Castiel was tense and Dean sighed before pressing his lips to Castiel's cheek. "I mean it, Cas. You're fucking gorgeous and Gabriel's a bastard and I liked it when you called my name because I'm fucked up. I'm sorry."
Castiel let out a small gasp, eased one of his hands out of Dean's grip and raised it to his face, cupped his cheek. "I pretended it was you. It made it easier."
"I'd do anything for you, Cas," Dean said, honest, stepping a little closer until he was pressed fully up against Castiel, nothing hiding his arousal. "Anything you asked."
Castiel's eyes met Dean's for the first time in a while and he felt the shivery little breaths as Castiel found the courage to ask. Dean meant what he'd said. He just needed to find out what Castiel wanted.
"I want - our video," Castiel said, licking his lips and brushing his fingers down Dean's jaw. "I want us on film, not - not that. I want you inside me on film."
Dean's cock hardened painfully, because he'd meant what he said, he'd do anything Castiel asked, but he'd thought Castiel would want easing in - not jumping to exhibitionism in an instant.
As if sensing his hesitation, Castiel added, "I want you to claim me."
Castiel reappeared with a camera with a speed Dean didn't question; wherever Castiel had taken it from, they didn't need it as much as he and Cas did.
Castiel didn't want to strip for the camera, and Dean went to busy himself setting the camera up, but not wanting to strip for the camera didn't mean not wanting to strip for anyone. Dean found himself pushed to sit on the bed while Castiel peeled out of his clothes, and Dean had never been more glad for Castiel's layers because even if Castiel wasn't exactly a tease with his stripping, the layers meant seeing Castiel's skin inches at a time, no rush, sending his already hard cock into begging for attention.
It seemed unfair that Castiel was only half-hard when he finished, and Dean wished he hadn't rushed undressing himself, but at this point Castiel didn't mind the camera being turned on and he had no objections to showing Castiel what he could do.
Sucking Castiel's cock had the advantage of letting him instantly gauge what worked for Cas and what didn't, and the beauty of the camera was not having to worry as much about what he was missing, even if he did look up when he could, met Castiel's eyes when they looked down at his. It was strange, to have this sort of power over someone, but Dean pulled away before that thought could take root.
"What do you want, Cas?" Dean asked, stroking Castiel's erection lazily with one hand, leaving his own ignored for now given it had no intention of going away anytime soon. "Anything."
"Just fuck me," Castiel replied, and Dean bit his lip, those words from Castiel's lips more intense than they could be from anyone else's.
He guided Castiel into kneeling, facing the camera, not the best few for anything explicit but he knew what he wanted to see; he wanted Castiel's expressions, wanted to show anyone who saw the video what he could do to Cas.
Vaseline made do, and Dean slicked up his own cock, finger-fucked Castiel's ass briefly, before wiping his fingers clean and moving to kneel behind Castiel and pausing.
"What?" Castiel asked after a moment, looking over his shoulder, and Dean stroked a hand down Castiel's side, searched for the words.
"I can't just fuck you," he said, before wrapping an arm around Castiel's waist, pulling Castiel into his lap. "I want you to fuck me."
Castiel frowned, looked almost hurt for a moment. "I want you in me."
"I know," Dean replied. "But I want you taking what you want." Castiel continued looking confused, so Dean demonstrated, lay down and took Castiel's hands, guided him into kneeling over him. "I want you riding. To choose."
Castiel reached a hand between them and Dean let one of his join Castiel's, guided his cock to Castiel's entrance.
"Fuck yourself on me," Dean said, and Castiel lowered himself down, sank back against Dean's cock, and Dean couldn't help groaning out at the heat of Castiel, the tightness of him. "Fuck, yes,"
"Dean," Castiel cried out, lifting himself up a little and pushing back down. "Oh Dean, Dean, more!"
Dean obeyed, started shifting his hips in time with Castiel's as best as he could, but Castiel was hungry and fast, fucked himself hard, almost harder than Dean could keep up with, and helping Castiel jerk off with a free hand had been the idea but he couldn't find the energy, had to be thankful that Castiel chose to jerk himself off, seeming to have picked up tips on what he liked from the hour spent on video before. Dean almost wished there were more of him, wished he could fuck Castiel's ass and mouth and ride his cock at the same time, but he couldn't, had only this to offer.
Castiel seemed to accept it willingly and Dean came viciously, fucking up into Castiel fast and deep and brutal, felt his heart sink when Castiel climbed off him.
"Cas?"
"We're done," Castiel said, jerking himself off out of the camera's view, and Dean wasn't having that, forced himself to sit up.
"Why?"
"You've fucked me," Castiel replied. "That's all you needed."
Dean forced back a growl before grabbing Castiel by the back of the neck. "You're a fucking idiot, Cas. I want you. Not just this, not just what I can fuck. You."
He slid his hand between Castiel's legs, squeezed his balls gently before moving further underneath, rubbing the slickness still present at Castiel's ass further under, along the perineum, teasing. "I want you, Castiel, you're not just some hole with a pretty face. You're Castiel, you're weird and you're fucking gorgeous and I want you."
Castiel's eyes seemed to light up with something painful but beautiful and Dean kissed him, swallowed his cries as he came, Dean's hand joining Castiel's for the last few thrusts so he could feel the wet bursts when they happened.
"You," he repeated, pulling back from the kiss once Castiel's breathing settled and licking his fingers clean.
Castiel pointed at the camera and it shattered into pieces, surprising Dean into jumping. "Cas?"
"We're making another video," Castiel said, before kissing Dean lightly, just missing his lips slightly and hitting the side. "One we both want to watch."
Dean's grin reflects the slight smile on Castiel's lips, and he kisses him again.
"Or two," he suggested.
Prompt: Cop!Dean/Cas - AU, d/s, begging, handcuffs
Cas is trying to cover up for a few misdemeanors (up to author) that his brother (Gabriel? Michael? also up to author) is guilty of, so he goes to officer Dean and make a deal with him.
FILLED: Abuse of Authority - Cop!Dean/Cas - AU, noncon/dubcon, begging, handcuffs
Castiel almost felt the siren before he heard it. He'd told Michael to slow down, Lucifer's blood still spattered across Michael's shirt, his lip still bleeding from the fight. They hadn't meant to kill him, they hadn't, and then Lucifer had pulled the gun -
Fuck, fuck, just the once, Michael had promised, one more debt collected and they could go straight.
Castiel watched the cop walk over, tap on the window. "Care to tell me what's got you speedin' at two in the morning?"
Michael fell mute and Castiel winced before leaning across. "We were in a fight," he said, digging his fingers into Michael's thigh when his brother tried to speak. Half the reason Castiel was a good liar was his ability to use the truth in his lies. "We were drinking and we got jumped. These jokes thought I was - they didn't think Mike was my brother."
The cop nodded. "How much you been drinkin' before hitting the road?"
"Just a beer," Michael said. "Designated griver."
"Uh huh. Driver's license?"
Michael fumbled for a moment before handing it over, both of them relaxing when the cop took it and glanced over the contents.
"Sir, please step out of the car."
Michael nodded, knew as Castiel did the breathaliser would show clean, grabbed the door handle.
"Not you, sir, your brother. I'd like to take some details down about this fight.
Castiel paused before opening the door, climbing out on unsteady feet and walking around to the cop's side, letting himself be taken by the arm and pulled over behind the cop's car, nodding to Michael as he went.
The cop pulled off his helmet and sunglasses, and Castiel flushed at the face hidden underneath. It wasn't an honest face, but it was good looking.
"Do you think I'm stupid? You don't have a mark on you, neither of you smell like a bar, and there's word out that a very well known drug dealer was battered to death all of four hours ago."
"I don't know what you -"
"Lu was a fucking dick," said the cop, green eyes blazing. "Got three in my department hospitalized, not that anyone could prove it. Law says I have to bring you in. I say I don't."
"Thank you, I -"
"This ain't for free," the cop said, one of his hands moving to Castiel's waist. "I figured your brother'd be too much of a dumbass to bring a bribe with him, but you'll do."
