FILLED: Your Pain, My Thrill (1/?)
anonymous
October 3 2021, 14:41:39 UTC
(No additional warnings, the prompt sums it up.)
Your Pain, My Thrill
Seeing the look of shock on Castiel's face when Belphegor overpowers him is priceless. Had he not been able to lay his hand on one of the magical knicknacks he owns and use a non verbal spell to hijack the flare in angelic grace to magnify his own powers, the demon couldn’t have fought back as quick and hard as he did, but with that on his side he was able to put a halt to the would-be smiting.
“You’re pathetic,” Belphegor spits, tightening his hand around the angel’s throat, “so washed up you can’t even kill a demon properly. No wonder you’re a laughing stock in Hell and Heaven, Castiel.” He uses his power to throw the meatsuit across the room, the crack of skull hitting stone is like music to his demonic ears. He watches with delight as a trail of blood is left behind on the wall as the body slumps down, pain etched across the abomination in a trenchcoat’s features.
He bends to pick up the angel blade from where it lies on the floor and stands in front of the limp figure, “Hey, Feathers, look at me,” he says, watching dazed eyes flicker open and closed. When he gets no reply, he raises his foot and brings the heel down hard, shattering Castiel’s kneecap, the pain instantly registering and causing a distressed cry to make its way out of the throat that’s already developing bruises. He crouches in front of the winged filth and digs the tip of the blade into the tender skin under his chin, jerking his arm up hard enough that it could pierce flesh and kill the angel there and then, but he knows with certainty that Castiel will fight, and that’s exactly what he wants. Glassy blue orbs struggle to focus on him, defiance bleeding through the dizziness, “I’m going to ruin you,” Belphegor sing songs, “humans are fun to break but an angel of the lord? That’s going to be an absolute pleasure.”
Angels and demons have hated each other since The Beginning and Belphegor really hates this particular one, in no small part because he stole Dean Winchester from Hell, disrupting an already fragile political balance and changing things. The feathery fucker opens his mouth to no doubt spit out some useless insult, but he’s cut off by the dull thud of a punch to his jaw. A tingle runs up Belphegor’s arm, the angle is awkward because it’s not his dominant hand he’s using, that one still pressing the blade hard against skin, but he makes it work. He repeats the action three more times, punching hard until his skin is finally slipping against the blood dripping from Castiel’s lips and cheek.
The angel twists his body to try and even the score but Belphegor catches the punch easily, before headbutting the thing hard enough for his skull to collide with the wall, again. Another grunt of pain from the angel and a satisfied smirk spreads over the demon’s face, “Keep fighting me, Cas, it’ll only make it sweeter when I break you,” he says, switching the blade to his left hand, wrapping that stupid fucking tie around his right and tugging hard, “come on, boy,” he coos, standing and using his strength to all but drag Castiel across the floor, “be a good doggy and heel.” The choking sounds of protest he gets in response as the angel struggles are only bettered by the pained whimpers as he’s forced to crawl on his shattered knee to avoid being strangled, completely.
He drags the angel in circles around the room a few times like the dog he is, alternating between kicks to the kidneys and punches to the head and face when he doesn’t move quick enough, the anguished cries only spurring Belphegor on. By the time he has the bloody and beaten figure struggling to stay upright he loosens his grip on the tie, crouches down in front of where Castiel kneels on the floor and drags the angel blade across his neck, making a small but deep cut, humming as he watches the silvery wisps of grace drip from the wound.
FILLED: Your Pain, My Thrill (2/?)
anonymous
October 3 2021, 14:45:21 UTC
“How long will it take to drain you?” he asks, knowing he won’t get an answer in words, only a glare that’s about as intimidating as a Chihuahua puppy, “Hmm, how about…” he pulls a small knife with a sharp, jagged blade from his pocket and buries it into Castiel’s stomach, drawing it back slowly and at an angle knows will cause the most excruciating pain, “now?” he asks, with glee, watching the red stain on the now grubby white shirt grow bigger by the second as blood seeps from the deep wound. A flick of his wrist, the extra power running through him allowing him to drag the meat suit up to a standing position, and the stain getting bigger with the movement. The volume of the pained whimpers the angel is trying to hide increases, but it’s pointless him trying to keep them in, soon his screams will echo around the room at Belphegor’s hands and he’ll be begging for mercy.
