#kaia writes ghost

[kisses4kaia]

thinking about ghost fucking you with his gun..

his gloved hand wrapped around the handle of the glock, carefully pumping the barrel in and out of you with intensive caution, ensuring your safety and making you feel so good.

so good to know he was the one pressing soft kisses to your temple and he was the one pulling beautiful, little, choked, whimpers from your throat.

“shh, baby. that feel good? yeah? mhm, yeah, so tight f’me,” he’d coo, making you grind your hips down onto the gun. you are getting desperate and close. so, so, so, close.

“c’mon, baby. you wanna come for me? go on, make a mess all over my fuckin’ gun, yeah love, just like that,” his accent wasn’t doing anything to hold you off of your impending orgasm, if anything it was just spewing you closer and closer until you break, coming loose all over his glock and gloves.

and of course, he praises you extensively. going on and on about how good you were for him, kissing you everywhere, making you cum again and again on his cock, tongue, and fingers.

[hozierandco]

Callum Turner x Reader - The match-maker (Pt. 1)

AN: A few months ago (oopsie), someone requested that I write about Y/N meeting Callum Turner through Austin Butler, a common friend. TW: none except maybe drama regarding past relationships. No smut.

I've changed the set from L.A that was originally requested to New York but it's only to squeeze in gowns and a red (pinkish?) carpet. Part 2 will be up very soon.

If you have any requests, do send a message, I love receiving them. I take requests on Hozier, Callum Turner and Robert Pattinson mostly but feel free to contact me for whoever :)

_________________________________________________

Y/N could count on Austin to get her through ups and downs. Ever since they had met in primary school back in Anaheim, they had grown a strong relationship. They had been through so much together and considered each other to be like brother and sister. When Y/N was not at Austin’s, then it was Austin being at Y/N’s house. 

If at some point, they had thought of getting together as they knew each other so well and had grown out to be beautiful young people besides being beautiful souls, they had abandoned the idea as they cherished their friendship too much for any of the drama. That being said, they LOVED talking about their more or less chaotic experiences when it came to the subject of relationships. Austin had far more luck on that one than her as, after being with Vanessa Hudgens for so long, he had found his significant other responding by the name of Kaia Gerber. 

Kaia was great to her best friend and Y/N sensed that she was ready to commit to such a relationship as she noticed the two blooming. For years, Y/N had nourished disastrous relationships with men, between those who cheated on her, those who needed a nurse rather than a lover and those who just ghosted her. Austin had always been there to support her through break ups and was ready for her to meet someone new that she could trust. It pained him to see her feeling less and less self-confident because of the attitude of some jerks.

*** On the set of Masters of the Airs. Newland Park, February, the 14th of 2022 ***

Austin had begun working on an upcoming TV show in which he was fulfilling one of his boyhood’s dreams of becoming a pilot. It was one of many perks of becoming an actor and he had the chance to fulfill that dream with his colleagues that he had learnt to call his friends. Among them, he mostly loved working with Callum Turner.

He had seen him in productions such as War and Peace and Emma but never had the opportunity to work with him, nor to meet him. Since the beginning of the show’s filming, the two of them had become good friends, sharing most of their time on and off set together.

They found themselves to have many shared interests but what Austin liked the most about his colleague and friend was his integrity. He had not met a humble actor like him in a while and it was a fresh view for him who had gotten used to obnoxious people in the industry. 

Austin did not think of Callum to be a great match for Y/N from the beginning, nor in fact did he think of taking the role of a match-maker at all. But it struck him on a strange day, in February of 2022. Well, to put some context there, it was Valentine’s Day and Austin hated not having the opportunity to spend it with Kaia. He grunted all day about this missed chance to which Callum, always so light-hearted, made him aware that he could be happy to have a Valentine to wish it to.

Callum was not the sort of man to talk about his personal life to anyone but he had known Austin for the past seven months. He felt as though he was ready to share more information about him, such as his traumatic past when it came to dating. And of course, that resonated with what Austin was hearing from Y/N. 

By 2 pm London time (6 am L.A time), Austin was trying to comfort Callum about the fact he had no Valentine to celebrate while by 9 pm London time (1 pm L.A time), Austin was receiving a text from Y/N complaining about not having a boyfriend to go on a date with. It did not take much thinking for Austin to come up with a plan.

In the next few weeks, he tried to convey some hints towards Callum, letting him know that his best friend was the greatest person he had ever met while simultaneously texting Y/N about how excited he was to be playing with no less than Callum Turner.

Mind you, Y/N had already heard of that name somewhere. It rang a bell but she did not know much about his filmography and quite frankly, did not bother looking any further than that. She was just happy that her best friend could play with someone that he apparently was fanboying over.

And Callum… What is there to say? He was completely oblivious about those hints that Austin made more and more obvious. It was as though he did not think to be worthy of her if she was as great as Austin described her to be.

Austin was convinced that the two should give it a go as Callum expressed interests for things Y/N was crazy about or that time when he mentioned that he had a dog that was looking just like Y/N’s childhood dog. And yeah, lots of people have a dog growing up and like music and photography but Austin was a sucker for a good love story. Screw that, he would be a match-maker, he decided as the Met Gala was near. He had to do something about it.

*** Met Gala. New York, May, the 2nd of 2022 ***

Finally, Austin had gotten back from the set of Masters of the Airs for a stay in New York. He was determined to enjoy his night at the Met Gala along with his girlfriend and had insisted that Callum join him, letting him know that it would do him good to go on a trip and forget about yet another date gone wrong.

It did not take much convincing as Callum was tired of staying in England for so long and had not seen New York in years because of Covid. Though he was not invited to the Met Gala, he was more than happy to attend it vicariously through his friend and his friend’s girlfriend. 

It was somewhat more difficult to convince Y/N to come to New York as she was a girl from the West who only came to the East in case of an emergency. The Met Gala surely was no emergency from her but Austin could not let go of his plan that easily. 