Castiel tensed, backed up against the car.
"Relax, kid, I ain't gonna hurt ya. It's been a long fucking shift and you're the first pretty thing I've seen. What're you hidin' under that shirt?"
Castiel thought for a moment about running, about shouting for Michael, but he knew they'd run into back up if this guy asked for it and if they didn't leave him alive, no cop killer was getting out of this state easily. He started unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers.
"You're not a mute. What's your name?"
"Cas," Castiel said, fighting tears stinging his eyes. "Are you going - are you going to rape me?"
The cop snorted. "I said I ain't gonna hurt ya. Don't want to spoil something pretty as you unless you want it. I just think I'll look, maybe touch a bit, maybe have you touch me. You understandin' me yet?"
Castiel nodded, finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it free from his jeans, opening it.
The cop whistled, stroked a thumb over Castiel's nipple. "I take back that maybe. Seems a damn shame lettin' something like that go to waste."
Castiel looked away when the cop started unzipping his pants but found curiosity getting the better of him. He'd never seen another man's cock up close, wondered whether it would look like his own or different.
The cop seemed to take his curiosity for something else, given his smirk. "Cock-hungry little thing, aren't ya? Could almost believe that story you spun."
"I didn't mean to look."
"Lets make a deal, Cas," the cop said. "I'm going to handcuff your hands behind your back. You suck my cock? I'll let you and your brother go free. Hell, I'll keep the highway guys around here off your trail. Got it?"
Castiel nodded, closed his eyes against the shameful, embarrassing arousal shooting through him at the assault the cop was making him ask for, gasped involuntarily when the handcuffs clinked behind his back. "I haven't done this before."
"Virgin lips? Sweet. I'll tell you if you're doing anything wrong.
Castiel sank to his knees and let the cop press the head of his cock against his lips, angry red and dripping with precome, and it was some small consolation that at least this wouldn't last long. He swallowed down the panic rising in his stomach, forced his mouth open, let the cop's cock inside.
It tasted odd but Castiel tried not to focus on that, concentrated instead on sucking, moving his head back and forth. It hurt his jaw, having to be careful not to bite, his tongue of little help given how much he was drooling, only knowing by taste what was his own spit and what was the cop's precome.
The cop had lied about not hurting, fisted a hand in his hair and pushed his cock deeper than Castiel could take, past the gag reflex, and if Castiel hadn't already vomited after Lucifer died he'd have been at risk of puking now; his throat hurt where the cop fucked it, and he choked, coughing when he felt what he at first thought was precome spattering against it before he realised from the sheer volume of it that the cop was actually coming, making him swallow, and he couldn't help but start crying.
The cop pulled away and zipped up but his eyes were still hungry, eyeing the erection Castiel had developed involuntarily.
"I did what you asked," Castiel said.
"What can I say, I'm greedy," the cop replied, pulling Castiel up to his feet and unzipping Castiel's pants, turning him around and bending him over, pulling Caastiel's pants down to his ankles and wrapping a hand around Castiel's cock, stroking, before his other hand came down on Castiel's ass with a loud smack.
For Michael, for himself. For going straight.
Castiel came fast and hard on the eighth smack, collapsed against the cop's car, shivering as the cop tucked him back into his clothes and removed the cuffs.
"You're ever around these parts again kid, you give me a call. Name's Dean. Winchester."
Castiel walked away and back to Michael, didn't look back, stopped Michael getting out of the car.
Michael didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He drove.
The were an hour down the road before Michael pulled over and hugged him.
No more cops and drug dealers. They were going straight for good.
And they'd both be carrying scars with them.
Prompt: Dean/Cas, watersports, edging
Um. I feel kind of awful asking for this, but...
yeah, either one of them, don't care who, on the edge for ages, and can't tell whether he wants to come or piss more. with release, please, and no d/s
FILLED: Easing the Ache - Dean/Cas, watersports, edging
Dean can't seem to wrap his head around the idea that Castiel will do anything he can for him, if only Dean would ask.
It's frustrating beyond the telling of it because he wants to help Dean, he does - he wants to satisfy him in any way Dean needs and Dean just cannot seem to accept that Castiel will not judge him for it.
He ends up taking matters into his own hands literally when Dean wakes up in the morning, walks into the bathroom and stays there, unable to act. Castiel walks in after him, wraps an arm around Dean's waist. "What is it?" Castiel asks, because he needs to make Dean ask, can't take this for himself without permission, without Dean accepting that he needs this.
"I can't," Dean says, boxers around his ankles, leaning over the toilet bowl, eyes squeezed shut. He's tense and in pain, and Castiel knows why, but he needs Dean to say it out loud.
"Can't what, Dean?"
"I can't piss, Cas." Castiel nods, nuzzles Dean's neck with his nose, and once Dean's opened his mouth the words keep coming. "I can't, not unless I'm drunk, and I don't know what's wrong with me. It stings like fuck. Even my dick's against me these days."
Castiel can ask now, had waited on the confession first. "Let me help."
"It's not like that -"
"It is," Castiel interrupts, licking Dean's neck and wrapping a hand around Dean's cock, not stroking, just holding it. Dean freezes up.
"Cas, you can't just - you can't - Cas, you can't just be here while I piss!"
Castiel begs to differ, presses a kiss warm against Dean's bared shoulder. "Don't you want me here?"
"No," Dean says, but there's no feeling in it. "I can't let - people don't do this, Cas,"
"And am I people?" Castiel asks, and he strokes now, fingers gentle down the shaft and cupping Dean's balls lightly before moving back up. He doesn't grip tight, doesn't want any restraint here. He's trying to tease it out of Dean as much as he's trying to tease the truth. "I'm here for you, Dean. Whatever you want."
Dean shivers and an "Oh, God," falls from his lips before he starts leaking. He's not quite pissing properly yet, and Castiel understands the pain of this, of not letting go.
"Dean, trust me," Castiel says, wrapping his hand fully around Dean's cock again and kissing the back of Dean's neck. "I will never judge you. I've seen the worst of you and I still love you. It's that simple."
Dean shudders, more slight wet bursts dripping from him, and Castiel lets Dean go before moving to sit in front of him on the toilet seat. Dean freezes up altogether. "Cas, you don't -"
"Dean, it's okay. I want this." He reaches out for Dean's cock, guides Dean forward into pressing it against his shirt, against his chest. "And you need it."
Dean lets go and sobs as he does, soaking Castiel's shirt as he pisses, warm and wet and so utterly, completely human, something Castiel will never do or be able to do.
Castiel waits for Dean to be done before he unbuttons his shirt and throws it into the bathtub to clean later, pulling Dean down into his lap. His own trousers are still a little damp, but it's okay. It's all okay.
Dean wraps his arms around Dean's back and Castiel holds him the same way, shushes him when he keeps crying, presses kisses to any skin he can reach without pulling away from the embrace.
"I don't know what I did to get you," Dean says, still shuddering with each breath from tears and release. "I don't deserve you."
Castiel shakes his head, brushes his cheek against Dean's as he pulls back enough to meet Dean's eyes. "God brought me to you, not any of the other angels. I think He knows what you deserve."
Dean snorts before wiping at his own nose, grimacing at the smell of his hands. "Ugh," he says, before he laughs, wet and a little too loud. "God, he - yeah. With his sense of humour, figures this is his kind of romance."
Castiel nods before kissing Dean firmly on the lips. "We're washing before we go back to bed. I do have some limits."
Dean laughs again, and lets Castiel lift him into the bath. "Guess I'll have to try and find them."
Dean as a breeder, completely horrified and disgusted at what's happening at first but then giving in and wanting more and more.
FILLED: Cthlulu's a Romantic - Dean/tentacles - dubcon, attempted mpreg
It's almost beautiful in an ethereal sort of way. The problem with killing creatures like this is simple - you can't. You can only put them back to sleep. Putting them back to sleep means taking samples for the ritual.
