Awaiting My (Diabolical) Rise From Perdition~🪽

You have Jimmy in one of your Classes. He sits next to you in philosophy, a class you need to fulfill your arts degree and one Jimmy needs for religious studies. Jimmy’s not much of a talker, ignoring the fact most people aren’t during an 8am class. Mini group discussions get him to open up a bit about his takes on life and faith while trying not to be preachy, and you’re come to learn that he’s more than pleasant to be around.

And that there’s far more to him than the nerd you see in class. You know his secret.

Castiel’s been waking up with paint on his clothes and a sore jaw. Little pieces of jewelry or accessories tucked in his pockets as gifts instead of the usual prostitute joke of cramming some green down his pants. He’s not sure how it gets there— maybe Gabriel’s been hosting finger painting classes by the booze and Castiel’s made a habit of faceplanting into it. Obviously that wouldn’t be it (Gabriel doesn’t know how to paint), so he’s gone around assuming some artsy girl gets a little too excited with him and a bottle of paint.

Tonight’s no different aside from Cas drunkenly scanning the kitchen counter for painting supplies. The music’s loud and he pushes his palms up against his ears to feel the vibrations of the bass playing in time with the beat of his heart before a buddy scoops him up like a drunken princess.

You’re there too, watching someone pour a nearly wasted Castiel a drink. Another man is holding Castiel up, and the rest of the small group seems to be encouraging something.

“Come on, it’s been light tonight, you can have another drink.” Michael runs his fingers through Castiel’s scalp only to regret it when a layer of cum and sweat coat his fingertips. “Oh, ugh, you didn’t tell me you were sucking people already.” Michael smears his hand against Castiel’s face and watches the him smile.

“That’s all he’s been doing, dipshit!” Gabriel laughs.

Castiel smacks his lips like he’s upset that his mouth is empty. Gabriel sticks a finger in Castiel’s mouth but gets slapped across the face by Balthazar, causing the whole group to erupt in laughter. Castiel’s body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, pants half down and belt buckle wide open. The waistband of his underwear is stretched out and sagging like someone’s been tugging at it for ages and his white polo shirt rides up his stomach to show an attractively lean body.

“It’s cause you never watch over me..” Cas lets out a needy whine like he wishes the finger was still in his mouth. He downs his two generous shots and braces himself against the counter. He pulls his shirt up more to wipe the sweat and drool from his face.

“You have your other brothers, Castiel.” Michael takes a swig directly from the bottle. “I’m not sober enough to watch you of all people.”

The bottle gets passed around and cups are lined up on the counter to pour out more drinks.

It’s probably a bad idea, but you’re already thirsty, and this isn’t a party you attend sober. After making your way, It’s easy to tell they’re all related to the frat with the branding on their bodies in dark blue ink.

⛪︎ΔΨΟ

The same icon and lettering on Gabriel’s neck, under Balthazar’s jaw, on Michael’s forearm, and Castiel’s groin.

Somehow by the time you’re done noticing, Castiel’s been shoved in front of you. He’s docile, dreamy, and definitely a mess. You’ve been to the house enough to know its rules and Castiel only seems eager to see a new person.

“Oh shit, I’ve seen you before!” Gabriel gives you a pat on the back and a big shove towards Cas. “Cas, y’seen this guy before?”

Gabriel leans in to whisper to you: “I don’t know what you do to him, but keep going. I’ve never seen him wake up so happy.” He punches Castiel’s shoulder. “Go get ‘em tiger.”

Castiel doesn’t even think. He drunkenly grabs you by the belt and leads you out of the kitchen. You hear the group’s ooohs and there’s only one vibe you’re getting: you’re going to love it.

Yeah. You do love it.

The house bathroom is small enough to force you two close together. It might be Castiel’s first time with you (that he can remember), but it’s definitely not your first time with him. You pull your paint stained jeans down with your boxers and push your back against the shut bathroom door. You know the rules, the words, what to do if anything goes wrong— the house is very strict with that— it’s hot knowing Castiel has the option to back out but he’s chosen to jump in the deep end with a ‘stranger’.

