SPN: Drabble Dump
Found some stuff in my tumblr that I hadn't posted.
Inside we have some: gen stuff with leviathan and godstiel, one destiel, two castifers, wincestiel porn with fem!cas
Leviathan fic: Ao3
IV. Written for this image:
Castiel deals with truths, and the truth about Lucifer is this: he finds Castiel fascinating. There’s something rather dizzying about being separated from the rest of the herd - being thought of as special and separate.
Peculiar, but in a good way. An attractive way.
The thing is that Castiel isn’t used to being noticed. He’s considered one of those fringe bodies on the edge of the student population. He has few enemies, fewer friends, and such a strong and confident intellect that he feels no need to justify its worth by speaking up in class. As for Lucifer... He likes to fight. He likes to fracture a person’s argument until they have to concede defeat. Lucifer likes to try and make Castiel argue, but Castiel deals with facts alone. If Castiel is the black and white of the world, then Lucifer is the grey space between them.
Lucifer needles him with statements that are never completely wrong and always just shy of right, and Castiel does his absolute best not to give in. He has no interest in correcting people, but Lucifer is the irritating white-noise behind his eyes at night. Because Castiel knows his facts - knows the inevitability of them, how nature will ultimately swing to meet the laws of the universe - he’s aware that he’s the rock that’s been set under the flow of Lucifer’s scrutiny.
Eventually, Castiel will break.
He will break here - now, with Lucifer barricading him near the backdoor of a house party that his noticeable focus had conned Castiel into attending.
“You’re thinking about me,” says Lucifer.
This is, of course, true. It’s hard not to think about Lucifer when he’s this close, demanding Castiel’s regard, but to point that out would be an argument, and Castiel can’t give him that yet.
“It’s only natural,” Lucifer goes on to say as he curves his fingers under the nape of Castiel’s neck. Absurdly, Castiel feels as if they fit there, but he’s distracted from examining that thought further by Lucifer’s thumb stroking possessively over his pulse. “I am, after all, the only one in this school that makes you want to fight. That makes me interesting, doesn’t it?”
Lucifer digs into the muscle of Castiel’s neck, finding the knots of stress and frustration that have been building up. Castiel bites back a relieved groan, and says - with a gasp - “Yes,” because it is the truth.
“You want me,” Lucifer adds as he angles in for a kiss.
Castiel brings him short with a hand. He is shaking. He can feel Lucifer’s breath across his mouth. “That’s a baseless assumption,” he says - and there, he’s broken, just like that.
Lucifer laughs softly. “Yes, it is,” he agrees. “So tell me it isn’t true.”
Castiel can’t.
*
V.
Castiel’s looking at his reflection again. It’s been awhile, but the differences are marked. Wrong, the blind man said; it was the first thing he had said when looking with fresh eyes upon the visage of his God: wrong. He will say to Death later that he will fix himself after he is done fixing the world - as always, putting a higher priority on others - but here, now, he allows himself a small moment of worry.
Jimmy is falling apart around him. He’s snapping at the seams, holding on by threads. The souls are like fire, curling against the edges of his vessel and burning through by increments. Castiel pulls at his face, manually testing its strength and hoping that, because it doesn’t crumble under his fingers, it means his vessel will last a bit longer.
The voices and the greedy, clawing fingers push his limits. Desperately, Castiel denies them the freedom they demand. He straightens, rebuttoning his shirt and squaring his shoulders before continuing on his mission.
He will free them back into Purgatory when his work is done and no sooner.
*
VI.
Her fingers spaz and tremble around Sam’s wrist - fluttering almost as he pushes her hips through a long drag against Dean’s mouth. Her breath has been hitching and faltering for a good while now, but it catches in a sob and then threads out into a tight whine as her whole body tenses up. When Dean’s hands slide around her thighs to keep them spread, Castiel gasps out their names in turn and looks over her shoulder at Sam as her body shifts of its own accord in the pattern Sam has taught her.
“That’s it,” Sam tells her. “Better like that, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she says.
Sam leans in. He covers the hand she has on the headboard, but his other moves between her legs. “May I?” he asks, and when she nods frantically, he slides two fingers around his brother’s tongue and spreads her open so that Dean can get closer.