The demon’s eyes flick to the angel’s face which is already sweating and streaked in dirt and blood, which is delicious but it’s not enough. He cuts and rips open the fabric of the shirt, exposing pale, vulnerable flesh, then decides that to enjoy this fully he shouldn’t just limit himself to the torso and soon the meatsuit is naked as the day it was born, just to add an extra layer of humiliation. Castiel fancies he’s become more human with his time on Earth and when his eyes lower in shame, Bel knows it was the right call. He slices patterns into as much skin as possible from the angel’s scalp to the soles of his feet, the demon carving his own name and etching slurs written in Enochian deep into the skin. When he’s done with the surface, he repeatedly drives the knife deep into flesh, muscles, vital and non vital organs, making use of the hooks of the blade to cause the most damage possible, Castiel’s agonised screams sending a thrill through him that’s almost orgasmic, and this, this is why Belphegor loves his job.
He raises the sagging body of the abomination a few inches off the ground and leaves him suspended in the air with just a thought, that’s how powerful he is right now. As he watches the rise and fall of the skinny chest as his plaything gasps for breath, Bel runs his fingers through the rivulets of blood pouring from the wounds, making sure to push the digits roughly into some of them just to feel the slippery, wet heat of the angel’s insides. A human would have passed out long before this point, but Belphegor’s never had the pleasure of tormenting an angel and pushing the boundaries of their healing abilities, so he’s certainly not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Must suck to be the Winchester’s disgraced pet, huh?” he asks with mock concern, trying his best to mimic what he’s sure would be puppy dog eyes if Jack’s body still had those particular organs. He watches as the angel struggles to comprehend the change from actions to words and carries on, amused, “I guess you’re used to it after all this time, though,” he adds with a smirk, before turning and walking over to the table at the side of the room.
FILLED: Your Pain, My Thrill (3/4)
anonymous
October 3 2021, 14:46:30 UTC
He lays both the angel blade and his dagger down so he can sprinkle ingredients into a brass bowl, making sure to face his subject as he does so that he can watch the confused expression on that incredibly irritating visage. He carries on speaking, knowing that even with the amount of pain Castiel is in, the words will cut just as deep as the blade just did, especially when the demon uses his own words against him, “‘Sam and Dean are just using you, don’t mistake that for caring about you, because I can assure you, they don’t.' I mean, come on, how many times do they need to choose each other over you before you finally get the message? Talk about a third wheel… like I said, pathetic.” Castiel’s brow creases, predictably shaking his head in denial, but they both know he’s touched a very raw nerve. To add further insult to injury he has to make a comment about Jack, “And of course there’s...” he sweeps a hand through the air in an exaggerated way to indicate the vessel he’s possessing, smirking when the battered face across from him pinches even more, “he deserved so much better than you, Castiel, some father you turned out to be, huh? Jack died on your watch, just another epic fail to add to your tally, I guess.” The demon lets out a wicked laugh at the heartbroken look on Feathers’ face, the truth really does hurt.
He hums a happy tune to himself as he double checks the contents of the bowl, grinding the dry ingredients to a powder before adding a dribble of his own blood and little holy oil for extra kick before he moves back towards the centre of the room, bowl and dagger in hand. He jerks his head to the side a little and Castiel’s arm rises, Belphegor wasting no time slicing his wrist open, smirking at the harsh wince it causes while he watches the blood pour over the mixture. Begrudgingly he admits only to himself that he’s a little impressed by the fight that Wings still has in him, but that won’t last long. He swirls the blood around in the bowl, dropping the limb with a nod, thrilled when drips of red start to form a pool on the floor below, a clear sign that angelic healing isn’t going to spoil the fun. The demon digs the tip of the blade into the semi-closed cut on Castiel’s neck and twists, tearing the flesh open anew to increase the flow of grace, catching a few drops in the bowl and watching more float off into the air, more evidence that the abomination is weakening. A few more swirls and the mixture is complete, already glowing an angry red and rippling, ready to explode.