Castiel works on instinct the second he sees you undress. It’s like the sight extinguished the last few embers of thought he had left in his cock-drunk brain. He takes you in his mouth slowly, and it’s just as good as the time before. He grabs your thighs to brace himself and drags your hand to his hair for guidance. He knows exactly what to do, perverted muscle memory taking over his entire body.

Cas moans into you, working his way up until he’s full of you, sending a shiver up your spine. “Mmh...”

Castiel squeezes his own legs together to ignore the need for his own pleasure. He could stop right now, move his hands into his undone jeans, pinch himself and rut against his own palms until he makes a mess, but he’s taught himself that guys who stand over him get to have fun first. It’s not mutual in this position— you towering over him— but it doesn’t need to be.

He stares up at you through his eyelids for approval. It’s a habit Castiel has that you’re very fond of. If he had thoughts, his brain would be stuffed full of your validation. You grab his hair by the scalp and push his face down harder. “Don’t worry…you’re good.” You say gently, like you’re singing to him. “Relax your throat…Mhm..like that. See how easy that was?”

You sigh through your nose, pushing him down harder. The room gets stuffy with the scent of sweat and sex and you start to feel close. Tears well up in his eyes, only working harder for that sweet approval.

Good, good, good, good, good!

“I’m….close…” you pant. You rip his face from your cock and watch him push his head back towards you in protest. You shove his face back away, coming thick and hot in his hair.

Castiel’s hands drop from your legs, head hanging low, drooling. He catches sight of the blue and green paint splattered on your sneakers, now topped off with translucent white.

You reach behind you to turn the sink on, grabbing a towel from the counter and running it beneath the water so you can wipe yourself down. Drool drips from his lips onto the floor and you toss your used towel down to soak it up.

“You did good. Like usual. But you probably don’t remember that.” You laugh a little. “Head up.”

Castiel looks up immediately. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and makes no move to get up. He’s stuck in a dreamy kind of bliss that you wish Jimmy would have in class during philosophy. So much for talking about good and morality this morning.

You slide something off your neck— a necklace, still covered in paint from your afternoon class. “You’re probably not one for mementos but…” you unclasp the necklace and attach it around his neck. “I get curious as to what you do with them.”

Castiel tries to say something, but he can’t.

Jimmy wakes up not knowing he has jewelry on. He opens and closes his jaw— it hurts, as expected. But he doesn’t have time to complain when his first class is in half an hour.

Despite the minor setback he’s seated by you five minutes before lecture starts. A bottle of water and a Gatorade sit by his feet as he tries to get himself together, feeling a bit insecure despite his incredibly neat appearance.

“Morning.” You smile.

“Hi.” Jimmy replies.

Oh god, it’s too early to talk. He wonders: can you notice anything from last night? Does he look a mess? Did he wash his hair thoroughly enough? Why are you looking at him like that? In a fit of anxiousness, Jimmy kicks his Gatorade over.

“Darn it..” he sighs. When he reaches down from his seat the necklace swings over in front of his face. Where’d that come from? His brothers didn’t say he was with any girls. Maybe he had too much to drink last night. He should really tone it down.

“Woah- I got it!” You push the bottle back upright with your foot. “Rough night?”

“You don’t even kn—“ Jimmy pauses. Your shoes.

He knows those shoes.

“You’re good.” You smile, trying to play it off. “Nice necklace by the way.”

Jimmy takes a big swig from his drink and nearly chokes. It’s like a light in his brain is being toggled on and off:

Good! Good! You’re good!

“Ah…yes. Thank you. N-nice shoes.” Jimmy murmurs.

At least his brothers weren’t lying when they said he wasn’t with any women.

You lean back and stare at your dirty sneakers. “I should probably clean them. White paint’s a bitch to get off— every week there seems to be more and more.”

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