Blindfold repost time!
First off, the short fills :).
God!Castiel/Crowley (Non-con, powerplay, bloodplay, object insertion)
Request: When god!Castiel finds Crowley in that trailer and Castiel refuses a drink Crowley says: “You like to bend ‘em right over, do you?” Please, please, PLEASE someone write a scene where Castiel answers in the affirmative and proceeds to teach Crowley his place in the new order of things. He temporarily strips Crowley of his powers and Crowley has no choice but to submit. Doesn’t mean he has to like it. The rougher the better in this OP’s opinion. Breathplay, bloodplay, object insertion, humiliation. Crowley’s POV will give you about a gazillion gold stars in my book.
It isn't supposed to go like this. Castiel was his kitten, his virgin whore, innocent and gullible in so many perfect ways.
Castiel isn't supposed to brand his skin and bind him into a borrowed body or shove him onto a cheap, shitty bed, with the sort of intent that makes Crowley seriously reconsider his insult choices.
"Darling, you know I didn't mean -"
Castiel doesn't have to lift a finger or chant a word, the power crackling through him far from godly and stealing Crowley's breath all by itself.
"I have had enough of your taunts," Castiel says, neutrality tinged with bitterness, and Crowley shrinks back as Castiel forces his legs apart without a touch. "I have had enough of people telling me what I want. I have had enough of orders. You will obey me."
It is more than silence and binding keeping Crowley in place and he can't help but feel more alarmed here than he ever did when older demons played games with him in Hell so many centuries ago. Castiel cannot read his memories and toy with them, but the very fact of his being an angel makes him unpredictable.
Drawers clatter to the floor, scattering their contents until Castiel closes his eyes, concentrating. "Keep quiet, if you value your vessel."
Crowley realises what Castiel was after and does exactly as the angel ordered, holds stiff and still as knives and scissors float over to the bed, blades pressing against the seams and button-holes of his clothing. They move slowly and deliberately, no intention to cut his flesh present but leaving him breathless with anxiety whenever sharp blades press close enough to scrape, not quite close enough to slice.
Castiel opens his eyes again after a moment and looks at his handiwork with satisfaction, peels shreds of cloth away from Crowley's chest and groin, fingers grazing skin that doesn't react favourably to the touch.
Crowley might have developed a few kinks in Hell, but he still doesn't take any pleasure in this.
The knives and scissors drop and Crowley bites down on his tongue at the few that leaves cuts when they do, the fruit knife that embeds itself in his arm.
"Well done," Castiel says, pulling the knife out without a single twist, no relishing the blood he has drawn, no licking the blade. It's all so clean that Crowley can't find anything familiar in it.
There isn't enough room for a chair so Castiel moves to stand at the foot of the bed, staring down at Crowley, and if it weren't for the fact Castiel's trousers showed no hints of arousal Crowley would have expected another order from the old days.
There's nothing to suck or fuck here, though. Castiel doesn't work that way.
"On your knees," Castiel orders regardless, and Crowley obeys, feels more naked hidden inside this stolen body than he ever did in his first, real skin. One of the larger knives levitates again and Crowley shakes his head, afraid to say anything and even more afraid not to, and Castiel tilts his head before frowning. "What sort of god do you take me for?"
The handle presses against him and Crowley can't help but shake a little with both relief and horror, relief that Castiel was disgusted by the thought of pushing the bladed edge into him, horrified that he still wanted to push the blunt end in.
It doesn't slide in easily and it is uncomfortable enough he chokes as it presses in as far as it can without the blade following after, and Castiel leans over, tilts Crowley's head up with his fingers until his eyes meet.
"I am no-one's whore," Castiel says. "I am their god, and I will make this world just. You are their devil. You are everyone's whore," Castiel presses a kiss to Crowley's forehead, a pretence of benevolence, before catching his gaze once again with eyes madder than any demon's. "For the price that I set."
Castiel disappears without a further word, and after pulling the knife back out of him Crowley can't cut the brand on his skin quickly enough.
His Hell would be a vacation after this.
Dean/Castiel, breathplay
Request: the euphoria/pain of being choked and fucked until he comes reminds Castiel of heaven as heaven was always a beautiful but wicked place for him
Dean's hands are rough where they close around his neck; they had been smooth once, when Castiel brought him back, but work and hard living have brought back scars and calluses.
Castiel likes them rough. They feel more real that way, more alive against his vessel's skin.
Heaven is so far away now, his brothers and sisters afraid of him - they see him as a new Lucifer, someone who betrayed them all but who is nonetheless favoured by God, someone who won't die.
The Heaven he once knew feels like a distant memory but Dean brings it a little closer with this act; the slide of Dean's cock inside him is nothing like communing, but it reminds him of how it felt to be one with his brothers and sisters. The spikes of pleasure as Dean hits his prostate are nothing like ecstasy, but they remind him of how it felt to believe in and worship God with all his being.
The squeeze of Dean's fingers remind him of how everything came crashing down, the war and the Hell they brought into their own ranks. Hell wasn't just a place, it was infectious, and no angel had emerged from the quest to find the righteous man untouched.