If there was something Y/N cared truly about, it was Austin of course but also her career as a photographer. And though she personally had no intention of following the Met Gala, Austin had made calls here and there to squeeze a spot as one of the official photographers of the event.

Y/N had repeatedly asked Austin not to go full-on nepotism with her as she saw him getting famous. She wanted her career to be defined only by her work and not by the people she counted as friends so when Austin told her the opportunity he had ahead of her, she first scolded him for that but it also was clear that she had no job offer as huge as this one. 

She made him promise that it would be last time he interceded in her career while thanking him for the occasion. She packed her suitcase and left to the airport.

[doctorprofessorsong]

Destiel Fic Recs

Who needs to stuff your face with turkey when you can stuff your brain with fanfic? Fresh out of the oven, please enjoy these fic recs.

Raise the Black by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) @valleydean (Explicit, 246k)

There are passion projects and then there is Raise the Black which takes it to a whole new level. It's not surprising that the author of The Shawnee Trail and A Ghost Story knows how to write historical fiction, but there are so many gorgeous bits of pirate life in this fic from the superstitions to the metaphors tied to the sea. 

The story is a Pirate AU. A chance encounter has left Cas, an officer from the Royal Navy, with a lasting obsession with Dean Winchester, the notorious pirate Captain of the Impala. When presented with the opportunity to defect and save his son from the abusive practices of the Royal Navy, Cas finds himself a part of Dean’s crew. 

I cannot overstate how good this one is. The underlying pirate mythology and superstition, the horny sparring, the epic battle scenes and of course the incredibly unhinged Dean and Cas that drive this story. The story had me anxious, like literally unable to focus on work because I had to know what happened.

It's @valleydean so she gives us a happy ending, but she makes us pay dearly for it in angst (so sexy of her really). 

And it isn't just the Destiel. The casting is phenomenal. I would die for pirate Meg. The use of the younger generation (Jack, Emma, Claire, Kaia) is amazing. Sam, Benny and Charlie as pirates. Truly we get so many great characters in this one y'all.

Without giving too much away, I'll just day that this one falls into the sweeping epic category and the results are staggering.

o weary traveler by dothraki_shieldmaiden @dothwrites (Explicit, 107k)

OK. So you know when you are in like Chapter 1 of a fic and already know it's going to be one of your favorites? That was this fic for me.

A mash-up of the Odyssey and Beauty and the Beast, this fic grabbed me and refused to let go. When Dean and his crew are shipwrecked on an island, they inadvertently anger its inhabitant, Castiel. Cas, an exiled angel, decides to take revenge, culminating in a Beauty and the Beast style pact for Dean to accept punishment on behalf of his wayward crew. 

Cas in this fic is very much an ancient being lacking the human perspective and Dean is just some guy who hunts monsters. It's my favorite dynamic. The way they dance around each other and eventually come together is beautiful to watch.

Throw in some delightful worldbuilding and poetic prose and you have a powerhouse of an epic tale.

The Common Hours by quiettewandering @wanderingcas (Mature, WIP 29k so far)

I very rarely recommend WIPs, so you know when I do it's because I think there's something special about the fic. I honestly think this one and the process of getting a bit more information each week is worth diving into, even if you are normally a "wait until it's done" kind of reader (and if not, this one is worth at least marking to be read with stars and highlights and little hearts).

The fic is a twisty mystery that has me throwing out theories every chapter. Cas is an amnesiac trying to recover from trauma he doesn't understand or remember. Luckily, he met Charlie who has been helping him rebuild his life. But Cas is haunted by half memories and a forgotten life, especially the memory of a man with green eyes who inhabits his dreams.

I don't want to say too much because half of the joy of this fic is pulling at threads and watching to see how it unravels. I'll just leave it at this: the story is captivating and fresh and these versions of the characters instantly grabbed me and wouldn't let go.

Vibrato by Tiamatv  (Explicit, 69k)

Tiamatv really does write some bangers. I couldn't put this one down. They are both disasters in this fic, but in a way that makes you to hug them and smoosh their faces. Dean meets a cute boy, has a full blown bi panic, realizes he was an ass, and strikes up a friendship that morphs into a friendship with benefits that morphs into basically a long term relationship but they're both idiots. It's idiots to lovers (but still idiots) at its finest.

Oh and also Cas is a super old genetic vampire. Whoops. One of the most delightful things about this fic is how well tiamatv captures the ancient and terrible being and also just some accountant dynamic that makes Cas so deeply loveable.

Despite some heavy stuff, this one is fluffy cotton candy most of the time and it's really about their irresistible dynamic. It is immensely readable.

The Sweetest Con by aimforsplendor @aimforsplendor (Mature, 19k)

If you are looking for some fairly low angst fun, this DeanCasBang (Taylor's Version) entry is an absolute delight. Dean and Sam are Robin Hood type con men using tech to steal from the rich and give to those who need it. They've finally found the head of a crime network, a billionaire resembling a particularly prominent and news worthy one recently which makes it fairly cathartic actually. But the mission is threatened when Dean gets sidetracked by a particular blue-eyed hottie.

This one is plain fun with a healthy dose of humor and really likeable characters. This one is truly just readable. Fun and fairly light and with enough interesting turns you keep you on your toes. 

Anything You Can Do by FagurFiskur (Explicit, 21k)

From the Dean Winchester is an absolute disaster genre, this is a surprisingly sweet, crack-taken-seriously smutty romp. 

Dean overhears his soon to be ex-girlfriend Daphne talking to a friend about how their mutual rebound relationship isn't working, especially because her gay ex-fiance, Castiel, was better in bed. Dean can't possibly let that stand. 

So he does the only logical thing and tracks Cas down. And hooks up with him. So he can win at the sex. Even though he's totally straight. 