Dean hates drawing the short straw, but at least the irridescent blue and white of the tentacles gives him something pretty to look at as he strokes along it, looking for loose tissue, for slime, for something he can take back to use that isn't a limb. They're pests more than anything else, have a fondness for pets - when they're at this size, anyway. An adult that's been awake for a few centuries can get to man-eating size, and they can and will eat men at that point.
He brushes away the tentacles when they try to latch onto his wrist, exploring with interest, and he grimaces a little when he spots what look like eggs in amongst the smaller, almost ruffly tentacles nearer to the creature's middle.
He reaches for them. This is a mistake.
Bobby's research had said they weren't poisonous but Dean felt sweat coming to the surface almost instantly, his body seeming to overheat, and if this was some sort of immortal being's fucking neurotoxin he was going to come back and haunt Bobby's ass for the favor of sending him out here unarmed.
The creature seems to react just as violently, the once curious tentacles that had brushed against him wrapping around his wrists and ankles before he can run; he struggles, but they're firm, pulling him apart, and he can only be thankful the creature's not big enough to pull him apart hard enough to actually tear.
"Hi," Dean says, grinning awkwardly at the creature's underbelly. "Could you let me go?"
He struggles, tries to give it an idea of what he means, even if this thing's probably old enough to precede English. "Please?"
The creature continues to hold him tight, further tentacles wrapping around him, sliding up his leg, sliding under his pants and up his leg, and that sweating starts to feel chronic, between his legs absolutely aching and there's a moment of horror when he realises it isn't with a sudden need to pee. He's erect to the point where it seriously, seriously fucking hurts and he's furious with himself and the creature and embarrassment when the pants tear and the creature pushes its tentacles against him, against - "Oh, fuck, fuck, no, not -"
Tentacles move to silence him and to fuck him, and he's pinned between the two, skin flushed and aching to be touched and god help him because the tentacle fucking his ass feels so, so fucking good. He's done anal before but the discomfort, the slightly gross feeling that maybe he's gonna have an accident, it's not there. He just feels filled and the tentacle inside him nudges against his prostate as it fucks further into him, deeper than he thought he could take, and he comes over the blue and white tentacles closer to his cock without even being touched.
The creature isn't done, the spongy, surprisingly dry taste of its tentacles in his mouth still present, and he's drooling from his lips being pushed apart, too full, almost sore with the stretch. It's still fucking him at both ends and he can't fight it, doesn't know when it'll be done.
There's a horrible moment when he realises he doesn't know if it'll be done but the creature shifts, pulls him closer to the ruffly, paler tentacles nearer its core and he starts hardening again, even though he's already oversensitive and it hurts to do so.
The ruffly tentacles close around his cock and he comes in an instant, jerking hard, helpless, feeling as if he needs to come again and again even if he has to be running close to dry by now. The embarrassment is still there but it's overwhelmed by a need for more, more, even if his body can't take it.
The creature pushes back against him with a heaving surge, before ripping the tentacle back out of his ass and there's no pain, just a strange, weird sensation of fullness he doesn't entirely understand until the creature repeats itself in his mouth.
It doesn't even taste unpleasant. It tastes like fucking caviar.
Dean realises as the creature pulls away exactly what it's intentions were and, moreover, that he's an idiot for swallowing what the creature fed to him. He needs those samples, and damned if he's going to pull them out of his ass - he's saving that for a fucking enema, because what he will and won't do for a hunt only goes so far.
He looks over the pale blue and white tentacles, wonders what he needs to do to get them going again.
Wonders why he doesn't object one bit.
Prompt: 2014!Cas/2009!Dean; dub-con, drug use
Set during "The End"
2014!Cas longs for what he and 2014!Dean used to have (b/c you know they were together)
2014!Cas and 2009!Dean get stoned (shotgunning a MUST) and Cas tried to take advantage. His attempts start out sweet/gentle, but when 2009!Dean resists, Cas just takes what he wants.
FILLED: What's Mine is Mine - 2014!Cas/2009!Dean; dub-con, drug use
This Dean is so beautiful. He hasn't lost faith yet, hasn't lost hope. He has morals and standards and it's so fucking funny that he actually hesitates when Castiel offers him a joint.
It's a reversal of their first time and he laughs at the irony.
Dean asks what's so funny, and Castiel just snorts, takes a long puff of the joint before leaning over and pressing Dean's lips open with his own, breathes into him.
Dean's mouth is filled with the smoke when Castiel pulls pack; Dean too stunned to have pulled the breath down into his lungs.
"Dude," Dean says. "What the fuck?"
Castiel smirks. Those weren't quite his words when Dean first breathed into him over two years ago, even if the sentiment was the same. "We were good together, Dean, before Bobby died. We were so fucking good."
"Okay, ignoring the fact you're swearing now, what do you mean good together?"
Bless him, Dean flinches when Castiel strokes his hand down Dean's cheek before offering him another drag of the joint. "What do you think?"
Dean doesn't answer, takes the joint though, eyes red and the confusion not entirely sober.
Castiel takes the joint back, and Dean doesn't completely resist when Castiel shares his breath again, still seeming more dazed than reluctant. "When you told me how much you wanted me, how long you'd wanted it, 'was the one good thing that year, that happened,"
His words are a little confused but he knows what he means and so does Dean from the looks of things. "Cas, I can't, this - this isn't right, you're an angel -"
Castiel rolls his eyes. "You'll get over that soon enough. I just want a taste of what we had, Dean, before you got fucked up."
"I've been to Hell, Cas, I -"
"There's still hope for you," Castiel says. "You figure." He leans in and kisses Dean without the joint this time, grips Dean's wrist and slips his tongue between Dean's lips.
Dean breathes out through his nose at first, responds to the kiss, before pulling away. "I can't, it's not you, it -"
"I know," Castiel says, taking Dean's other wrist, kissing him again and frowning when Dean keeps his lips shut. "I just want it to be good, like it was before," and he kisses Dean on the jaw, then on the neck.
Dean tries to pull away from Castiel's hands, and Castiel glares before letting go.
Dean doesn't get far when he turns to stand up. Castiel floors him, pins Dean's hands behind his back. "Cas, what the fu -"
"I want what's mine," Castiel growls, holding Dean's arms in place with one hand while using his other to unbuckle and unzip his pants. Dean thrashes, frightened, but Castiel's strength didn't entirely leave with the angels. His healing did, his flight did, his time travel did, everything useful in a fucking apocalypse did, but he can still throw a good punch and he can still hold a human down with one hand.
"Cas, don't," Dean says, then, "Cas, please -"
Castiel pulls Dean's pants down enough that he can get his fingers into Dean's ass, feel him tense and tight, panicked, not like the first time.
Castiel wonders how tight that'll feel around his cock. "Dean, you want this. You always wanted this."
"Not from you," Dean spits, and Castiel flinches for one moment at the reminder he's changed before shrugging it off. No one can stop this future. Might as well take what he can get.
He pushes in slowly, knows without lube there's a risk he'll really hurt Dean and he's got no intentions of having Dean bleed all over him. If he's slow it'll just hurt, if he's fast it'll injure, and it's not like he can heal Dean anymore.
"Relax," Castiel says, "That's what you told me. Relax and it won't hurt as much. Feels so good though this way," and it does, it's tighter than he dreamed, knocks the breath out of him, and he mouths wet kisses at the back of Dean's neck, at his shoulder, his spine. "Fuck, Dean, it's good."
Dean seems to be in shock now, silent as Castiel sinks in all the way. Pulling out he's just as careful, and it's easy to set a slow, lazy rhythm like this, stoned to haziness and holding Dean down with ease, better than he'd thought it would be when he first registered it wasn't his Dean interrogating him, it was the Dean he actually liked.
"So beautiful," He half says, half mouths in wet kisses, before he gives up talking in favour of licking and biting at the join of neck and shoulder. He knows it's Dean's favourite, and even if Dean's trying to resist, he still starts panting, lips still bruised from their kissing earlier. "You never did know how beautiful you were."
He doesn't last long, doesn't have the energy to hold back, not when Dean's so tight and hell, the fact he's kind of forced Dean to take it is more of a turn on than he cares to admit.