Sure enough, seconds later there’s a flash of silvery blue light, a puff of purple smoke and as it drifts over towards Castiel, the demon leans in and stage whispers, “Not gonna lie to you Cas, this is gonna sting.” Pain glazed eyes meet his evil ones and Belphegor bounces on the soles of Jack’s feet in anticipation as the smoke is drawn in through the angel’s mouth and nose. Almost instantly his head drops back and there’s a blood curdling scream as agony takes over his whole body, twisting and turning where it’s held in mid air, tears streaming down his cheeks to mix with the blood already there. Every visible cut on Castiel’s body is glowing purple, the air filled with the smell of coppery blood, salty tears and sulphur as the spell gets to work, and when Belphegor smears the leftover paste over pain sweaty skin and inside the wounds, the distinctive scent of cooking flesh is added into the mix. The demon basks in it, occasionally strengthening his mental hold on Castiel’s body while the thing still has fight left in him, but the light is already going out, even an angel can only stand so much.
RE: FILLED: Your Pain, My Thrill (4/4)
anonymous
October 3 2021, 14:47:29 UTC
Stepping forward and roughly grabbing the angel’s chin to force him to look at the face of his torturer masquerading as his surrogate son, Belphegor taunts him further, “You know, Cas, I’m tempted to say, ‘Oh would you just die, already?’ but,” he jabs a thumb over his shoulder towards the doorway, “there’s a perfectly good cage out there, and I think it’s time I had my own pet.”
Part of him thinks he should take the wonderful win he already has, but he is a demon after all, and he can’t resist retrieving his dagger and driving it into the body that’s fast falling into unconsciousness. There’s still grunts of pain with every stab though they probably feel like pinpricks compared to the rest of what Castiel is feeling, but again, demon, and he twists the knife one last time before dropping the self righteous prick to the floor in a crumpled heap.
As Belphegor’s blade drips red with the blood of his most hated enemy, more of it in small pools on the floor and sprayed on the walls, his own thunders through Jack’s veins at the glorious sight before him. He may have been just a grunt before Hell tore open, but now, with the infamous angel who disobeyed nothing more than a filthy, cowering mess at his feet, he feels like the ‘God’ he aims to become.
OP, hope that was something along the lines of what you were hoping for!
RE: FILLED: Your Pain, My Thrill (4/4)
anonymous
October 3 2021, 15:21:35 UTC
Not the OP but holy shit, this is amazing! We lost Belphegor way too early, he was a great addition and I love the way you've used quotes and canon. I would love to read more of this eventhough my angel loving heart is screaming why! 🧡🤣
RE: FILLED: Your Pain, My Thrill (4/4)
anonymous
October 3 2021, 22:26:00 UTC
OP, hope that was something along the lines of what you were hoping for!
OP here. This is so incredibly what I was looking! It's dark, twisted and I believe it. I can feel how much Belphegor hates Castiel and the thing with using Cas' own power to make the Demon powers stronger and to increase the pain is delicious. Also the third wheel comment makes my bibro heart happy. Bravo writer anon, bravo! 👏
RE: FILLED: Your Pain, My Thrill (4/4)
anonymous
October 10 2021, 21:39:49 UTC
Thank you! Ha, it's not place to say what's weird. I didn't write this as shippy in any way but if something in there is calling you, then sail that ship to your heart's content! 🤭
RE: FILLED: Your Pain, My Thrill (4/4)
anonymous
October 6 2021, 20:51:34 UTC
This is like a tonic for my soul. It's about time a dick with wings got a proper taste of how much they're hated by demons. It also sounds like this could be the beginning because I think Belphegor has a lot more ideas of how to make Castiel suffer and I'm here for it. I especially love the cooking flesh part and continuing to stab him, it's sadistic, twisted and very demon like.
RE: FILLED: Your Pain, My Thrill (4/4)
anonymous
October 10 2021, 21:53:53 UTC
Thank you so much. It sounds a little like there's not a lot of love for angels from you, either... Bel, is that you? 🤭 I'm sure he has many more ideas of ways to torture Cas, he's a very resourceful demon.