Tag list

@varlysca @naturallyathief @greatbigbugger @fandoms-and-things @cascodedtech @you-cant-spell-subtext-without @deanwasalwaysbi @fellshish @valleydean @raspberry-tooth @the15yearhatecrime

[words-after-midnight]

WIP Playlist Tag

Thank you for the tag @crowandmoonwriting!!

Rules: list at least 4 songs from your current WIP playlist, or just a writing playlist you’ve been using lately, and the lyrics that speak to you the most! 

Music is a major source of inspiration for my writing. My actual story playlist for Life in Black and White is instrumental, so I'll just list ten inspiration songs + favorite lyrics that give me the BIG FEELS for my story. ETA: added them all to a playlist in case anyone wants to listen.

TV on the Radio - Careful You | Oui je t'aime, oui je t'aime, from the cradle to the grave / You've done a number on my heart, and things will never be the same

Purity Ring - Shuck | I'll shuck all the light from my skin and I'll hide it in you / I'll pluck the long grass that grows from me and I'll hide it in you

Depeche Mode - Wrong | There's something wrong with me chemically / Something wrong with me inherently / The wrong mix in the wrong genes / I reached the wrong ends by the wrong means / It was the wrong plan in the wrong hands / The wrong theory for the wrong man / The wrong eyes on the wrong prize / The wrong questions with the wrong replies

Sufjan Stevens - John My Beloved | I am a man with a heart that offends with its lonely and greedy demands / There's only a shadow of me / In a manner of speaking, I'm dead

O + S - The Fox | But then one day I ran out of bread / And wood to keep the fire / And when I woke, I found she had fled / To the house down the river / And I cried all night / Because I thought she was mine

Kaia Kater - Viper's Nest | Sing me sweet in the bitter bite of hell / Sing me sweet in the rushes and the swells / How sad it seems to love a thing / When all in life is a reckoning / How twisted trees and knotted pine / Will have me know that you're not mine

Mumford & Sons - Lover's Eyes | But do not ask the price I pay / I must live with my quiet rage / Tame the ghosts in my head / That run wild and wish me dead / Should you shake my ash to the wind / Lord, forget all of my sins / Oh, let me die where I lie / Beneath the curse of my lover's eyes

Gordon Lightfoot - Race Among the Ruins | You think you had the last laugh, now you know this can't be true / Even though the sun shines down upon you now, sometimes you must feel blue / You make the best of each new day, you try not to be sad / Even though the sky falls down upon you, call it midnight, feeling bad / When you wake up to the promise of your dream world coming true / With one less friend to call on, was it someone that I knew? / Away you will go sailing in a race among the ruins / If you have to face tomorrow, do it soon

Enya - Amid the Falling Snow | The silence of a winter's night / Brings memories I hold inside / Remembering the blue moonlight / Upon the fallen snow / Maybe I am falling down / Tell me, should I touch the ground? / Maybe I won't make a sound / In the darkness all around / I close my window to the night / I leave the sky her tears of white / And all is lit by candlelight / Amid the falling snow

Glass Animals - It's All So Incredibly Loud | Super silence in the quiet, eye inside the storm / Water from your broken iris fell toward the floor / Everything waiting, shaking as it drops / I tried for you and I, too hard, for too long / Gave it all and everything for more time, but I lost / Ooh, we're breaking down / Whispers would deafen me now / You don't make a sound / Heartbreak was never so loud

Tagging: @catchingbigfish, @sunset-a-story, @joeys-piano, @mrbexwrites, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @thatndginger, @sam-glade, @purplecowbell, @winterandwords, @nanashi23

[kamwashere]

Heyyyy Kam <3

What is YOUR favorite post-series headcanon? (I might need some,, inspiration,,, 👀👀👀)

- dean becomes catatonic after cas’ death. (kinda like buffy in s5) maybe even having dissociative amnesia afterwards. it was so traumatic and sam freaked out because dean was just sitting on the ground, still as a rock.

- him and jack decided to enter his mind to try to “wake him up.” they see the confession scene on loop.

- they don’t rescue cas right away. but dean also doesn’t die from the rusty nail. he’s also too careful in hunts now. he doesn’t want cas’ death to be in vain.

- speaking of hunts, he quit after a year. sam and eileen move out of the bunker but dean stays. there’s a part of him that hopes that cas’ ghost may linger.

- he makes a mixtape for every 5th of the month.

- he writes songs sometimes. something about blue eyes and black hair. something about words unspoken.

- he does get that mechanic job. sometimes he would flinch seeing black tar but dean fucking loves it all the same.

- monsters get eradicated completely. dean walks miracle every morning and tried to get used to the lack of a gun strapped to his body.

- sam goes back to law school in california. eileen resumes her social work practice. they come back to the bunker for the holidays.

- jack doesn’t become god. amara assumes that role and lets jack learn more about the world before reigning over it. it’s actually a pretty good arrangement and she dotes on jack so much.

- claire and kaia go to college. kaia slowly but surely encourages claire to get counselling. it took awhile but she does. claire drops out after second year but resumes counselling.

- one day after a grueling day at the repair shop, claire jokes about dean needing therapy. he just smiles and tells her to get back to work.

- dean does. it’s a slow, difficult process but process nonetheless.

- jack tries to get cas back. he tries and tries and tries. every time he couldn’t, it rained for days and days.

- when he does rescue cas, cas goes straight to heaven. he does what he does best; watching over dean.

[gamerbot-22]

DNI

I’ve been hyperfixating on The Arcana for a little while (even before the whole Dorian nonsense) and as much as I love the writing the decisions made on behalf of the MCs in Lucio’s route are just. Hilarious to me.

(Spoilers for the route in case you haven’t read it btw)

But yeah, like. My Apprentice, Kaia, would never be so forgiving so quickly. Like once they find out Lucio is responsible for the Red Plague and everything I think they’d be more likely to just freak tf out and try to strangle a ghost with their bare hands instead of brush it off with a “well as long as you’re learning!”