Dean rolls over onto his back when Castiel climbs off him, wincing, cock hard and flushed against his stomach, and Castiel takes it in his hand, jerks Dean off quick and fast the way he likes it. "Told you you'd like it," Castiel says.
"You fucking bastard," Dean says, shuddering, eyes closed. "You fucking, fucking bastard."
He comes anyway, wet, hot spurts over Castiel's hand.
"Actually, Dean," Castiel says, nuzzling Dean's cheek with his nose, pulling away when Dean snaps at it.
"I never had parents."
Prompt: girl!Dean/Castiel
Dean's father is a powerful politician, and in a botched ransom kidnapping, Dean's younger brother Sam loses his life. So when Dean is mugged on her way home from work, Dean's father wastes no time in hiring someone to keep her safe.
But in this day and age, the rich don't hire bodyguards for protection. They hire angels.
Girl!Dean/Castiel with protection kink.
FILLED: Responsible Driver Required: girl!Dean/Castiel
[oh god yes this prompt <3 <3 <3]
Dogs of Heaven was an appropriate term for angels; imprinting was part of their nature, part of how lower ranks were assigned as guardians.
Castiel had not been meant as a guardian, but since Gabriel took over Michael's duties in Heaven, he had decided to introduce angels to humans in a much more substantial way.
Guardians and bodyguards were not so different, after all.
Castiel picked through the box John Winchester had brought him - Senator Winchester, he corrected himself, despite knowing the man's real name, age, destiny, sins and virtues in a glance. Human titles seemed so pointless given their nature. No human was less transient than another. "These have all been handled by others regularly," he sighed. "This belonged to her mother, this she shared with her brother, and this -" he nudged it aside with a wince - "Is inappropriate. Does she own anything she doesn't share?"
"There's her car. No one else gets to drive that thing."
Castiel nodded. "Where is it?"
John hesitated for a moment. "I haven't used your kind before. How does this work exactly?"
Castiel normally disliked working with new customers. They needed explanations he didn't particularly have the patience to give, not when they would have had them if they'd read the booklet given to all prospective clients. That said, John was a senator and likely spent all day reading already - moreover, having recently lost his son, Dean's brother, it was understandable. "Every human has a distinct scent. We can imprint on that scent, but we can only do so once. The clearer the scent, the easier it is to keep track of that human in future."
"My wife's dead," John pointed out, glaring.
"Her scent isn't."
John was quiet another moment, then, "Is it safe for you to imprint on her directly?"
Castiel blinked. "Most people are uncomfortable with being sniffed by strangers."
"It's for her own good," John said. "Sam never listened to me but she will."
"With due respect, your son didn't get himself killed," Castiel replied, tilted his head to the side when John punched him.
John cradled his aching hand. "That skin's worth the cost. You'd best use it to protect her."
Given Dean's penchant for nicknames, Castiel was a little surprised that his ended up being, simply, "Cas" as opposed to anything offensive relating to their first meeting involving him sniffing her. If anything, she'd shrugged it off, more preoccupied with her grief over her brother's death than with the invasion of her privacy.
She'd been somewhat reticent at first, and it had been both pleasing and disconcerting to watch her starting to adjust to life without her brother as time passed. While she never quite left her shell behind, there were moments where her confidence was clear; she knew she was beautiful, enjoyed flirting with the men and, on rare occasions, women she met in the bars and clubs she frequented, enjoyed bringing them back to her flat and making Castiel 'sleep' on the sofa while she, in turn, slept with them.
John would have disapproved had he known, but she was careful about her identity when she brought them back, so Castiel had no issues with waiting for her to be done and keeping her secrets.
She stood at the door one night after shooing out a stranger, two beers in her hands, her dressing gown loose and a pair of cotton panties the only modest thing on her, smiled at him. "You want some?" She asked.
Castiel knew the entendre for what it was, smiled back briefly. "A beer would be nice, thank you."
She slumped down on the sofa next to him, thighs warm where they pressed up against his, not bothering to adjust her dressing gown to cover them more. "You're not bad for a stiff, Cas. Thought you'd be squealing on me to dad the first chance you got."
"There's nothing wrong with what you do," Castiel replied, honest, allowing her to clink her bottle against his before she set about drinking. Her breath was already sweet with alcohol and the last of her perfume, not yet showered away.
"Wish more people thought that," She said in turn, leaning against him. "That guy was shit in bed. You wanna help me out?"
"Yes, but I shouldn't."
She laughed, rested her head on his shoulder. "Yeah. Probably not."
Castiel let her lace her fingers with his, squeezed back. Imprinting made fondness for a client almost inevitable, but Dean was far, far less problematic than previous clients he'd had. She was smart, street-smart too, but there was something delicate about her he'd do anything to protect.
He never wanted a chance to prove it but when John openly voiced his support for a particular group of hot topics his private life came under close scrutiny, the tragedy of Sam's murder exploited to full and Dean's personal life becoming something less than personal.
Castiel normally kept his distance, but Dean was unsettled by the attention, the prying into her brother and mother's deaths, drank a little less carefully, tried different clubs from her usual to avoid the press. And at first it was okay.
It only needed to be wrong once, though, and Castiel took the drink out of her hand, stormed across the club's floors and smashed it into the chest of the man who'd tainted it. "I'd think very, very carefully about where you're going," Castiel snarled, eyes flaring white, clear identification of who he was and what he was capable of before shoving the man violently towards the bouncers.
Dean still appeared to be in shock, and Castiel stood at her side, waited for her to settle, not touching her for now and brushing away anyone who attempted to.
"I shouldn't -" Dean began, cutting herself off before she continued, and Castiel shook his head even if she wasn't looking to see it.
"It wasn't your fault. He was the one in the wrong."
"It was, I'm in this stupid outfit and -"
Castiel rested his hand on her shoulder, waited for her to turn to him. "If your father was mugged, would you blame him for carrying his wallet?"
Dean was quiet for a moment, sobbed once before wiping her face, smudging her mascara. "Can I just go home?"
Castiel pressed his fingers to her forehead, blinked when she pulled away.
"You can drive," Dean said. Castiel understood, led her outside, nodded to the bouncers as he left. They'd be keeping a closer eye on their guests in future. Angels didn't only guard humans one on one, and Castiel had no qualms about sending in a colleague to make sure due care was being taken.
Castiel carried her up the staircase when she stumbled on her heels and sobbed again, headed up to her flat and laid her out on the sofa. Taking her to bed felt wrong, and he carried her blanket out of the bedroom and spread it over her. "I should wash," Dean said, once her crying had calmed down a little. "I should wash, I'm gross and -"
Castiel stood up, walked to the bathroom and filled a glass with water, used his other hand to pick up her toothbrush, toothpaste and a pack of facial wipes.
It wasn't the most thorough brushing but at least it was something, and it would do until morning. Wiping away her makeup was easier, took two wipes courtesy of her not being able to shift the worst of it with a proper wash first, but again, it would do.
Castiel looked at her, eyes bloodshot from crying, nose red and shiny, the space under it before her lips the same, stroked his fingers gently down her cheek. "If you need anything, just ask."
Dean leaned into his touch for a moment, then away, then back again, seeming torn before finally asking, "Can I have a drink of water?"
Castiel nodded, got up and headed to the kitchen. It was a strange relief to return and find her asleep, and he pressed his lips lightly to her forehead before sitting down on the floor, waiting for her to wake up. If she had nightmares, he'd be there to wake her.
Keeping his distance felt impossible after that incident and she expressed no displeasure, let him walk with her to the shops for coffee and sit with her in restaurants, let him dance with her when she decided enough was enough and she was going clubbing again. She seemed surprised when his initially awkward dancing improved quickly, but he'd always been a faster learner, and it was even easier when he could sense which of the male dancers in the room were attracting appreciation and which were attracting scorn.
It was scarcely professional, but angels weren't working to human standards.
Going clubbing on occasion changed gradually, bit by bit into clubbing regularly, though he noticed her drinks had switched from open glasses to bottles, a precaution he wished she didn't feel the need to take. Clubbing regularly changed back into kissing people she took a liking to, and he figured she'd be happy bringing others back to the flat eventually, enjoyed the thought of her relaxing.