"Yes," Castiel yes, urging Dean on and threading his own fingers through Dean's hair, pulling Dean down into a kiss he has little breath for.
Castiel had thought he could fix everything, give his family the father they wanted, become the father he had so desperately wished for himself, and he had failed.
"Tighter," Castiel urges, and feels the air cut off to his body altogether. He has enough power to get it back through other means if he wishes, but he doesn't, lets the rush of panic spread through his blood. His thoughts slow down to little more than a need for air and a need for release, and there is a certain ecstasy to be found in that - in letting go of everything else except this body's needs.
Dean looks anxious above him and Castiel shuts his eyes, nods, allows Dean to let go.
There is nothing but his own gasps, the agonising pleasure centered around his prostate and his cock, wet splatters of come almost a distance thought between the thrill of air and of orgasm gained all at once.
He barely notices Dean finishing inside him, pays only the slightest attention to the sensation of Dean sliding back out of him.
Dean says something to him, but Castiel ignores it. This moment is his, and it's the only moment he'll have to himself until he next allows Dean to fuck him.
It's the only moment he can escape into the Heaven he wished he remembered. He isn't sure anymore if it ever really existed.
Taste Test - Dick/Sam - Face eating
Request: Eating someone's face is the sexiest thing a Leviathan can do.
When Dick meets Sam he can't stop thinking about his pretty face and how he would eat it.
Human bodies were so bitty. He didn't like wearing one and he didn't like feeding on them. They were easy to swallow but so unpleasant to digest, bones and nerves and organs scattered lazily throughout clumsy flesh, and it unsettled his stomach.
His family had been so easy to eat, all of them amorphous and jelly-like in Purgatory before they were crammed into the angel who drew them forth. The souls alongside them burned any tongues stupid enough to taste them, and he had clung tight to his claim on the angel's left wrist. Anyone who tried to squeeze alongside him was his to prey upon, and then there had been that brief moment of bliss when he was released from the angel into Earth's water.
Filthy water, yes, but comfortable, so much more comfortable than a body even if a body was more convenient for accomplishing anything more practical. He liked to take the new body swimming whenever he could, let himself seep out at the edges into water that never required chlorine; anything that tried to make a home in his private pool soon found itself a place in his stomach. Bacteria, algae and pupae - delicious, albeit lacking in nutrition.
It was too early in the day for a swim yet, his daylight security still mostly human, but it was a relief to toe off his shoes and dip his feet in the water as he answered the latest in a line of predictable calls.
"Well? Bring the poor boy in. He got this far all by himself, I think he deserves a meeting."
He hung up before anyone could make the mistake of arguing with him, smiled without turning to face the intruder his bodyguards were currently manhandling. Well over six foot, young white male, sideburns and floppy hair. It didn't take a genius to know who they had described over the phone.
"Leave us."
"But -"
"You took his weapons, didn't you?" He interrupted with another, different smile, watched them rush to avoid his anger, frisking Sam for what he truly hoped was at least the second time before leaving.
"Go on then," Sam said, opens open and defiant. "Kill me."
"Don't be so dramatic," Dick said, glancing over at the window pointedly. "You're not worth the clean-up costs. Do you know how expensive a murder is in this country?" Sam twitched and Dick bent over, rolled up his trousers before sliding his legs further into the pool, letting the water around his feet darken. "Come closer. I could rush you but lets keep pretending we're civilised."
Sam looked confused more than anything else, took three steps forward but no more, keeping his distance from the pool. Dick didn't hide his own disdain, lifted a hand so he could chew lightly on the nails with his ineffectual, human teeth. "Why'd you let them catch me if you're not going to kill me?"
"We might as well have a conversation if you're going to keep coming after me. Your idiot brother is suicidal, but you're almost interesting." Dick shrugged, dropped his hand and looked up at Sam, the height and build of him, licked his lips. Sam's discomfort was obvious, even amusing. "I could kill Dean easily. And Bobby. Missouri. Sarah. Cassie. Any number of friends your angel knew of while we rode him. But if I catch you, my plans are a little different."
Dick let more of himself out into the pool, licking its edges with the black slick of his true form, feeling the ebb and flow of the water along with what counted for arousal in his kind. The human body's blood and genitals meant little to him, but water could respond to his needs in kind.
"There is so much skin on you, Sam Winchester. You humans don't normally like skin, you try and keep it tight and bony. Not you hunters though, and not a big boy like you." He was teasing and he knew it, saw Sam's discomfort turn into disgust, and he felt the waves around his feet start to push and pull, water and his own real flesh swirling up around what he had borrowed. "No, you have big hands, big feet, big toes -"
"Shut up," Sam interrupted, and Dick pulled the concealed gun from under his jacket before Sam could make that interruption a more physical one.
"I would suggest you do the shutting up," Dick said, not bothering to make any further gesture with the gun than to rest it in his lap, finger loose on the trigger. "If you don't leave me alone, Sam, I will flay you with my teeth. My family have been feeding on your kind for weeks now; we know how to keep you alive as long as we want. And I know exactly where I want to start."