I get that writing that conflict is super difficult to do and still turn into a romance, but I wouldn’t have minded a “enemies to lovers” arc between the Apprentice and Lucio. I think it would’ve made a lot more sense than them just immediately starting to make out in The Star’s Labyrinth after being traumatized by a bunch of Arcana symbolism.

Like idk I do very much see Kaia and Lucio ending up together (I made a fuckin fan kid for the two of them for gods’ sake,) but it’s not something that gets resolved so quickly. It would be at least months of Lucio having to sort of prove that he has actually learned his lesson before Kaia would feel comfortable letting him be so forward with them. It would be interesting growth, methinks.

I dunno! My brother and I have plans to rewrite the Arcana to make more sense for our respective apprentices so that’ll probably be something I work on in the coming… whenever.

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Supernatural Season 16 - Writing our Own Story

Supernatural Season 16 - Writing our Own Story https://ift.tt/SD3IEkU by CastielWinchester1314 After Chuck's defeat, the Winchesters (Extended chosen family included) can finally live in peace and not worry about the next big bad or apocalypse. But what will they do now that it's back to ghost hunts and lurking Wendigos? Go through the next season of Supernatural, the unreleased season sixteen you all have been looking for. From Stanford college, to the bunker, to everything in between, the Winchesters are in for a bumpy ride as everyday humans. ENJOY :D Words: 1495, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Jack Kline, Eileen Leahy, Claire Novak, Jody Mills, Donna Hanscum, Miracle the Dog (Supernatural), Original Characters Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak, Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills Additional Tags: Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth (Supernatural), Everything past that episode is FAKE, Not real, Jack Kline as God, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Post-Canon, Everyone Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel is Saved from the Empty (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester Use Their Words, Firefighter Dean Winchester, Stanford University, College | University Student Jack Kline, College | University Student Claire Novak, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, cute date nights, Lung Cancer, Dean Winchester has cancer, (It gets better don't worry!), Car Accidents, Eileen Leahy and Sam Winchester Run the Men of Letters Bunker, Amara as God (Supernatural), Human Jack Kline, (Or as human as he wants to be), A case fic in here somewhere, Case Fic, Jack does ballet, Claire owns a motorcycle, Marriage Proposal, Pregnancy, Did I mention fluff?, a whole lot of that, Castiel and Dean Winchester Behave Like a Married Couple, Other Additional Tags to Be Added via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/q9yxhnV June 23, 2023 at 11:37AM

[lilithsaintcrow]

My darling subscribers, your weekly fiction fix has wafted through the digital aether and should now be safely in your inboxes.

This week in THE HIGHLANDS WAR, Kaia and Jorah have a discussion atop the battlements.

Crow's Nest subscribers get another peek at GAMBLE, the next GHOST SQUAD book; the medic of the team is a bit cagey, but I think I've got him talking.

There's an all-new Monthly Sales page, where you can see price drops and other news.

And to round out the week, there's a free excerpt of the upcoming SALT-BLACK TREE over at the Tor/Forge blog.

Tomorrow will see another Reading with Lili—haven’t decided on the book yet, but I think it might be something George Orwell.

And of course, tomorrow brings us another Friday Night Writes.

Thus endeth the weekly shilling of my subscription wares. I'm hoping the serial takes off a little more, frankly--it would be nice to have some leeway to publish stuff trad won't touch.

And so, it's back to the word mines…

[kagesdumpsterfire]

For those of you that think this is just about Destiel, I'm sorry you're wrong.

This is about Lily, who was the first of the special children to die. She was murdered and hung on a tower for shock value.

This is about Corbett, who was the first and only of the ghost facers to die. who's sexuality was used for comic relief (yes, I know we all enjoy the "Gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day" line, but let's call a spade a spade.

This is about Demian and Barns, whose relationship was used for comedic shock.

This is about Charlie, our first recurring LGBTQ+ character, whose brutal off screen death was used to "move the story along."

This is about Max Banes, whose story was forgotten about, even though there was obviously more to tell.

This is about Kaia, who was killed after expressing interest in Claire. And claire, for being almost erased from the narrative after the confirmation that she felt the same.

This is about AU Charlie, who lost TWO separate girlfriends and then was killed herself. (And erasing the scene where she awkwardly talks to Sam about her tryst with ROWENA)

And yes, it is about Castiel. The NB Angel in a Male vessel who fell in love with a man, and was killed after confessing said love.

And Dean Winchester, because honestly, who knows, but all signs point a certain way, but it is not our story to tell. it was his. And he was killed before he could. Before he could even explore what it means to be truly free, he was killed.

These aren't the only instances on the show either. There are several throughout ALL of the seasons where LGBTQ+ people have been used for comedy or shock value and then never heard from or seen again.

They could have done so much by just letting three little words, Hell, two fucking words, on screen, but they refused to make a stand and chose to pander to a dying audience.

So yes, we will celebrate the "Y yo a ti, Cas." We will try to figure out what went wrong in translation or editing, because this is so much bigger than Destiel.

For those of you who see these examples and say " see, you've always had rep, you just wanted to see Castiel and Dean together." Let me ask you? Is killing or writing off every LGBTQ+ member on your show really good rep?

For those of you who say " Well, Dean was always straight and changing it this late in the Game would have been pandering!" While, I know alot of people saw him as uber heterosexual, some of us never did, but that's not the point. People do come out later in life you know? Being anything other than strictly heterosexual is terrifying. There are so many risks. It takes years to build up the courage to be yourself, some people never even get the chance.it would not have been pandering, it would have been groundbreaking. It would have let people see that it is never too late to be free. But they didn't want to do that.

For those of you who think it was fetishization of two "hot dudes"..... maybe for some, and those people should be ashamed, because sexuality should never be fetishized. But get this, the story of Destiel was loved by all members of the community, as well as straight people too, and believe me, some of those members have no desire to see two dudes getting it on. It was the story of unconditional love and respect that drew us in.