He hadn't entirely expected her to push away someone who switched from kissing to groping, even though her scent indicated she enjoyed the touches, but there was no rushing healing.
He hadn't expected at all that she would push them away, walk over to him, and kiss him instead.
"I want you, Cas," Dean said. "Come back to my place."
Castiel took a breath that shook more than he ever would have expected it to. "I always do."
The drive home had never felt longer and he kept wondering what to say, if he should say anything, but this was Dean's territory and if he let her control it, he knew she would stop before things made her uncomfortable. Knew he could stop himself, could smell fear on her if it was there, knew the difference between the excited scent of nerves and the sharp tang of panic.
She walked him up the stairs, steady this time, and Castiel found himself hesitant for the first time at the door to her flat.
She turned to him, looked uncertain but for reasons he couldn't quite tell. "You still want this?" She asked.
Castiel understood the uncertainty then, kissed her, wrapped his arms around her and supported her weight when she took it as permission to jump into his arms. He was ten, twenty, thirty times her strength if not more, and it was easy to carry her, kick the door shut behind them, her hands reaching behind him blindly to lock it.
"Bedroom, now," she said, and he felt dizzy with the warmth of her, the permission to hold her, to smell her, the anticipation of what she was allowing him to take.
He opened the door, eased her down onto the bed, stripped off quickly before stretching out over her and holding still the second she said stop.
It wasn't a panicked stop, it was a moment of quiet stop. She wanted to look at him, and Castiel realised that even if he held his body in little regard, she appreciated it. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his chest, thumbed the mole next to his nipple before thumbing that in turn. "You're gorgeous," she said, sitting up and pulling her dress off over her head.
Castiel's breath stopped for a second at the discovery she wasn't wearing a bra, just black panties. And as much as he wanted to pause and admire her, he wanted to admire all of her, gripped the elastic around her waist and started to pull, slow, waiting for her to say stop again. She didn't, let him pull them down her legs before discarding them and stretching out over her again.
She shivered when he kissed her, her chest warm against his, her thighs warm and soft and inviting against his own. He'd meant to kiss and stroke every inch of her, meant to suck on her nipples and lick at the slick folds of her cunt, but she knew what he needed better than he did, slipped her hand down between his legs and wrapped it around his cock, pressed it up against her.
"What about condoms?" Castiel asked, hating to kill the moment, even briefly, but she pressed her free hand against his cheek.
"Have you got anything I can catch?"
"No," Castiel replied, "But if you get pregnant -"
"I'm on the pill," Dean said. "I just tell people I'm not because I don't trust them."
It wasn't an implication so much as an outright statement, and when she moved her hand from his cheek to his hip and pulled down, his breath was knocked clear out of him again, this time as much by what she had said as by the feel of her.
And she felt incredible. Castiel had seen sex over and over in Heaven, had watched it as a daily part of people's lives, but with Dean he'd craved touch, more than he had with anyone else he'd ever imprinted on; with Dean he knew it wouldn't have mattered if he'd imprinted or not, he'd still want this more than anything he'd ever wanted for himself.
Dean spread her legs to let him in deeper and Castiel understood in an instant why humans wrote about love and sex in the same breath even without religion causing them to. Sex had only been an idea of interest before, not something that appealed, not something searing and intense and desperate.
With her hands free she kept one on her own breast, pulling and twisting at an already hard nipple almost lazily, her other hand on his chest and rubbing at his own, and he knew it reduced their ability to manoeuvre when he kissed her but it was almost impossible to resist, her kisses hungrier now, biting at his lips and sucking on his tongue.
She was hot against him wherever he touched, slick too where he pushed into her with his cock or his tongue, and he felt a twinge of guilt when that heat became too much, when he felt his back tense up and his skin draw tight.
"Do it," she gasped against his ear, almost sobbed, "Do it, do it, please,"
He muffled his yell against her neck when he came but his true form wouldn't allow it, cracked the glass on her bedside table, and he could only be thankful that the loud music of the club had already numbed her hearing. He'd come before, experimented with his form, but there was nothing like this - nothing to begin to compare to it.
She pushed him away and he barely found the energy to shift at her command but he did, saw her slip her hands between her legs, rubbing at her swollen clit with one, sliding two fingers of the other up inside her, and though watching was amazing he couldn't leave her to this alone, pulled her fingers out of her to replace them with his own, shifted down a little so he could suck on her nipple as he'd wanted to before, fascinated at how it stood hard even though she was lying down, and her shuddering clenching around his fingers, her hissed groans and the way his fingers struggled to gain any purchase was indication enough when she came.
The bed was damp where her hips rested and Castiel wondered how much of a sin it would be to clean the mess using his powers; figured it wouldn't be too wicked if he only cleared the sheets.
"Cas," Dean said, breath steadying as she wrapped a hand around his and pulled him back up to lie next to her. "If you leave me over a paycheck, I'll fucking kill you."
Castiel gave her an unimpressed look before kissing already kiss-bruised lips, knowing they might ache, knowing they didn't seem to mind. "If you think I could consider it, you're not as bright as I thought."
Dean squeezes his hand and grins before snuggling into his chest. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Castiel replied, pressing a kiss to her hair before shifting a little to get comfortable on the mattress. "You're more than welcome."
John Winchester could keep his checks in future. Castiel could afford to retire for a few decades, and if he happened to keep an eye on one of his imprints - it wasn't as if that was a crime.
Even if it had been, Castiel doubted that would stop him. John would have been welcome to shoot him.
Even if he'd been human, taking a bullet for Dean would be worth it.
The End
Prompt: Misha/Mark Pellegrino, D/s
Neither Misha nor Mark(sha) can figure out who is the dom in this situation, but they're both pretty sure it's themselves.
FILLED: Oh No You Didn't - Misha/Mark Pellegrino, D/s
They'd been having the same argument for some time now. Mark didn't care what Misha's social studies suggested or what Misha's wife's thoughts were - as far as he was concerned, if you were on the bottom, you weren't the dom.
Yes, Misha was the one yelling "Harder!" when Mark spanked him, Misha was the one who came up with the idea of spanking, but Mark was still the one carrying it out.
Misha didn't like the idea of limits, tested his as far as he could take, let Mark slide four lubed fingers into him though he hadn't yet been able to take Mark's fist; practical issues meant they couldn't exactly let Misha stretch himself with a plug given he was filming almost as often as Jared and Jensen these days.
Mark hadn't met anyone like Misha before, but most people returned the favour talking about him; he was one of those guys where at school or at work you'd get "John's friend", "The red-haired one," "The jock-looking guy" and "Mark". It didn't matter if there were three or four other Marks in the same building, everyone knew who Mark was.
Hell, even when Mark Sheppard turned up on set, if you asked for Mark people still knew you meant Pellegrino.
Misha was a weird enough name that he didn't need to lay claim to it, but Mark knew full well if Misha had been a John or a David then he'd be treated like the only John or David on set. People like Misha weren't supposed to turn up more than once in your life, running through - often naked - and throwing everything into disarray. It had been enough when they filmed that dumbass movie - he really, really needed to stop letting his agent talk him into things while drunk - but bumping into him an age later and finding the guy's only added another fifteen buckets of crazy to his behaviour was something else.
Misha finally had a day off from filming and Mark waited for him to be done updating his wife on his shenanigans as per usual - Mark didn't catch much from the other end of the line except a request for more details, and damn, Vicky really was a catch - before Mark gagged him and wrestled him onto the bed, handcuffing him to the headboard.
Misha just kept smirking, as much with his eyes as to the stretch of his lips still allowed by the gag, and Mark rolled his eyes before lubing up the anal beads.
He tried not to think about the fact Misha was the one who'd picked the beads out, revelled instead in the noises Misha made as Mark pushed them in; it was a good job pretty much everyone knew Misha was a pervert, else he'd be concerned about anyone overhearing. Misha didn't exactly keep quiet about these things.