Castiel jerks, her whole body shaking as she shoves down against Dean’s tongue. “Sam,” she gasps, and Sam rubs his fingers around where Dean’s licking her, feels his brother’s nose breathing hard against his knuckles. Cas just keeps right on thrusting. “Oh, oh-” Her breath stalls altogether and she bites her lip.
Sam bites at her jaw, at her ear. “Fuck,” he says. “That’s the word you’re looking for.”
She shatters in his arms. “Fuck,” she says and then, “Oh, fuck, Dean - ah, aah, fuck!” as she comes.
*
VII. Written for this art:
Freedom, Lucifer thinks, is vastly overrated.
Were it that Castiel understood that, Lucifer wouldn’t have him here at all - let alone like this. The chain and cuffs are made of steel, and while they’re hardy enough to hold a human in place, they’re as strong as smoke compared to the kind of strength an angel has. The only reason the cuffs hold at all is because Castiel has seen fit not to struggle.
Castiel is bare and bound, and despite the peaceful expression on his face, Lucifer can see that the impression of surrender is there only by sheer force of will. He goes where Lucifer puts him and does precisely as Lucifer asks - no more, no less, no creativity. Lucifer half expects that Castiel means to lull him into a false sense of security before making his escape, but that would mean nullifying their agreement and risking the Winchesters.
So when Lucifer pushes Castiel onto his back with his foot and presses Castiel’s jaw up with his toes, he says: “You are mine to do with as I please.”
“I am,” Castiel agrees quite readily. The low rumble of his voice tickles under Lucifer’s foot.
“And you will do as I say without question,” Lucifer tells him.
Castiel’s eyes slit open minutely, and he licks his lips. The peace of his expression is cautiously peeled back, and the stern warrior beneath is exposed. “You already know your limits.”
Lucifer drags his foot down Castiel’s throat and over his ribcage, which rises and falls steadily - unruffled by his obvious show of dominance. His brother is young. He’s a small, bright spark wrapped in soft package and easily fades behind Lucifer’s own shine. Yet he shines on still. There’s something wonderful and sweet in finding something from which you can take everything and still never break.
“Now that is true.” Lucifer acknowledges his limits calmly as he pulls Castiel to his knees and caresses the curves of his cheekbones with his thumbs. “But more importantly, I don’t know your limits yet, brother.”
Inside we have some: gen stuff with leviathan and godstiel, one destiel, two castifers, wincestiel porn with fem!cas
Leviathan fic: Ao3
IV. Written for this image:
Castiel deals with truths, and the truth about Lucifer is this: he finds Castiel fascinating. There’s something rather dizzying about being separated from the rest of the herd - being thought of as special and separate.
Peculiar, but in a good way. An attractive way.
The thing is that Castiel isn’t used to being noticed. He’s considered one of those fringe bodies on the edge of the student population. He has few enemies, fewer friends, and such a strong and confident intellect that he feels no need to justify its worth by speaking up in class. As for Lucifer... He likes to fight. He likes to fracture a person’s argument until they have to concede defeat. Lucifer likes to try and make Castiel argue, but Castiel deals with facts alone. If Castiel is the black and white of the world, then Lucifer is the grey space between them.
Lucifer needles him with statements that are never completely wrong and always just shy of right, and Castiel does his absolute best not to give in. He has no interest in correcting people, but Lucifer is the irritating white-noise behind his eyes at night. Because Castiel knows his facts - knows the inevitability of them, how nature will ultimately swing to meet the laws of the universe - he’s aware that he’s the rock that’s been set under the flow of Lucifer’s scrutiny.
Eventually, Castiel will break.
He will break here - now, with Lucifer barricading him near the backdoor of a house party that his noticeable focus had conned Castiel into attending.
“You’re thinking about me,” says Lucifer.
This is, of course, true. It’s hard not to think about Lucifer when he’s this close, demanding Castiel’s regard, but to point that out would be an argument, and Castiel can’t give him that yet.
“It’s only natural,” Lucifer goes on to say as he curves his fingers under the nape of Castiel’s neck. Absurdly, Castiel feels as if they fit there, but he’s distracted from examining that thought further by Lucifer’s thumb stroking possessively over his pulse. “I am, after all, the only one in this school that makes you want to fight. That makes me interesting, doesn’t it?”
Lucifer digs into the muscle of Castiel’s neck, finding the knots of stress and frustration that have been building up. Castiel bites back a relieved groan, and says - with a gasp - “Yes,” because it is the truth.