(No additional warnings, the prompt sums it up.)
Your Pain, My Thrill
Seeing the look of shock on Castiel's face when Belphegor overpowers him is priceless. Had he not been able to lay his hand on one of the magical knicknacks he owns and use a non verbal spell to hijack the flare in angelic grace to magnify his own powers, the demon couldn’t have fought back as quick and hard as he did, but with that on his side he was able to put a halt to the would-be smiting.
“You’re pathetic,” Belphegor spits, tightening his hand around the angel’s throat, “so washed up you can’t even kill a demon properly. No wonder you’re a laughing stock in Hell and Heaven, Castiel.” He uses his power to throw the meatsuit across the room, the crack of skull hitting stone is like music to his demonic ears. He watches with delight as a trail of blood is left behind on the wall as the body slumps down, pain etched across the abomination in a trenchcoat’s features.
He bends to pick up the angel blade from where it lies on the floor and stands in front of the limp figure, “Hey, Feathers, look at me,” he says, watching dazed eyes flicker open and closed. When he gets no reply, he raises his foot and brings the heel down hard, shattering Castiel’s kneecap, the pain instantly registering and causing a distressed cry to make its way out of the throat that’s already developing bruises. He crouches in front of the winged filth and digs the tip of the blade into the tender skin under his chin, jerking his arm up hard enough that it could pierce flesh and kill the angel there and then, but he knows with certainty that Castiel will fight, and that’s exactly what he wants. Glassy blue orbs struggle to focus on him, defiance bleeding through the dizziness, “I’m going to ruin you,” Belphegor sing songs, “humans are fun to break but an angel of the lord? That’s going to be an absolute pleasure.”
Angels and demons have hated each other since The Beginning and Belphegor really hates this particular one, in no small part because he stole Dean Winchester from Hell, disrupting an already fragile political balance and changing things. The feathery fucker opens his mouth to no doubt spit out some useless insult, but he’s cut off by the dull thud of a punch to his jaw. A tingle runs up Belphegor’s arm, the angle is awkward because it’s not his dominant hand he’s using, that one still pressing the blade hard against skin, but he makes it work. He repeats the action three more times, punching hard until his skin is finally slipping against the blood dripping from Castiel’s lips and cheek.
The angel twists his body to try and even the score but Belphegor catches the punch easily, before headbutting the thing hard enough for his skull to collide with the wall, again. Another grunt of pain from the angel and a satisfied smirk spreads over the demon’s face, “Keep fighting me, Cas, it’ll only make it sweeter when I break you,” he says, switching the blade to his left hand, wrapping that stupid fucking tie around his right and tugging hard, “come on, boy,” he coos, standing and using his strength to all but drag Castiel across the floor, “be a good doggy and heel.” The choking sounds of protest he gets in response as the angel struggles are only bettered by the pained whimpers as he’s forced to crawl on his shattered knee to avoid being strangled, completely.
He drags the angel in circles around the room a few times like the dog he is, alternating between kicks to the kidneys and punches to the head and face when he doesn’t move quick enough, the anguished cries only spurring Belphegor on. By the time he has the bloody and beaten figure struggling to stay upright he loosens his grip on the tie, crouches down in front of where Castiel kneels on the floor and drags the angel blade across his neck, making a small but deep cut, humming as he watches the silvery wisps of grace drip from the wound.
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The demon’s eyes flick to the angel’s face which is already sweating and streaked in dirt and blood, which is delicious but it’s not enough. He cuts and rips open the fabric of the shirt, exposing pale, vulnerable flesh, then decides that to enjoy this fully he shouldn’t just limit himself to the torso and soon the meatsuit is naked as the day it was born, just to add an extra layer of humiliation. Castiel fancies he’s become more human with his time on Earth and when his eyes lower in shame, Bel knows it was the right call. He slices patterns into as much skin as possible from the angel’s scalp to the soles of his feet, the demon carving his own name and etching slurs written in Enochian deep into the skin. When he’s done with the surface, he repeatedly drives the knife deep into flesh, muscles, vital and non vital organs, making use of the hooks of the blade to cause the most damage possible, Castiel’s agonised screams sending a thrill through him that’s almost orgasmic, and this, this is why Belphegor loves his job.