"You really like these, don't you?" Mark said, feeling the strange little slack-tight-slack-tight rhythm as he pushed the beads in, before hooking his finger through the little loop on the end. "I've been thinking about this all day," he says, before fixing a cock ring around Misha's erection. "About what to do to you, what to say to you, what a slut like you really wants."
Misha actually snickered, and Mark tried to keep a straight expression but completely failed, laughed back before pulling the beads out and getting off the bed. Misha looked at him, confused.
"I'm going to get breakfast," Mark said, watching the confusion turn to surprise, then disbelieving anger.
He grinned, wickedly.
"A sadist says no," Mark said, pulling on his pants and a shirt before heading out.
He wouldn't take too long. Maybe enough time for a coffee and a sandwich; he hadn't decided yet whether he was feeling kind enough to bring something back for Misha.
But it was so fucking worth it for the look on Misha's face.
Prompt: Uriel/Castiel, bloodplay
Uriel/Castiel, bloodplay. Maybe something based around 4.16? Here's a screencap (http://i46.tinypic.com/vym6bo.jpg) from that ep to get you anons going.
NO non-con please as that squicks me, though dun-con is fine.
FILLED: Uncovered Tastes - Uriel/Castiel, bloodplay
It doesn't matter that they're both angels. Hell leaves its marks.
Castiel first tastes his vessel's blood when he and Uriel are sparring, savoury and metallic, an odd mixture of pain and numbness where he tongues the split on his lip.
Uriel looks at him with hunger and it stirs Castiel, but these are not times for playing games as they would have in Heaven, before the battles they'd prepared for aeons ago began to rage around them. Castiel heals his lip and cleans himself up, leaves to return to the front lines.
When they see each other next, Uriel's strikes are not eager for weak spots, don't seek out winning openings with expert precision. Uriel seems determined to split his lip once more, but halts after a strike that leaves Castiel bleeding from his nose, and Castiel's breath halts for a second when Uriel pulls him closer and presses fingers across his lips, catching the blood where he can.
Uriel pulls his bloodied hand away afterwards and looks at it, and what had been a stirring the last time is replaced this time by a surge of arousal. Uriel licks his fingers with a curious expression, and Castiel shivers before flying away without a word. He doesn't know how to discuss this new development between them; without their true forms everything feels slightly strange and unreal, though their true forms rarely bleed.
Uriel spreads him out on the bed, almost reverent, patience he does not normally have showing in this as it had in Heaven. Uriel's hands are careful with him and Castiel thinks the earlier incidents forgotten, maybe even an embarrassment, but once they're both stripped and Uriel stretches over him, it's to reach for a blade on the bedside table.
Castiel's erection jumps, and he's as surprised by his own reaction as by Uriel's brazen decision to bring the knife to bed with them.
Uriel turns the blade over in his hands before saying, "You will ask me to stop if you need to."
Humans would likely make the statement a question, but Uriel knows him well enough not to neeed to, and Castiel hisses, arches into the slide of the blade down his cheek, scoring a line fine enough that it takes a moment to sting, and Uriel's tongue follows the path the blade left behind, cleaning before Castiel can heal.
It turns from a point of curiosity into something he can truly appreciate when Uriel moves down to his chest, because he can follow the lines Uriel creates, caught between his own arousal and the ebb and flow of pain and blood alongside it, the strange beauty of Uriel's fingers smearing patterns into his skin. The cherry red of blood alongside his own pale flesh is hypnotising, and it's no less spellbinding where it stains Uriel's fingers and lips.
Uriel carves a whorl into Castiel's stomach that has him bucking away from one touch and into that which he does not have, the need for Uriel's attention to his cock turning painful, and his shivers and sighs turn into a yell when Uriel sets the blade aside and wraps bloodied fingers around his cock, smearing blood and pre-come up and down the length.
"You may have your turn next time," Uriel says, pressing his lips to the skin of Castiel's inner thigh. "If you wish."
Castiel folds his arms across his face, almost ashamed of the depth of his own arousal as he reacts to Uriel's hands. "This is yours," Castiel says, and it's true - he has no interesting in doing the same to Uriel but he would take it from him again and again, the release and claim of having his skin opened and bled by Uriel's trusted fingers something he can't put into his own words.
Uriel wipes a thumb across the head of his erection, before leaning over and tonguing the slit, and when Castiel begins to come it's cruel and perfect that Uriel switches to holding him by the hips, stops them being able to buck up when he tries. It's a frustration and makes him come all the harder, restraint something else Hell tainted him with a desire for.
Uriel takes care of the clean-up and of his own pleasure, and Castiel watches, wonders if Hell's perversions are infectious or simply reveal tastes that might not have been discovered otherwise. He knows Uriel's beliefs tend towards the former - Hell's near all human formed, and his distaste for humans is scarcely subtle.
Castiel isn't so sure. He suspects in his case, at the very least, it simply gave him a chance to explore something that was always there; he just didn't know about it until he wore skin that bled and flesh that could not hide arousal.
Their journey on Earth was far from a spiritual one.
Prompt: Dean/Castiel - 5.08, non/dub con, exhibitionism, 1st time
Variation on a prompt above:
Dean finds out where Gabriel zapped Castiel off to during "Changing Channels": he was trapped in a gay porn where he was playing an angel (complete with fake wings, and nothing else) caught by human 'hunters' (or 'demons' with red horns) and fucked in every possible way. In the video, it's non-con at first then Castiel clearly gets into it, sucking and fucking and licking and moaning and coming multiple times. Dean watches the entire video, possibly masturbating. Afterwards/later, Dean calls Cas to his motel room (Sam is off sky diving) and reenacts his favorite parts of the video. First time D/C, please.
FILLED: Rewrite - Dean/Castiel - 5.08, non/dub con, exhibitionism, 1st time
When Dean first started watching the video, he figured he was going to Hell for it.
Five minutes in, when he'd kept watching, he figured no - this was the point where he was going to Hell.
Ten minutes in, when Castiel had stopped crying tears and started crying out, he figured that actually, this was the point of no return.
Gabriel was fucked up, but Dean was a hundred thousand times worse for watching the video; he'd seen Castiel looking dishevelled and hurt and shaken after being trapped in a TV world, he hadn't thought Gabriel would be fucked up enough to put Castiel in a porno.
And Dean was watching it, had moved from his hands over his eyes to his hands over his mouth, and the full body shot of Castiel, spread wide, legs spread for a guy beneath him and a guy above him, both of them balls-deep in his ass, and Castiel's face just wore this look of complete, complete surrender - that sent his hands lower.
His stomach churned but his cock was hard as a fucking rock. How couldn't it be? Cas, his Cas, stretched open and begging for more, staring at the camera as if he knew Dean was watching, begging until a third guy's cock filled his mouth - how couldn't he find it ball-bustingly hot?
It was fucked up a hundred different ways and when he came he ran for the bathroom pretty much instantly, had to clean up, clean his cock and his hands and his face as if he could wash away the guilt of what he'd done, of what he'd seen, of what he wanted because god help him, he wanted more.
He couldn't help but panic when he heard his voice called from the other room, found the video still running but no one else in the motel room, and "Dean," was repeated.
Castiel was on screen, the men standing around him, some of them still jerking off on his skin, and Castiel was stroking himself with one hand, fingering his ass with the other, eyes closed, face streaked with come.
"Dean," Castiel gasped in the video, and Dean's stomach bottomed out.
Castiel came for the third time on screen, in full view, the camera lingering over his body from the cock leaving wet bursts across his stomach to the bliss on his face.
Dean's name was on his lips.
Dean should have left it at that, burned the video, pretend it never happened. But he couldn't look at Castiel without seeing him spreadeagled and begging and knowing that Castiel had thought about him when coming; it gave the staring another depth he hadn't really considered seriously before.
Dean wasn't very good at leaving things, and it wasn't as if Castiel seemed to have much to do these days - besides, he got crabby if Dean left him alone for too long. Dean understood that fair enough, Castiel didn't exactly have many people to talk to.