This isn't just about Destiel. It IS about showing people that it's okay to love who you love and being free to be who you are, regardless of what society thinks.

So yes, we will go feral. We deserve it.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

happy birthday, dean winchester <3

"Cas?"

Dean knocks once and opens the door a little, only enough for him to stick his head through. At first sight, Cas is sitting at the edge of the bed, holding his phone. At second, he's smiling.

"Dean," Cas looks up, smile broadening. He's so beautiful. "Would you like to come —"

"Nah," Dean grins back. "Not right now. Heading to bed." He leans his head against the doorframe, and winks. "Kind of a long day."

It was Dean's birthday.

And the rest of the Winchesters had planned the hell out of it.

There'd been Winchester Supreme breakfasts (for everyone, which yes, meant that Sam had had a tiny aneurysm) a midday Scooby Doo marathon (venue: the Deancave) a party in the evening with balloons and actual birthday pie, and karaoke after dinner. Jack had gotten him one of those 3-in-1 boxed board games (Monopoly was the only thing on the cover he recognized), Sam and Eileen, a leather journal because "you can finally start writing your own story, chuck-free," and socks, and Cas had apparently been responsible for the (friggin' awesome) pie, and had then surprised even the other three with a ridiculously soft, green cardigan during gift giving.

Dean had not just gotten to spend time with all of his family — and he's talking Jody, Donna, the girls, Garth, Charlie, everyone — but actually gotten to see all of them hang out after so long, and be happy, and celebrate, under the same roof — it'd been so perfect, it feels like a dream even in hindsight.

There's really no way to describe it except as one of the best days of his life.

"I believe it was." Cas says, eyes twinkling. His eyes flit back to his phone, and Dean's follow — his breath hitching in his chest when he sees a picture of him in the pink, polka dotted birthday hat. (Garth's idea, though really, everyone's.)

Cas had been —

He'd been smiling at Dean.

"Yeah." Dean feels a little winded. "Awesome, though."

"Goodnight, Dean." Cas looks up again, wearing the same, happy smile. It does things to Dean, really.

Makes him feel the same kind of way Claire and Donna (and later, upon Claire's insistence and everyone else's cheering, Kaia) partnering up to sing a way too dramatic cover of Jingle Bells at him (in January) did. Or Eileen and Sam Night-Moves-ing him, giggly together on 'stage' in a way they'd definitely deny having been the next morning. It was the kind of feeling you get when you're really happy, and there's (finally, finally) no reasons not to be.

And all of it, reconjured by a single gummy smile.

It's sometimes kind of staggering how stupidly in love he is.

"'Night, Cas." Dean manages, a floaty feeling in his gut, and he closes the door. He stays right there, though, hands clenched into fists and breathing slow.

His head's a whirlwind of feelings, insides fluttering like they decided to pick up from the example of the butterflies that at this point, he's stopped trying to control around Cas.

It's like somehow, suddenly, he's been cut loose. All these years, all the repression — all the not-yet's, and he-can't's — all of it, it feels like it's fading. Cas makes him happy. Cas smiles at awful pictures of Dean, and then smiles up at the real Dean like he doesn't even have to hide it anymore (then why does Dean?) and bakes him pie, and saves his life, and buys him sweaters that match his eyes and proceeds to point it out — and makes him happier than he's ever been.

Cas is family, and Cas is home. And he's the love of Dean's life, and maybe he doesn't have to keep it in anymore — because he sure as hell can't.

Like he's floating on a cloud, and the chains binding him are rendered needless, and fall to the ground, it suddenly hits Dean.

Dean Winchester's free.

The enormity of it sinks, or tries to, as he licks his lips. Force of habit. There's still the faintest taste of sugar. And maybe he's just really drunk and can't tell, but there's really nothing holding him back anymore, is there?

(And it is his birthday, after all.)

Before he can second-guess himself — which usually happens right about now — he barges through the door again.

Cas is standing now, and his eyes widen when Dean scales the distance between them in a couple of fast, desperate steps. Puts a hand on his hip, the other cupping his face.

Tilts it up, and Dean's thumb trembles dangerously close to the corner of Cas's mouth.

What is he scared of?

It's Cas.

His voice is barely a whisper.

"Can I —"

Cas jerks his head in a stilted nod, and Dean closes the gap between the in a single movement, tilting his head the other way. Their lips meet, Dean's moist and Cas's soft, and Cas leans into it — leans into Dean, and oh, it's perfect — and Dean's other hand leaves Cas's waist to come up until he's holding Cas's face in both his hands, ignoring the tears pricking his eyes, as he squeezes his eyes closed and lets it fall, and kissing Cas harder.

It's years and years of buildup, but everything's worth it for the devastated sound Cas lets out when Dean pulls back, wide-eyed and gasping for breath, and Cas inadvertently chasing his lips even further into his personal space.

It's always been Cas.

"Dean." Cas breathes, chest heaving.

Only now does Dean notice his hands on Dean's waist, when a ghost of a touch sends a shiver up his spine.

He just kissed Cas.

"Hey, Cas." Dean bites his bottom lip, voice as shaken as his knees feel. Cas leans up a little, and Dean closes his eyes again when their foreheads touch. He can feel their breaths mingling, but it's the closeness that gets him. "It's my birthday today." He adds, something almost coy in his tone, for the sake of saying something, 'cause how can he not breathlessly ramble the silence away?

(Dean still can't believe he just kissed him, but hell, is he glad he did.)

"I love you." Cas returns.

"I'm pretty sure the saying goes, happy birthday." Dean tells him with a shit-eating grin, hooking his arms around Cas's neck. He's half expecting an eyeroll, more probably that patent reserved-for-Dean frown, but what he gets is another kiss. Less fleeting, less chaste.

Dean all but melts.

Always and forever, Cas.