He allowed the last of his consciousness to slip down into the water but kept a tendril wrapped around his vessel's feet just in case Sam had any bright ideas of going after the gun. Not that it would do much, just that explaining any resultant damage to any human personnel who rushed in at the gunshots would be troublesome.
He let himself cling to the surface of the pool, riding the waves and surging back against them as he needed, thinking about the taste of Sam's skin. He could leave the bones behind with a meal as large as Sam, peel the soft flesh of Sam's cheeks and ears away with his teeth, rip into the sweet tendons of his neck. Eyes were a delicacy he could save for the end, though he would treat himself to the tongue much earlier, break the jaw in two for easier access.
The pool's water reacted to his pushing and pulling in all the ways he wanted, and it was an easy slide back up into his vessel, even if he was sated enough he barely wanted to return to its confines.
"My eyes are on your eyes, Sam," Dick said, grinning. "Take that thought away with you."
He lifted the phone to call his security back, to have Sam escorted off the premises, but couldn't resist one last quick wink.
"Don't make me kill you before I eat you," he teased. "I like my men like my yoghurt. Live."
Safety Off - Balthazar/Castiel, killer!Castiel, gunplay, deathfic
Request: this is fucked, but I have this image of someone (character/pairing flexible) being really into gunplay. what they don't know is that their newest sex partner (one-night stand or new relationship) is actually a sociopath / serial killer.
one night, while they're fellating a pistol, their lover pulls the trigger and blows their brains out.
up to you whether the lover then fucks the corpse
Castiel hadn't been in Sector Six in many years; too many memories, and too many familiar faces of those who hadn't escaped.
Balthazar's was one of the few welcome faces, and Castiel had been more than happy to sit with him for a drink - several drinks in Balthazar's case, given he had always drained his glass like a fish starving for water - and invite him back to his old house.
It hadn't aged a day, even without his parents looking after it. No one had broken in to squat and claim it for themselves; his old room had been exactly as he left it. Balthazar was uninterested in it, though; uninterested in squeezing both of them onto a single bed when Castiel's parents had left a perfectly suitable king-sized bed for the occasion. Castiel couldn't blame him, given he had taken over the room himself, unpacked what little he wished to unpack onto the bedside cabinet.
From the moment Castiel pushed Balthazar down onto the bed his old friend hadn't stopped glancing at the gun resting on the cabinet top. In any other house, Castiel might have resisted picking it up, but he had first heard its siren call here, in this same room.
"I always liked this gun," Castiel said, stroking his fingers over the barrel and feeling Balthazar buck up beneath him, hard, but not make any attempt to escape.
Castiel looked down and saw how Balthazar's skin had flushed, vivid red next to the black of his shirt, realised the buck had not come from nerves but from the same arousal that had brought them both here.
"I missed you," Castiel admitted, leaning in to kiss Balthazar, feeling his lips open easily and eagerly, hungry for Castiel's tongue. It was easy to close his eyes and think of all the times he had dreamed of this; Balthazar had been such a tease before Castiel left, always promising and never delivering.
"You never suited a stick up your arse," Balthazar said when their lips broke apart, grinning, "Though I can think of a few things that would look just right."
Castiel smiled back, nuzzled Balthazar's nose lightly with his own, wondered if he had ever smiled so easily with anyone else. Everything was simpler like this, natural, and Castiel offered the gun to Balthazar's mouth like a sacrifice; there was nothing more important in his life than that gun, and no-one else he would let touch it so intimately.
Balthazar's lips opened for the gun as readily as they had for Castiel's tongue, and Castiel watched him suck it in further, showing off, teasing yet again.
Castiel was too hard to leave himself untouched any longer, unzipped his and Balthazar's pants and brought their cocks together roughly with his free hand, started stroking them as he thrust the gun back and forth between Balthazar's lips.
"You said you would do anything for me," Castiel said, pulling the gun out of Balthazar's mouth and brushing it down and under his chin, watching Balthazar's own spit slick across the trail. "Did you mean it?"
"Anything," Balthazar replied eagerly, and Castiel leaned over, kissed him again and tasted the metal on his tongue before sitting up.
"Thank you," Castiel replied, and meant it.
Balthazar's eyes shut as Castiel jerked hard on both their cocks, shutting his own eyes in turn as he gave into the need for release and pulled the trigger.
He wasn't sure if it was come or blood that hit his stomach first, but it was the only orgasm he had ever wanted.
Dean/Castiel, watersports
Request: it's always the other way around so...
i really just want to see Cas pissing on Dean. i don't care how or why. it could be a first time or established, forced or willing, anything.
if you really want to make Dean drink it, that's fine but PLEASE include at least one scene where he gets drenched, including his hair. i will love you forever.
Castiel has long learned not to question human kinks. Certainly not Dean's, anyway - all he gets for his troubles are inconsequential muttering and Dean stubbornly refusing to ever bring the subject up again.
After Castiel returns from the lake, he finds that even if he does not need to eat, something in his vessel is irrevocably changed; he needs water often, more often than the Winchesters do, needs to drink it and pass it and immerse himself in it whenever possible. They stock the back seat with gallon-barrels of water for him so that he never falls short of it when he is with them, and when he is not with them, he finds the closest water source he can safely occupy.