He called Castiel up and put on the video, grabbed Castiel by the wrists before he could leave. "I saw everything," he said, felt searing guilt when Castiel's expression turned distraught. "Gabriel's a fucking asshole but I can't lie, I thought it was hot. I thought you were hot."
"It felt real," Castiel replied. "I'm sullied."
"Fuck that shit," Dean snapped, because he needed Castiel to know what Gabriel did wasn't fucking okay, and what Castiel did in response was. "Fuck that shit, Cas, it's not your fault if you enjoyed it after long enough, it's not your fault if you got into it, and I don't think there's anything fucked up about you."
Castiel was tense and Dean sighed before pressing his lips to Castiel's cheek. "I mean it, Cas. You're fucking gorgeous and Gabriel's a bastard and I liked it when you called my name because I'm fucked up. I'm sorry."
Castiel let out a small gasp, eased one of his hands out of Dean's grip and raised it to his face, cupped his cheek. "I pretended it was you. It made it easier."
"I'd do anything for you, Cas," Dean said, honest, stepping a little closer until he was pressed fully up against Castiel, nothing hiding his arousal. "Anything you asked."
Castiel's eyes met Dean's for the first time in a while and he felt the shivery little breaths as Castiel found the courage to ask. Dean meant what he'd said. He just needed to find out what Castiel wanted.
"I want - our video," Castiel said, licking his lips and brushing his fingers down Dean's jaw. "I want us on film, not - not that. I want you inside me on film."
Dean's cock hardened painfully, because he'd meant what he said, he'd do anything Castiel asked, but he'd thought Castiel would want easing in - not jumping to exhibitionism in an instant.
As if sensing his hesitation, Castiel added, "I want you to claim me."
Castiel reappeared with a camera with a speed Dean didn't question; wherever Castiel had taken it from, they didn't need it as much as he and Cas did.
Castiel didn't want to strip for the camera, and Dean went to busy himself setting the camera up, but not wanting to strip for the camera didn't mean not wanting to strip for anyone. Dean found himself pushed to sit on the bed while Castiel peeled out of his clothes, and Dean had never been more glad for Castiel's layers because even if Castiel wasn't exactly a tease with his stripping, the layers meant seeing Castiel's skin inches at a time, no rush, sending his already hard cock into begging for attention.
It seemed unfair that Castiel was only half-hard when he finished, and Dean wished he hadn't rushed undressing himself, but at this point Castiel didn't mind the camera being turned on and he had no objections to showing Castiel what he could do.
Sucking Castiel's cock had the advantage of letting him instantly gauge what worked for Cas and what didn't, and the beauty of the camera was not having to worry as much about what he was missing, even if he did look up when he could, met Castiel's eyes when they looked down at his. It was strange, to have this sort of power over someone, but Dean pulled away before that thought could take root.
"What do you want, Cas?" Dean asked, stroking Castiel's erection lazily with one hand, leaving his own ignored for now given it had no intention of going away anytime soon. "Anything."
"Just fuck me," Castiel replied, and Dean bit his lip, those words from Castiel's lips more intense than they could be from anyone else's.
He guided Castiel into kneeling, facing the camera, not the best few for anything explicit but he knew what he wanted to see; he wanted Castiel's expressions, wanted to show anyone who saw the video what he could do to Cas.
Vaseline made do, and Dean slicked up his own cock, finger-fucked Castiel's ass briefly, before wiping his fingers clean and moving to kneel behind Castiel and pausing.
"What?" Castiel asked after a moment, looking over his shoulder, and Dean stroked a hand down Castiel's side, searched for the words.
"I can't just fuck you," he said, before wrapping an arm around Castiel's waist, pulling Castiel into his lap. "I want you to fuck me."
Castiel frowned, looked almost hurt for a moment. "I want you in me."
"I know," Dean replied. "But I want you taking what you want." Castiel continued looking confused, so Dean demonstrated, lay down and took Castiel's hands, guided him into kneeling over him. "I want you riding. To choose."
Castiel reached a hand between them and Dean let one of his join Castiel's, guided his cock to Castiel's entrance.
"Fuck yourself on me," Dean said, and Castiel lowered himself down, sank back against Dean's cock, and Dean couldn't help groaning out at the heat of Castiel, the tightness of him. "Fuck, yes,"
"Dean," Castiel cried out, lifting himself up a little and pushing back down. "Oh Dean, Dean, more!"
Dean obeyed, started shifting his hips in time with Castiel's as best as he could, but Castiel was hungry and fast, fucked himself hard, almost harder than Dean could keep up with, and helping Castiel jerk off with a free hand had been the idea but he couldn't find the energy, had to be thankful that Castiel chose to jerk himself off, seeming to have picked up tips on what he liked from the hour spent on video before. Dean almost wished there were more of him, wished he could fuck Castiel's ass and mouth and ride his cock at the same time, but he couldn't, had only this to offer.
Castiel seemed to accept it willingly and Dean came viciously, fucking up into Castiel fast and deep and brutal, felt his heart sink when Castiel climbed off him.
"Cas?"
"We're done," Castiel said, jerking himself off out of the camera's view, and Dean wasn't having that, forced himself to sit up.
"Why?"
"You've fucked me," Castiel replied. "That's all you needed."
Dean forced back a growl before grabbing Castiel by the back of the neck. "You're a fucking idiot, Cas. I want you. Not just this, not just what I can fuck. You."
He slid his hand between Castiel's legs, squeezed his balls gently before moving further underneath, rubbing the slickness still present at Castiel's ass further under, along the perineum, teasing. "I want you, Castiel, you're not just some hole with a pretty face. You're Castiel, you're weird and you're fucking gorgeous and I want you."
Castiel's eyes seemed to light up with something painful but beautiful and Dean kissed him, swallowed his cries as he came, Dean's hand joining Castiel's for the last few thrusts so he could feel the wet bursts when they happened.
"You," he repeated, pulling back from the kiss once Castiel's breathing settled and licking his fingers clean.
Castiel pointed at the camera and it shattered into pieces, surprising Dean into jumping. "Cas?"
"We're making another video," Castiel said, before kissing Dean lightly, just missing his lips slightly and hitting the side. "One we both want to watch."
Dean's grin reflects the slight smile on Castiel's lips, and he kisses him again.
"Or two," he suggested.
Prompt: Cop!Dean/Cas - AU, d/s, begging, handcuffs
Cas is trying to cover up for a few misdemeanors (up to author) that his brother (Gabriel? Michael? also up to author) is guilty of, so he goes to officer Dean and make a deal with him.
FILLED: Abuse of Authority - Cop!Dean/Cas - AU, noncon/dubcon, begging, handcuffs
Castiel almost felt the siren before he heard it. He'd told Michael to slow down, Lucifer's blood still spattered across Michael's shirt, his lip still bleeding from the fight. They hadn't meant to kill him, they hadn't, and then Lucifer had pulled the gun -
Fuck, fuck, just the once, Michael had promised, one more debt collected and they could go straight.
Castiel watched the cop walk over, tap on the window. "Care to tell me what's got you speedin' at two in the morning?"
Michael fell mute and Castiel winced before leaning across. "We were in a fight," he said, digging his fingers into Michael's thigh when his brother tried to speak. Half the reason Castiel was a good liar was his ability to use the truth in his lies. "We were drinking and we got jumped. These jokes thought I was - they didn't think Mike was my brother."
The cop nodded. "How much you been drinkin' before hitting the road?"
"Just a beer," Michael said. "Designated griver."
"Uh huh. Driver's license?"
Michael fumbled for a moment before handing it over, both of them relaxing when the cop took it and glanced over the contents.
"Sir, please step out of the car."
Michael nodded, knew as Castiel did the breathaliser would show clean, grabbed the door handle.
"Not you, sir, your brother. I'd like to take some details down about this fight.
Castiel paused before opening the door, climbing out on unsteady feet and walking around to the cop's side, letting himself be taken by the arm and pulled over behind the cop's car, nodding to Michael as he went.
The cop pulled off his helmet and sunglasses, and Castiel flushed at the face hidden underneath. It wasn't an honest face, but it was good looking.