"So be it." Cas mutters, looking up at Dean with a smile dancing in his eyes, but lips pursed. And it's about to be midnight again, so it's the last wish of Dean's entire forty second birthday when Cas says it.

"Happy birthday."

(Dean hears it loud and clear.)

"I love you."

[kisses4kaia]

burning desire - simon “ghost” riley

summary : your lieutenant is tired of your attitude, and you’re tired of his arrogance. what happens when the tensions collide?

warnings : nsfw under the cut, mdni. - unprotected p in v, hate fucking, lots and lots of tension, swearing, creampie, and angst. please let me know if i missed any

a/n : you guys already know i fucking love enemies to lovers c’mon nowww 🤤 anyway yea this was just me indulging myself bc he’s all i think about. plz enjoy and reblog if u did !!

“yeah, well you’ve just got your panties in a twist because you know it was your fault,” you muttered under your breath.

frankly, you were exhausted. everyone was. the last mission was a bust, and it was all because ghost absolutely refused to leave you behind, despite it breaking protocol.

you were now the only two in his office, everyone else having gone home already, filling out the required report on the mission. his large frame stood tall, looming over your sat position.

he scoffs and looks down to glare daggers at you. “oh, i’m sorry, y/c/s, would you have preferred i left you for dead?”

you roll your eyes, not wanting to upset the lieutenant more than you already have, desperately wanting to go home and sleep.

“fuck off, ghost.”

“what was that?”

“i said, fuck off, ghost!” you were now yelling, standing up and letting the clipboard in your lap fall to the ground.

he laughs, fucking laughs, and gets so close to you you can feel his breath through his balaclava on your face. you feel so warm and tense with rage and you almost miss the fluttery feeling in your lower belly.

almost.

“oh, you think you’re so fucking tough, eh? you think your actions don’t have consequences? well, princess, they do; and i don’t know why no one has taught you that lesson yet, but it looks like it’s gonna have to be me who does.” his gaze is intense, his voice low and serious. this time, you definitely don’t miss the way his words shoot directly to your core.

but you were never one to give yourself up so quickly, you wouldn’t be as highly ranked as you are if you did.

“well, lieutenant, good fucking luck,” was all you said, and you smirk. the words hang in the air for a moment, daring ghost to act. his eyes flash between yours, trying to find the last bit of control, restraint.

and the moment he sees your eyes narrow, preparing to announce your victory, his balaclava is lifted just above his mouth and his lips are on yours, swallowing the words down and taking on the challenge.

his tongue fights for dominance, tongue sliding across your lower lip, but you fight and decide to play dirty, pressing your knee against the growing bulge in his pants, causing his mouth to open in a deep moan.

your tongue is quick to find purchase inside his mouth, grabbing the back of his neck and lifting yourself onto your tippy toes.

the kiss is full and passionate and hot and you cannot get close enough to him. “take your fucking clothes off,” you practically growl with impatience and despair.

he didn’t think his cock could get any fucking harder at your words and tone in which they were spoken.

ghost didn’t say anything but pulled away shortly to unzip the many zippers and rip velcro and toss all the tactical gear on his torso onto the ground, paying careful mind to the concealed weaponry stored in secret sewn-in hiding spots.

his head is clouding, his pupils dilating as a result and he can’t recall the fleeting moments in between then and now. you’re sat on his desk, legs naked and parted and he’s lining his cock up with your entrance while your chest heaves up and down in anticipation.

as his thick cock prods your entrance, you gasp at the stretch, ghost letting out a low groan.

“so tight,” you swear you hear him mutter under his breath. his pace is relatively restrained at first, but you can tell he’s holding out on you. it’s for your sake, probably, but you just can’t help tempting him, pushing him, just to see what happens.

“that’s all you got, lieutenant? c’mon, i thought you’d be a better fuck than this,” you goad, a bit apprehensive because you’ve seen how ruthless he can be in the field, and taunting him was probably going to leave you handicapped for the next couple of days.

but you needed it. lord, you needed it.

ghost growls before suddenly pulling out of your warm walls, making you gasp at the sudden emptyness. he turns you around and bends you over the desk, quickly slamming into you and setting a merciless pace.

his gloved hands were glued to your hips, whispering all kinds of degrading things to you, and also to himself.

“dirty fucking slut. provoking me so i could fuck you hard, isn’t that right, princess? bloody brat, bet you’re just waiting for me to fill you up with my kids, eh?”

his words spurred you on and you became so fucking needy.

you’re getting so close, so fucking close, but out of the blue, he stops. you whimper at the lack of friction and beg him to keep going but he stays unmoving.

“you want it so bad? fuck yourself on this cock then, eh?” you can practically hear the fucking smirk on his face.

you whine, but need to feel your release so bad to the point where you don’t even protest, just start moving your hips back to meet his, over and over, trying to mimick the unrelenting speed he had earlier set.

he mutters “fucking hell,” under his breath before moaning, borderline whimpering, and moving his hands back to your hips to take the work off of your shoulders.

you sigh a breath of relief but it is quickly overtaken by a pornagraphic moan as you felt your release nearing.

“gonna cum? do it, fucking cum all over my dick, princess,” he’s egging you on, snaking his gloved hand around your body and onto your clit, drawing fast circles.

the moment you feel the pleasure, you clench tightly around ghosts hard member and cum all over it, your arousal causing a creamy ring to form around his base, as well as staining the cargo pants still caught around his lower thighs.

his own climax is met soon after, dumping his load inside your tight pussy.

ghost leans down, pressing his chest to your back and kissing you on the cheek.

“have you decided to lose that attitude yet?”

[oh-styles]

Something About a Beginning: Part II

First off, I want to thank each and every one of you for your immense patience. (More so than others, but I digress.) Writing on such topics when you yourself aren’t in the most healthiest mentality is a struggle alone, but we got here. 