He does not notice Dean's interest in his own need for water until they are having sex, his stomach slightly distended from drinking so much, and Dean presses down on the swell with a groan.
"This is uncomfortable," Castiel points out, and Dean shrugs, leaves his hand resting on Castiel's stomach while they fuck.
Castiel stands up afterwards to head to the bathroom, but Dean sits up to catch his arm, pulls Castiel back towards the bed.
Castiel looks down at Dean, sees desperation in his eyes that was not satisfied by fucking alone, and Castiel lets Dean grip his cock.
"Do you want me to urinate here?"
Dean laughs. "Call it piss, Cas. I want to see you piss."
Castiel doesn't understand, but he doesn't question either, rests one hand on Dean's shoulder and lets the other join Dean's hand on his cock. The strain of holding it in has been stinging his groin, and though it takes him a moment to make his body relax into the idea of pissing on someone else, he manages to let go. A short dribble at first, making Dean gasp before shutting his mouth and closing his eyes. The reassurance of Dean's gasp helps Castiel to stream freely, the water coming out almost colourless given his body has almost no impurities to offer - just the remains of other liquids he sometimes has to cope with when water is unavailable. Orange juice, coffee, soft drinks and beer.
Droplets cling to Dean's eyelashes, the rest of his hair soaked, warm and wet. Castiel licks his own lips at the sight.
He doesn't understand why it would appeal to Dean, but he understands why someone would want to piss on another person. Dean looks beautiful like this, submissive and debauched, and if it weren't for knowing what had wetted Dean's face he would want to kiss those damp, plump lips.
"Thanks," is all Dean says afterwards, suddenly looking embarrassed as he gets up and heads into the shower, and Castiel touches his fingers to the bedsheets and the carpet, cleaning up the mess left behind.
Dean seeks out vulnerability all the time without ever trusting himself to give into it, and Castiel follows him into the bathroom, finds him standing silent underneath the shower.
Castiel likes water anyway, climbs into the shower with him, and takes the shower gel, starts soaping up Dean's back. Dean won't accept a hug easily, but he'll accept this, and when Dean turns to kiss him before he has a chance to finish rubbing gel into Dean's shoulders, he accepts it.
"Thanks," Dean repeats, and Castiel suspects he means it this time.
Dean/Sam, murder/suicide
Request: Dean's finally had it and it's murder/suicide time.
Sam doesn't argue.
Up to the author if Dean goes through with it or not.
They defeated Leviathan, in the end.
Sam knew something had changed when Dean rescued him from the trap Dick had set up, and his reaction to finding Sam alive wasn't relief - it was exhaustion. After cutting Sam's bonds, Dean had sat down next to him, rested his head on Sam's shoulder, and closed his eyes.
The police would be here soon enough. Dick's security had only been part Leviathan, and he and Dean didn't kill humans; the ones who had escaped would call for help, and they'd either have to run for it or accept another stint in jail. Maybe in another asylum, if they pleaded insanity, though that would guarantee their separation.
Sam didn't just understand Dean's exhaustion, he shared it, and he took Dean's hand and squeezed it. "Saved the world again," Sam said, the words sounding empty. "Someone should toast us."
Dean sat up and looked ahead at the door, eyelids heavy, and Sam should have felt worry curling up in his gut as Dean's free hand toyed with the knife he'd used to help Sam escape. "Yeah, they should. Bobby got a toast."
Sam didn't add that Bobby was dead at the time. He didn't need to.
The knife was such an ordinary thing, sharp and serrated, a simple tool for a simple job.
"How long do we have to keep running?" Dean asked, turning towards Sam, eyes soft and dark.
Sam leaned over and wrapped his fingers around the knife, but didn't try to pry it loose, didn't curse when the blade bit lightly into his palm. "As long as there's something to run from," Sam replied.
Dean swallowed, and when he pressed his lips to Sam's, Sam didn't struggle. They had tried to hate themselves for wanting this for many, many, many years. Castiel had even pointed it out in Chuck's writing, once upon a time.
It was beautiful, but not enough to live for.
"Okay," Sam said, taking the knife from Dean and lifting it to his neck, waiting for an intake of breath, a gasp. "I love you."
"Girl," Dean replied, but Sam knew what he meant. John's idea of a conversation had forced him to learn how to read faces more than the words they spoke.
Sam cupped Dean's head in his free hand, nodded and waited for Dean to nod in return, kissed him once more and kept his tongue behind his own lips as he slid the knife in.
The bite reflex didn't trigger, but he had wanted to be safe rather than sorry, and he kept kissing until he felt the blood running over his fingertips start to cool.
They had all the tools they needed, and Sam covered himself in lighter fluid first, Dean second, tossed the lighter onto Dean's body.
If he was going to haunt anywhere, it wasn't going to be a rich bastard's mansion.
"I love you," Sam repeated, stepping forward so the flames engulfing Dean started to lick at his ankles, and raised the knife to his own neck.
Lucifer wasn't waiting for him this time. No one was.
Sam looked up at a night sky glowing with fireworks, at a big brother who was stronger and smarter and more beautiful than anyone else he'd ever known, and meant it when he laughed.