“You want me,” Lucifer adds as he angles in for a kiss.
Castiel brings him short with a hand. He is shaking. He can feel Lucifer’s breath across his mouth. “That’s a baseless assumption,” he says - and there, he’s broken, just like that.
Lucifer laughs softly. “Yes, it is,” he agrees. “So tell me it isn’t true.”
Castiel can’t.
*
V.
Castiel’s looking at his reflection again. It’s been awhile, but the differences are marked. Wrong, the blind man said; it was the first thing he had said when looking with fresh eyes upon the visage of his God: wrong. He will say to Death later that he will fix himself after he is done fixing the world - as always, putting a higher priority on others - but here, now, he allows himself a small moment of worry.
Jimmy is falling apart around him. He’s snapping at the seams, holding on by threads. The souls are like fire, curling against the edges of his vessel and burning through by increments. Castiel pulls at his face, manually testing its strength and hoping that, because it doesn’t crumble under his fingers, it means his vessel will last a bit longer.
The voices and the greedy, clawing fingers push his limits. Desperately, Castiel denies them the freedom they demand. He straightens, rebuttoning his shirt and squaring his shoulders before continuing on his mission.
He will free them back into Purgatory when his work is done and no sooner.
*
VI.
Her fingers spaz and tremble around Sam’s wrist - fluttering almost as he pushes her hips through a long drag against Dean’s mouth. Her breath has been hitching and faltering for a good while now, but it catches in a sob and then threads out into a tight whine as her whole body tenses up. When Dean’s hands slide around her thighs to keep them spread, Castiel gasps out their names in turn and looks over her shoulder at Sam as her body shifts of its own accord in the pattern Sam has taught her.
“That’s it,” Sam tells her. “Better like that, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she says.
Sam leans in. He covers the hand she has on the headboard, but his other moves between her legs. “May I?” he asks, and when she nods frantically, he slides two fingers around his brother’s tongue and spreads her open so that Dean can get closer.
Castiel jerks, her whole body shaking as she shoves down against Dean’s tongue. “Sam,” she gasps, and Sam rubs his fingers around where Dean’s licking her, feels his brother’s nose breathing hard against his knuckles. Cas just keeps right on thrusting. “Oh, oh-” Her breath stalls altogether and she bites her lip.
Sam bites at her jaw, at her ear. “Fuck,” he says. “That’s the word you’re looking for.”
She shatters in his arms. “Fuck,” she says and then, “Oh, fuck, Dean - ah, aah, fuck!” as she comes.
*
VII. Written for this art:
Freedom, Lucifer thinks, is vastly overrated.
Were it that Castiel understood that, Lucifer wouldn’t have him here at all - let alone like this. The chain and cuffs are made of steel, and while they’re hardy enough to hold a human in place, they’re as strong as smoke compared to the kind of strength an angel has. The only reason the cuffs hold at all is because Castiel has seen fit not to struggle.
Castiel is bare and bound, and despite the peaceful expression on his face, Lucifer can see that the impression of surrender is there only by sheer force of will. He goes where Lucifer puts him and does precisely as Lucifer asks - no more, no less, no creativity. Lucifer half expects that Castiel means to lull him into a false sense of security before making his escape, but that would mean nullifying their agreement and risking the Winchesters.
So when Lucifer pushes Castiel onto his back with his foot and presses Castiel’s jaw up with his toes, he says: “You are mine to do with as I please.”
“I am,” Castiel agrees quite readily. The low rumble of his voice tickles under Lucifer’s foot.
“And you will do as I say without question,” Lucifer tells him.
Castiel’s eyes slit open minutely, and he licks his lips. The peace of his expression is cautiously peeled back, and the stern warrior beneath is exposed. “You already know your limits.”
Lucifer drags his foot down Castiel’s throat and over his ribcage, which rises and falls steadily - unruffled by his obvious show of dominance. His brother is young. He’s a small, bright spark wrapped in soft package and easily fades behind Lucifer’s own shine. Yet he shines on still. There’s something wonderful and sweet in finding something from which you can take everything and still never break.
“Now that is true.” Lucifer acknowledges his limits calmly as he pulls Castiel to his knees and caresses the curves of his cheekbones with his thumbs. “But more importantly, I don’t know your limits yet, brother.”