Second off, if you haven’t read the first part, you can so here. These chapters implicate bouts of depression and talks of miscarriage, so read at your own will. 

I do want to note that I mention Robin in this story, and I was hesitant to include him because I felt it wasn’t appropriate, because he shouldn’t be used as entertainment purposes (i.e. in stories) but I mention him only with love and respect.

Again, thank you for your patience, and happy reading.

July 3, 2019 London, England

Harry lost his girl.

She vanished in the night – gone with the wind – and all that remained was a ghost of a woman, transparent and bleak. He hasn’t seen her smile since that night, coming close to a week now, and his gut retches at the thought he might never get his girl back.

She’s buried herself in the sheets; the window is opened a crack, and he spots an empty bottle of melatonin laying overturned on her bedside table. He stares intently at her body, watching as the sheets rise and fall to the pattern of her placid breathing, and he thinks for a moment that she’s finally found herself a better place. Not dead—not by any means. Whatever dream world she has found herself delved in, he knows she might have found a sliver of peace there, hopefully smiling.

“She’s sleeping, mum.” Harry says into his phone, taking a step back to gently close the bedroom door. “Rande and Cindy invited us to Muskoka but…” His words hung in the air, like the elephant in the room, but his mother knew all too well what was lingering on the precipice of her sons’ tongue.

But she’s too depressed.

But she can’t go a day without crying.

But I don’t think she has the energy to leave the house.

It’s been four days since the attack, and Harry hasn’t seen her take a step outside of their bedroom.

“Love, she’s wasting away in there. It might help her a little to get out, get some sun…”

“Mum, I can’t even get her to sit in the fucking garden.” He can hear his mother’s nettled sigh on the other end of the line, but how can anyone expect him to put her on a mother fucking airplane if she can’t even bother to walk the 30 meters to the fucking garden? “The sodding paps were outside the house last night.”

“They can’t—”

“I’m aware.” He begins to descend his way down the stairs, stopping to peer out from the front window – an old, worn out habit. “I think it’s best we get away for a bit. The story hasn’t died down… I think it’ll help—getting away. They won’t bother us there.”

Harry knew your answer before he even had the chance to ask; he knew he was wasting his time in even suggesting such a thing, but the guilt would eat away at him if he didn’t even try.

“Muskoka…Canada, remember? We went there last year.” He sat at the edge of the bed, running a hand over the sheets where a peek of your shoulder laid exposed. “It’ll be quiet. Nobody there to bug us. If you want to just hang out in the hotel room the whole time, I’d be fine with that. It’s just…”

I can’t stand to see you burrowed away another day.

“I’m really worried about you… I’m just trying to help.” He was powerless, and he knew it. He couldn’t take her by the arm and force her on a plane, but god forbid he try his damned hardest. “No paps, nobody. I promise. I wouldn’t take you there if it wasn’t safe.”

He feels a stir beneath him, and from underneath the covers, a small hand inches outward and lays upward, a silent plea for intimacy—a piece of familiarity he hasn’t touched in days. He reaches out and clasps her hand in his, and readjusts himself to lay beside her.

“You can think about it. I don’t need an answer this second, but give it a day or two, okay?”

He sees her nod, and her eyes blink open to meet his, only for a second, before they are closed once again for the remainder of the night.

*

July 6, 2019 Ontario, Canada

Muskoka came and went. Nothing advantageous to really capture your attention, though you kept your head nestled low in a book for most of your stay. You tossed a couple Stephen King novels into your bags without much thought, and by the time your trip was coming to an end, you had already completed one and started another.

A photo made its rounds online of you at dinner with Harry, Rande and Cindy, and even thinking back to that night, you couldn’t recount a time where you felt a pair of eyes boring at your table. You think it might be because you paid more attention to the drink menu than your friends, but you digressed. They only saw the back of your head, and not even the photographer mentioned you. You were also mistaken for Kaia on a couple occasions.

After Muskoka, you were back in London, and not much later Harry would be jetting off to Italy for Google Camp, and a few days after that, he was set to fly to Mexico for a video shoot. He was redundant to go, and even called Jeff to see if they could reschedule, but that would cause a delay for the next video they’d film only a week later. He asked if you wanted to join him, and you kindly declined. You were much aware of his past video sets, and how common it was to see photos and videos leaked online, and you were far from interested to be included.

You were much happier to find yourself under the watchful eyes of Anne Twist.

“I can meet you in Scotland if I’m feeling up to it.” You knew it was a scorching lie crawling right off your tongue, but if it meant he carried some hope with him, then you would feed him whatever white lies you could muster. Even Anne knew better than to believe you.

“I think Canada was good for you, love, but you need some rest, too. Can’t be travelling all over the bloody world, now, can you?”

It was a nice feeling to know she had your back.

In another life would a little green monster be envious of missing such a trip to Cancun, but the only desires you had were sitting in Anne’s garden being force fed a steady cup a tea and a plate of biscuits.

Anne didn’t pry; she knew well what you needed, but she would be keeping her sons promise on keeping you safe, and she knew there was no safer place for you to be.

It was August now, and the heat felt suffocating. You and Anne spent your mornings walking to the bakery her son once worked in, grabbing a quick breakfast before heading to the park. You would pick off pieces of your croissant and toss it at the squirrels, but you almost always scared them off. Anne told stories of when Harry was a child, and how he once tried to tell her Gemma was a drug dealer.

“She was only a child,” she hummed, laughing into her coffee. “But he was always a character to have around.”

“I feel like…between you and me, right?” You could hear in the distance the sound of a goose honking and a group of children wailing, running away. “I just…don’t want to upset him.”

Anne reached over and took your hand in hers. “Anything you say is always safe with me, love.”

“I’m mad he left me here.” There was a short beat, but you could feel your throat close, and that anger begin to well up in your chest. “This…this is also…”

“I know, love.” She scooted closer, squeezing your hand. “Everyone has their own ways of dealing with grief. Harry isn’t good at sitting around… Even when Robin passed, he didn’t like to sit. He needed to go do something.”