God!Castiel/Crowley (Non-con, powerplay, bloodplay, object insertion)
Request: When god!Castiel finds Crowley in that trailer and Castiel refuses a drink Crowley says: “You like to bend ‘em right over, do you?” Please, please, PLEASE someone write a scene where Castiel answers in the affirmative and proceeds to teach Crowley his place in the new order of things. He temporarily strips Crowley of his powers and Crowley has no choice but to submit. Doesn’t mean he has to like it. The rougher the better in this OP’s opinion. Breathplay, bloodplay, object insertion, humiliation. Crowley’s POV will give you about a gazillion gold stars in my book.
It isn't supposed to go like this. Castiel was his kitten, his virgin whore, innocent and gullible in so many perfect ways.
Castiel isn't supposed to brand his skin and bind him into a borrowed body or shove him onto a cheap, shitty bed, with the sort of intent that makes Crowley seriously reconsider his insult choices.
"Darling, you know I didn't mean -"
Castiel doesn't have to lift a finger or chant a word, the power crackling through him far from godly and stealing Crowley's breath all by itself.
"I have had enough of your taunts," Castiel says, neutrality tinged with bitterness, and Crowley shrinks back as Castiel forces his legs apart without a touch. "I have had enough of people telling me what I want. I have had enough of orders. You will obey me."
It is more than silence and binding keeping Crowley in place and he can't help but feel more alarmed here than he ever did when older demons played games with him in Hell so many centuries ago. Castiel cannot read his memories and toy with them, but the very fact of his being an angel makes him unpredictable.
Drawers clatter to the floor, scattering their contents until Castiel closes his eyes, concentrating. "Keep quiet, if you value your vessel."
Crowley realises what Castiel was after and does exactly as the angel ordered, holds stiff and still as knives and scissors float over to the bed, blades pressing against the seams and button-holes of his clothing. They move slowly and deliberately, no intention to cut his flesh present but leaving him breathless with anxiety whenever sharp blades press close enough to scrape, not quite close enough to slice.
Castiel opens his eyes again after a moment and looks at his handiwork with satisfaction, peels shreds of cloth away from Crowley's chest and groin, fingers grazing skin that doesn't react favourably to the touch.
Crowley might have developed a few kinks in Hell, but he still doesn't take any pleasure in this.
The knives and scissors drop and Crowley bites down on his tongue at the few that leaves cuts when they do, the fruit knife that embeds itself in his arm.
"Well done," Castiel says, pulling the knife out without a single twist, no relishing the blood he has drawn, no licking the blade. It's all so clean that Crowley can't find anything familiar in it.
There isn't enough room for a chair so Castiel moves to stand at the foot of the bed, staring down at Crowley, and if it weren't for the fact Castiel's trousers showed no hints of arousal Crowley would have expected another order from the old days.
There's nothing to suck or fuck here, though. Castiel doesn't work that way.
"On your knees," Castiel orders regardless, and Crowley obeys, feels more naked hidden inside this stolen body than he ever did in his first, real skin. One of the larger knives levitates again and Crowley shakes his head, afraid to say anything and even more afraid not to, and Castiel tilts his head before frowning. "What sort of god do you take me for?"
The handle presses against him and Crowley can't help but shake a little with both relief and horror, relief that Castiel was disgusted by the thought of pushing the bladed edge into him, horrified that he still wanted to push the blunt end in.
It doesn't slide in easily and it is uncomfortable enough he chokes as it presses in as far as it can without the blade following after, and Castiel leans over, tilts Crowley's head up with his fingers until his eyes meet.
"I am no-one's whore," Castiel says. "I am their god, and I will make this world just. You are their devil. You are everyone's whore," Castiel presses a kiss to Crowley's forehead, a pretence of benevolence, before catching his gaze once again with eyes madder than any demon's. "For the price that I set."
Castiel disappears without a further word, and after pulling the knife back out of him Crowley can't cut the brand on his skin quickly enough.
His Hell would be a vacation after this.
Dean/Castiel, breathplay
Request: the euphoria/pain of being choked and fucked until he comes reminds Castiel of heaven as heaven was always a beautiful but wicked place for him
Dean's hands are rough where they close around his neck; they had been smooth once, when Castiel brought him back, but work and hard living have brought back scars and calluses.
Castiel likes them rough. They feel more real that way, more alive against his vessel's skin.
Heaven is so far away now, his brothers and sisters afraid of him - they see him as a new Lucifer, someone who betrayed them all but who is nonetheless favoured by God, someone who won't die.
The Heaven he once knew feels like a distant memory but Dean brings it a little closer with this act; the slide of Dean's cock inside him is nothing like communing, but it reminds him of how it felt to be one with his brothers and sisters. The spikes of pleasure as Dean hits his prostate are nothing like ecstasy, but they remind him of how it felt to believe in and worship God with all his being.
The squeeze of Dean's fingers remind him of how everything came crashing down, the war and the Hell they brought into their own ranks. Hell wasn't just a place, it was infectious, and no angel had emerged from the quest to find the righteous man untouched.