"Do you think I'm stupid? You don't have a mark on you, neither of you smell like a bar, and there's word out that a very well known drug dealer was battered to death all of four hours ago."
"I don't know what you -"
"Lu was a fucking dick," said the cop, green eyes blazing. "Got three in my department hospitalized, not that anyone could prove it. Law says I have to bring you in. I say I don't."
"Thank you, I -"
"This ain't for free," the cop said, one of his hands moving to Castiel's waist. "I figured your brother'd be too much of a dumbass to bring a bribe with him, but you'll do."
Castiel tensed, backed up against the car.
"Relax, kid, I ain't gonna hurt ya. It's been a long fucking shift and you're the first pretty thing I've seen. What're you hidin' under that shirt?"
Castiel thought for a moment about running, about shouting for Michael, but he knew they'd run into back up if this guy asked for it and if they didn't leave him alive, no cop killer was getting out of this state easily. He started unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers.
"You're not a mute. What's your name?"
"Cas," Castiel said, fighting tears stinging his eyes. "Are you going - are you going to rape me?"
The cop snorted. "I said I ain't gonna hurt ya. Don't want to spoil something pretty as you unless you want it. I just think I'll look, maybe touch a bit, maybe have you touch me. You understandin' me yet?"
Castiel nodded, finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it free from his jeans, opening it.
The cop whistled, stroked a thumb over Castiel's nipple. "I take back that maybe. Seems a damn shame lettin' something like that go to waste."
Castiel looked away when the cop started unzipping his pants but found curiosity getting the better of him. He'd never seen another man's cock up close, wondered whether it would look like his own or different.
The cop seemed to take his curiosity for something else, given his smirk. "Cock-hungry little thing, aren't ya? Could almost believe that story you spun."
"I didn't mean to look."
"Lets make a deal, Cas," the cop said. "I'm going to handcuff your hands behind your back. You suck my cock? I'll let you and your brother go free. Hell, I'll keep the highway guys around here off your trail. Got it?"
Castiel nodded, closed his eyes against the shameful, embarrassing arousal shooting through him at the assault the cop was making him ask for, gasped involuntarily when the handcuffs clinked behind his back. "I haven't done this before."
"Virgin lips? Sweet. I'll tell you if you're doing anything wrong.
Castiel sank to his knees and let the cop press the head of his cock against his lips, angry red and dripping with precome, and it was some small consolation that at least this wouldn't last long. He swallowed down the panic rising in his stomach, forced his mouth open, let the cop's cock inside.
It tasted odd but Castiel tried not to focus on that, concentrated instead on sucking, moving his head back and forth. It hurt his jaw, having to be careful not to bite, his tongue of little help given how much he was drooling, only knowing by taste what was his own spit and what was the cop's precome.
The cop had lied about not hurting, fisted a hand in his hair and pushed his cock deeper than Castiel could take, past the gag reflex, and if Castiel hadn't already vomited after Lucifer died he'd have been at risk of puking now; his throat hurt where the cop fucked it, and he choked, coughing when he felt what he at first thought was precome spattering against it before he realised from the sheer volume of it that the cop was actually coming, making him swallow, and he couldn't help but start crying.
The cop pulled away and zipped up but his eyes were still hungry, eyeing the erection Castiel had developed involuntarily.
"I did what you asked," Castiel said.
"What can I say, I'm greedy," the cop replied, pulling Castiel up to his feet and unzipping Castiel's pants, turning him around and bending him over, pulling Caastiel's pants down to his ankles and wrapping a hand around Castiel's cock, stroking, before his other hand came down on Castiel's ass with a loud smack.
For Michael, for himself. For going straight.
Castiel came fast and hard on the eighth smack, collapsed against the cop's car, shivering as the cop tucked him back into his clothes and removed the cuffs.
"You're ever around these parts again kid, you give me a call. Name's Dean. Winchester."
Castiel walked away and back to Michael, didn't look back, stopped Michael getting out of the car.
Michael didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He drove.
The were an hour down the road before Michael pulled over and hugged him.
No more cops and drug dealers. They were going straight for good.
And they'd both be carrying scars with them.
Prompt: Dean/Cas, watersports, edging
Um. I feel kind of awful asking for this, but...
yeah, either one of them, don't care who, on the edge for ages, and can't tell whether he wants to come or piss more. with release, please, and no d/s
FILLED: Easing the Ache - Dean/Cas, watersports, edging
Dean can't seem to wrap his head around the idea that Castiel will do anything he can for him, if only Dean would ask.
It's frustrating beyond the telling of it because he wants to help Dean, he does - he wants to satisfy him in any way Dean needs and Dean just cannot seem to accept that Castiel will not judge him for it.
He ends up taking matters into his own hands literally when Dean wakes up in the morning, walks into the bathroom and stays there, unable to act. Castiel walks in after him, wraps an arm around Dean's waist. "What is it?" Castiel asks, because he needs to make Dean ask, can't take this for himself without permission, without Dean accepting that he needs this.
"I can't," Dean says, boxers around his ankles, leaning over the toilet bowl, eyes squeezed shut. He's tense and in pain, and Castiel knows why, but he needs Dean to say it out loud.
"Can't what, Dean?"
"I can't piss, Cas." Castiel nods, nuzzles Dean's neck with his nose, and once Dean's opened his mouth the words keep coming. "I can't, not unless I'm drunk, and I don't know what's wrong with me. It stings like fuck. Even my dick's against me these days."
Castiel can ask now, had waited on the confession first. "Let me help."
"It's not like that -"
"It is," Castiel interrupts, licking Dean's neck and wrapping a hand around Dean's cock, not stroking, just holding it. Dean freezes up.
"Cas, you can't just - you can't - Cas, you can't just be here while I piss!"
Castiel begs to differ, presses a kiss warm against Dean's bared shoulder. "Don't you want me here?"
"No," Dean says, but there's no feeling in it. "I can't let - people don't do this, Cas,"
"And am I people?" Castiel asks, and he strokes now, fingers gentle down the shaft and cupping Dean's balls lightly before moving back up. He doesn't grip tight, doesn't want any restraint here. He's trying to tease it out of Dean as much as he's trying to tease the truth. "I'm here for you, Dean. Whatever you want."
Dean shivers and an "Oh, God," falls from his lips before he starts leaking. He's not quite pissing properly yet, and Castiel understands the pain of this, of not letting go.
"Dean, trust me," Castiel says, wrapping his hand fully around Dean's cock again and kissing the back of Dean's neck. "I will never judge you. I've seen the worst of you and I still love you. It's that simple."
Dean shudders, more slight wet bursts dripping from him, and Castiel lets Dean go before moving to sit in front of him on the toilet seat. Dean freezes up altogether. "Cas, you don't -"
"Dean, it's okay. I want this." He reaches out for Dean's cock, guides Dean forward into pressing it against his shirt, against his chest. "And you need it."
Dean lets go and sobs as he does, soaking Castiel's shirt as he pisses, warm and wet and so utterly, completely human, something Castiel will never do or be able to do.
Castiel waits for Dean to be done before he unbuttons his shirt and throws it into the bathtub to clean later, pulling Dean down into his lap. His own trousers are still a little damp, but it's okay. It's all okay.
Dean wraps his arms around Dean's back and Castiel holds him the same way, shushes him when he keeps crying, presses kisses to any skin he can reach without pulling away from the embrace.
"I don't know what I did to get you," Dean says, still shuddering with each breath from tears and release. "I don't deserve you."
Castiel shakes his head, brushes his cheek against Dean's as he pulls back enough to meet Dean's eyes. "God brought me to you, not any of the other angels. I think He knows what you deserve."
Dean snorts before wiping at his own nose, grimacing at the smell of his hands. "Ugh," he says, before he laughs, wet and a little too loud. "God, he - yeah. With his sense of humour, figures this is his kind of romance."
Castiel nods before kissing Dean firmly on the lips. "We're washing before we go back to bed. I do have some limits."
Dean laughs again, and lets Castiel lift him into the bath. "Guess I'll have to try and find them."