He raises the sagging body of the abomination a few inches off the ground and leaves him suspended in the air with just a thought, that’s how powerful he is right now. As he watches the rise and fall of the skinny chest as his plaything gasps for breath, Bel runs his fingers through the rivulets of blood pouring from the wounds, making sure to push the digits roughly into some of them just to feel the slippery, wet heat of the angel’s insides. A human would have passed out long before this point, but Belphegor’s never had the pleasure of tormenting an angel and pushing the boundaries of their healing abilities, so he’s certainly not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Must suck to be the Winchester’s disgraced pet, huh?” he asks with mock concern, trying his best to mimic what he’s sure would be puppy dog eyes if Jack’s body still had those particular organs. He watches as the angel struggles to comprehend the change from actions to words and carries on, amused, “I guess you’re used to it after all this time, though,” he adds with a smirk, before turning and walking over to the table at the side of the room.
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He hums a happy tune to himself as he double checks the contents of the bowl, grinding the dry ingredients to a powder before adding a dribble of his own blood and little holy oil for extra kick before he moves back towards the centre of the room, bowl and dagger in hand. He jerks his head to the side a little and Castiel’s arm rises, Belphegor wasting no time slicing his wrist open, smirking at the harsh wince it causes while he watches the blood pour over the mixture. Begrudgingly he admits only to himself that he’s a little impressed by the fight that Wings still has in him, but that won’t last long. He swirls the blood around in the bowl, dropping the limb with a nod, thrilled when drips of red start to form a pool on the floor below, a clear sign that angelic healing isn’t going to spoil the fun. The demon digs the tip of the blade into the semi-closed cut on Castiel’s neck and twists, tearing the flesh open anew to increase the flow of grace, catching a few drops in the bowl and watching more float off into the air, more evidence that the abomination is weakening. A few more swirls and the mixture is complete, already glowing an angry red and rippling, ready to explode.
Sure enough, seconds later there’s a flash of silvery blue light, a puff of purple smoke and as it drifts over towards Castiel, the demon leans in and stage whispers, “Not gonna lie to you Cas, this is gonna sting.” Pain glazed eyes meet his evil ones and Belphegor bounces on the soles of Jack’s feet in anticipation as the smoke is drawn in through the angel’s mouth and nose. Almost instantly his head drops back and there’s a blood curdling scream as agony takes over his whole body, twisting and turning where it’s held in mid air, tears streaming down his cheeks to mix with the blood already there. Every visible cut on Castiel’s body is glowing purple, the air filled with the smell of coppery blood, salty tears and sulphur as the spell gets to work, and when Belphegor smears the leftover paste over pain sweaty skin and inside the wounds, the distinctive scent of cooking flesh is added into the mix. The demon basks in it, occasionally strengthening his mental hold on Castiel’s body while the thing still has fight left in him, but the light is already going out, even an angel can only stand so much.
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Part of him thinks he should take the wonderful win he already has, but he is a demon after all, and he can’t resist retrieving his dagger and driving it into the body that’s fast falling into unconsciousness. There’s still grunts of pain with every stab though they probably feel like pinpricks compared to the rest of what Castiel is feeling, but again, demon, and he twists the knife one last time before dropping the self righteous prick to the floor in a crumpled heap.
As Belphegor’s blade drips red with the blood of his most hated enemy, more of it in small pools on the floor and sprayed on the walls, his own thunders through Jack’s veins at the glorious sight before him. He may have been just a grunt before Hell tore open, but now, with the infamous angel who disobeyed nothing more than a filthy, cowering mess at his feet, he feels like the ‘God’ he aims to become.
OP, hope that was something along the lines of what you were hoping for!
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OP here. This is so incredibly what I was looking! It's dark, twisted and I believe it. I can feel how much Belphegor hates Castiel and the thing with using Cas' own power to make the Demon powers stronger and to increase the pain is delicious. Also the third wheel comment makes my bibro heart happy. Bravo writer anon, bravo! 👏
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