"Yes," Castiel yes, urging Dean on and threading his own fingers through Dean's hair, pulling Dean down into a kiss he has little breath for.
Castiel had thought he could fix everything, give his family the father they wanted, become the father he had so desperately wished for himself, and he had failed.
"Tighter," Castiel urges, and feels the air cut off to his body altogether. He has enough power to get it back through other means if he wishes, but he doesn't, lets the rush of panic spread through his blood. His thoughts slow down to little more than a need for air and a need for release, and there is a certain ecstasy to be found in that - in letting go of everything else except this body's needs.
Dean looks anxious above him and Castiel shuts his eyes, nods, allows Dean to let go.
There is nothing but his own gasps, the agonising pleasure centered around his prostate and his cock, wet splatters of come almost a distance thought between the thrill of air and of orgasm gained all at once.
He barely notices Dean finishing inside him, pays only the slightest attention to the sensation of Dean sliding back out of him.
Dean says something to him, but Castiel ignores it. This moment is his, and it's the only moment he'll have to himself until he next allows Dean to fuck him.
It's the only moment he can escape into the Heaven he wished he remembered. He isn't sure anymore if it ever really existed.
Taste Test - Dick/Sam - Face eating
Request: Eating someone's face is the sexiest thing a Leviathan can do.
When Dick meets Sam he can't stop thinking about his pretty face and how he would eat it.
Human bodies were so bitty. He didn't like wearing one and he didn't like feeding on them. They were easy to swallow but so unpleasant to digest, bones and nerves and organs scattered lazily throughout clumsy flesh, and it unsettled his stomach.
His family had been so easy to eat, all of them amorphous and jelly-like in Purgatory before they were crammed into the angel who drew them forth. The souls alongside them burned any tongues stupid enough to taste them, and he had clung tight to his claim on the angel's left wrist. Anyone who tried to squeeze alongside him was his to prey upon, and then there had been that brief moment of bliss when he was released from the angel into Earth's water.
Filthy water, yes, but comfortable, so much more comfortable than a body even if a body was more convenient for accomplishing anything more practical. He liked to take the new body swimming whenever he could, let himself seep out at the edges into water that never required chlorine; anything that tried to make a home in his private pool soon found itself a place in his stomach. Bacteria, algae and pupae - delicious, albeit lacking in nutrition.
It was too early in the day for a swim yet, his daylight security still mostly human, but it was a relief to toe off his shoes and dip his feet in the water as he answered the latest in a line of predictable calls.
"Well? Bring the poor boy in. He got this far all by himself, I think he deserves a meeting."
He hung up before anyone could make the mistake of arguing with him, smiled without turning to face the intruder his bodyguards were currently manhandling. Well over six foot, young white male, sideburns and floppy hair. It didn't take a genius to know who they had described over the phone.
"Leave us."
"But -"
"You took his weapons, didn't you?" He interrupted with another, different smile, watched them rush to avoid his anger, frisking Sam for what he truly hoped was at least the second time before leaving.
"Go on then," Sam said, opens open and defiant. "Kill me."
"Don't be so dramatic," Dick said, glancing over at the window pointedly. "You're not worth the clean-up costs. Do you know how expensive a murder is in this country?" Sam twitched and Dick bent over, rolled up his trousers before sliding his legs further into the pool, letting the water around his feet darken. "Come closer. I could rush you but lets keep pretending we're civilised."
Sam looked confused more than anything else, took three steps forward but no more, keeping his distance from the pool. Dick didn't hide his own disdain, lifted a hand so he could chew lightly on the nails with his ineffectual, human teeth. "Why'd you let them catch me if you're not going to kill me?"
"We might as well have a conversation if you're going to keep coming after me. Your idiot brother is suicidal, but you're almost interesting." Dick shrugged, dropped his hand and looked up at Sam, the height and build of him, licked his lips. Sam's discomfort was obvious, even amusing. "I could kill Dean easily. And Bobby. Missouri. Sarah. Cassie. Any number of friends your angel knew of while we rode him. But if I catch you, my plans are a little different."
Dick let more of himself out into the pool, licking its edges with the black slick of his true form, feeling the ebb and flow of the water along with what counted for arousal in his kind. The human body's blood and genitals meant little to him, but water could respond to his needs in kind.
"There is so much skin on you, Sam Winchester. You humans don't normally like skin, you try and keep it tight and bony. Not you hunters though, and not a big boy like you." He was teasing and he knew it, saw Sam's discomfort turn into disgust, and he felt the waves around his feet start to push and pull, water and his own real flesh swirling up around what he had borrowed. "No, you have big hands, big feet, big toes -"
"Shut up," Sam interrupted, and Dick pulled the concealed gun from under his jacket before Sam could make that interruption a more physical one.
"I would suggest you do the shutting up," Dick said, not bothering to make any further gesture with the gun than to rest it in his lap, finger loose on the trigger. "If you don't leave me alone, Sam, I will flay you with my teeth. My family have been feeding on your kind for weeks now; we know how to keep you alive as long as we want. And I know exactly where I want to start."
He allowed the last of his consciousness to slip down into the water but kept a tendril wrapped around his vessel's feet just in case Sam had any bright ideas of going after the gun. Not that it would do much, just that explaining any resultant damage to any human personnel who rushed in at the gunshots would be troublesome.
He let himself cling to the surface of the pool, riding the waves and surging back against them as he needed, thinking about the taste of Sam's skin. He could leave the bones behind with a meal as large as Sam, peel the soft flesh of Sam's cheeks and ears away with his teeth, rip into the sweet tendons of his neck. Eyes were a delicacy he could save for the end, though he would treat himself to the tongue much earlier, break the jaw in two for easier access.
The pool's water reacted to his pushing and pulling in all the ways he wanted, and it was an easy slide back up into his vessel, even if he was sated enough he barely wanted to return to its confines.
"My eyes are on your eyes, Sam," Dick said, grinning. "Take that thought away with you."
He lifted the phone to call his security back, to have Sam escorted off the premises, but couldn't resist one last quick wink.
"Don't make me kill you before I eat you," he teased. "I like my men like my yoghurt. Live."
Safety Off - Balthazar/Castiel, killer!Castiel, gunplay, deathfic
Request: this is fucked, but I have this image of someone (character/pairing flexible) being really into gunplay. what they don't know is that their newest sex partner (one-night stand or new relationship) is actually a sociopath / serial killer.
one night, while they're fellating a pistol, their lover pulls the trigger and blows their brains out.
up to you whether the lover then fucks the corpse
Castiel hadn't been in Sector Six in many years; too many memories, and too many familiar faces of those who hadn't escaped.
Balthazar's was one of the few welcome faces, and Castiel had been more than happy to sit with him for a drink - several drinks in Balthazar's case, given he had always drained his glass like a fish starving for water - and invite him back to his old house.
It hadn't aged a day, even without his parents looking after it. No one had broken in to squat and claim it for themselves; his old room had been exactly as he left it. Balthazar was uninterested in it, though; uninterested in squeezing both of them onto a single bed when Castiel's parents had left a perfectly suitable king-sized bed for the occasion. Castiel couldn't blame him, given he had taken over the room himself, unpacked what little he wished to unpack onto the bedside cabinet.
From the moment Castiel pushed Balthazar down onto the bed his old friend hadn't stopped glancing at the gun resting on the cabinet top. In any other house, Castiel might have resisted picking it up, but he had first heard its siren call here, in this same room.
"I always liked this gun," Castiel said, stroking his fingers over the barrel and feeling Balthazar buck up beneath him, hard, but not make any attempt to escape.
Castiel looked down and saw how Balthazar's skin had flushed, vivid red next to the black of his shirt, realised the buck had not come from nerves but from the same arousal that had brought them both here.
"I missed you," Castiel admitted, leaning in to kiss Balthazar, feeling his lips open easily and eagerly, hungry for Castiel's tongue. It was easy to close his eyes and think of all the times he had dreamed of this; Balthazar had been such a tease before Castiel left, always promising and never delivering.
"You never suited a stick up your arse," Balthazar said when their lips broke apart, grinning, "Though I can think of a few things that would look just right."
Castiel smiled back, nuzzled Balthazar's nose lightly with his own, wondered if he had ever smiled so easily with anyone else. Everything was simpler like this, natural, and Castiel offered the gun to Balthazar's mouth like a sacrifice; there was nothing more important in his life than that gun, and no-one else he would let touch it so intimately.
Balthazar's lips opened for the gun as readily as they had for Castiel's tongue, and Castiel watched him suck it in further, showing off, teasing yet again.
Castiel was too hard to leave himself untouched any longer, unzipped his and Balthazar's pants and brought their cocks together roughly with his free hand, started stroking them as he thrust the gun back and forth between Balthazar's lips.
"You said you would do anything for me," Castiel said, pulling the gun out of Balthazar's mouth and brushing it down and under his chin, watching Balthazar's own spit slick across the trail. "Did you mean it?"
"Anything," Balthazar replied eagerly, and Castiel leaned over, kissed him again and tasted the metal on his tongue before sitting up.
"Thank you," Castiel replied, and meant it.
Balthazar's eyes shut as Castiel jerked hard on both their cocks, shutting his own eyes in turn as he gave into the need for release and pulled the trigger.
He wasn't sure if it was come or blood that hit his stomach first, but it was the only orgasm he had ever wanted.
Dean/Castiel, watersports
Request: it's always the other way around so...
i really just want to see Cas pissing on Dean. i don't care how or why. it could be a first time or established, forced or willing, anything.
if you really want to make Dean drink it, that's fine but PLEASE include at least one scene where he gets drenched, including his hair. i will love you forever.
Castiel has long learned not to question human kinks. Certainly not Dean's, anyway - all he gets for his troubles are inconsequential muttering and Dean stubbornly refusing to ever bring the subject up again.
After Castiel returns from the lake, he finds that even if he does not need to eat, something in his vessel is irrevocably changed; he needs water often, more often than the Winchesters do, needs to drink it and pass it and immerse himself in it whenever possible. They stock the back seat with gallon-barrels of water for him so that he never falls short of it when he is with them, and when he is not with them, he finds the closest water source he can safely occupy.
He does not notice Dean's interest in his own need for water until they are having sex, his stomach slightly distended from drinking so much, and Dean presses down on the swell with a groan.
"This is uncomfortable," Castiel points out, and Dean shrugs, leaves his hand resting on Castiel's stomach while they fuck.
Castiel stands up afterwards to head to the bathroom, but Dean sits up to catch his arm, pulls Castiel back towards the bed.
Castiel looks down at Dean, sees desperation in his eyes that was not satisfied by fucking alone, and Castiel lets Dean grip his cock.
"Do you want me to urinate here?"
Dean laughs. "Call it piss, Cas. I want to see you piss."
Castiel doesn't understand, but he doesn't question either, rests one hand on Dean's shoulder and lets the other join Dean's hand on his cock. The strain of holding it in has been stinging his groin, and though it takes him a moment to make his body relax into the idea of pissing on someone else, he manages to let go. A short dribble at first, making Dean gasp before shutting his mouth and closing his eyes. The reassurance of Dean's gasp helps Castiel to stream freely, the water coming out almost colourless given his body has almost no impurities to offer - just the remains of other liquids he sometimes has to cope with when water is unavailable. Orange juice, coffee, soft drinks and beer.
Droplets cling to Dean's eyelashes, the rest of his hair soaked, warm and wet. Castiel licks his own lips at the sight.
He doesn't understand why it would appeal to Dean, but he understands why someone would want to piss on another person. Dean looks beautiful like this, submissive and debauched, and if it weren't for knowing what had wetted Dean's face he would want to kiss those damp, plump lips.
"Thanks," is all Dean says afterwards, suddenly looking embarrassed as he gets up and heads into the shower, and Castiel touches his fingers to the bedsheets and the carpet, cleaning up the mess left behind.
Dean seeks out vulnerability all the time without ever trusting himself to give into it, and Castiel follows him into the bathroom, finds him standing silent underneath the shower.
Castiel likes water anyway, climbs into the shower with him, and takes the shower gel, starts soaping up Dean's back. Dean won't accept a hug easily, but he'll accept this, and when Dean turns to kiss him before he has a chance to finish rubbing gel into Dean's shoulders, he accepts it.
"Thanks," Dean repeats, and Castiel suspects he means it this time.
Dean/Sam, murder/suicide
Request: Dean's finally had it and it's murder/suicide time.
Sam doesn't argue.
Up to the author if Dean goes through with it or not.
They defeated Leviathan, in the end.
Sam knew something had changed when Dean rescued him from the trap Dick had set up, and his reaction to finding Sam alive wasn't relief - it was exhaustion. After cutting Sam's bonds, Dean had sat down next to him, rested his head on Sam's shoulder, and closed his eyes.
The police would be here soon enough. Dick's security had only been part Leviathan, and he and Dean didn't kill humans; the ones who had escaped would call for help, and they'd either have to run for it or accept another stint in jail. Maybe in another asylum, if they pleaded insanity, though that would guarantee their separation.
Sam didn't just understand Dean's exhaustion, he shared it, and he took Dean's hand and squeezed it. "Saved the world again," Sam said, the words sounding empty. "Someone should toast us."
Dean sat up and looked ahead at the door, eyelids heavy, and Sam should have felt worry curling up in his gut as Dean's free hand toyed with the knife he'd used to help Sam escape. "Yeah, they should. Bobby got a toast."
Sam didn't add that Bobby was dead at the time. He didn't need to.
The knife was such an ordinary thing, sharp and serrated, a simple tool for a simple job.
"How long do we have to keep running?" Dean asked, turning towards Sam, eyes soft and dark.
Sam leaned over and wrapped his fingers around the knife, but didn't try to pry it loose, didn't curse when the blade bit lightly into his palm. "As long as there's something to run from," Sam replied.
Dean swallowed, and when he pressed his lips to Sam's, Sam didn't struggle. They had tried to hate themselves for wanting this for many, many, many years. Castiel had even pointed it out in Chuck's writing, once upon a time.
It was beautiful, but not enough to live for.
"Okay," Sam said, taking the knife from Dean and lifting it to his neck, waiting for an intake of breath, a gasp. "I love you."
"Girl," Dean replied, but Sam knew what he meant. John's idea of a conversation had forced him to learn how to read faces more than the words they spoke.
Sam cupped Dean's head in his free hand, nodded and waited for Dean to nod in return, kissed him once more and kept his tongue behind his own lips as he slid the knife in.
The bite reflex didn't trigger, but he had wanted to be safe rather than sorry, and he kept kissing until he felt the blood running over his fingertips start to cool.
They had all the tools they needed, and Sam covered himself in lighter fluid first, Dean second, tossed the lighter onto Dean's body.
If he was going to haunt anywhere, it wasn't going to be a rich bastard's mansion.
"I love you," Sam repeated, stepping forward so the flames engulfing Dean started to lick at his ankles, and raised the knife to his own neck.
Lucifer wasn't waiting for him this time. No one was.
Sam looked up at a night sky glowing with fireworks, at a big brother who was stronger and smarter and more beautiful than anyone else he'd ever known, and meant it when he laughed.