You remember, and yet you still recall him lying on his mother’s couch in tears. You don’t think he’s cried since the two of you left the hospital a couple weeks ago.

“He loves you, darling. He calls me every day to check in on you. Don’t think for a second he doesn’t care.”

Even with her words, you felt something was missing.

*

Harry was only in Scotland for a couple days before he was finally home, but it wouldn’t be long before he would be venturing off to Italy – again – for another work-related conquest. You weren’t sure why he was so content with country hopping every couple of weeks instead of resting at home with you, but you didn’t bother bludgeoning him with questions.

“After I’m through with Italy—I won’t even be there a day—I’ll be back home, but a couple weeks later, I have to go to LA for some meetings… I’d like you to come, if that’s okay.”

Again. There’s always something. It must be so fucking difficult to stay in one place for more than a couple weeks with your grieving girlfriend.

“Also…I was meaning to ask you. Ariana is in town in a few days… Wanted to know if you wanted to come with me and the guys… I think it’ll be fun.”

“Your child died a month ago and you want to go to a fucking Ariana Grande concert.” The words fell helplessly from you, but it was weeks of anguish and neglect that hit its final tier, and you were quite tired of hanging on. “Tell me….how does that make sense to you?”

“Excuse me?” For the first time that night, he looked at you. All before, he found excuses to shift his glances to anything but you, maybe in fear of reality finally hitting him in the face with what he’s been running from for weeks, but for the first time that night, he bared his eyes down at you, and his mouth fell open.

“I’m sorry—have I been hallucinating you just picking your shit up and leaving every chance you get?”

“I’ve had work—” He took to his feet, swiftly flinging his hand out to close the lid of his luggage.

“Any normal person—I swear, any normal person would stay home, and fucking grieve, except you, who wants to fucking fly everywhere and work, because that would require facing his fucking prob—”

“I have a job—I know it’s hard for you to relate to that, but I have commitments—”

“And what am I then? If not a commitment, then what, Harry?”

“You are a commitment—”

“Then where have you been? Why have I been staying with your mother? I know you invited me to go with you, but I shouldn’t have to. I’m fucking hurting, Harry! I don’t want to go to Cancun and Italy—I want to be here with you. Do you know how fucking hard it’s been dealing with this without you here?”

For once, he was silent, but he shifted on his feet.

“You haven’t cried. Not since the hospital. I can’t count how many times I’ve cried, and you sit around texting your band or going to video shoots… If you feel nothing—no grief or anything…if you didn’t even want the baby, just tell me. Make this easier on me, please.”

“How the fuck can you say that I didn’t want the baby? My heart is fucking hurt!”

“Then act like it!”

“You really think I can sit around every day and watch you fall apart? I have to be the strong one… If it can’t be you, then it has to be me, and I don’t like watching you hurt.”

“You know…you sometimes have a really shitty way showing people you care about them.”

You stood there, arms folded in resistance, and he couldn’t take his eyes from off the floor. He felt cornered, and he was defenseless with nothing else left to give. His bags still laid on the bed, clothes scattered over the sheets ready to be put up, and you knew this room was no place for you. Your purse was downstairs, and your phone in your pocket.

“I’m going to stay with Gemma tonight. I’ll have her pick me up. Please don’t follow me out.” 

*

She’s always been the quiet one.

The first time she met you, at a family gathering you were reluctant to attend despite the persistent reassurance from your other half, she knew from the moment she saw you that you were different from all the others. You held yourself different, much shorter, like you knew you could never become the center of attention.

You studied the room, holding onto Harry’s hand as he introduced you to his mother, and that’s when Gemma appeared from over her mother’s shoulder.

“About time I meet you,” she chuckled, reaching her hand out. “I’m Gemma.”

She watches you now from the edge of the driveway, sitting on the steps of the porch with only the light above you illuminating your surroundings. From behind you, she spotted the silhouette of her brother peeking through the curtains, keeping a close eye for just in case.

Your track record wasn’t a good one.

As she approaches, you perk your head up with a sigh of relief. For the first time, she was the Styles you nothing but needed.

“Come on, Magoo,” she chirps as she finally reaches you, lifting her hand out for you to take. “We can hit the McDonald’s drive-thru.”

Laura Nyro played over her car stereo, a melodious tune you recall hearing once before on a long drive in Cheshire. You shut your eyes, and the memory floods you like a storm, like a stampede parading across your chest, and you lean over to rest your head on the window.

Gemma reached her hand over to find yours, giving it three squeezes of solace.

I. Love. You.

The cut that was tucked away in your hairline was in its last stages of healing, and a scar would most certainly take its place. You always felt the erratic throbbing, like a little reminder that no matter how far you run, your problems will always be chasing you like the devil.

“Did I make a mistake?”

Gemma turned her attention from the road, lifting your hand up with hers, and planting a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“No, Magoo. I’m sorry to tell you, but you’re dating a dumbass.” She heard a muted hum in response. “Nobody is perfect… Not even that shithead. I can see where he thought what he was doing was okay, because he was sacrificing his feelings for you, but… that’s just not how you do it.”

You could drink to that.

Gemma spotted the golden arches and took a left at the light. “I’m glad you texted me… Haven’t had a bloody girl’s night in ages. It sucks under the circumstances but…” She turned back to you with a wink. “I’ll take what I can get.”

On the journey back to her flat, you pleasantly sipped at your chocolate milkshake and tapped your feet to the music, and even sporadically hummed along to the few chords you knew. It really didn’t take much to please you.

Gemma was never gifted a sister as a child. Though, she did want one, and was thoroughly distraught when her mother brought home a brother all those years ago, she did grow accustomed and grew to love the curly haired boy who she would then share with the world. But the girl beside her, who slurped her drink and choked behind a laugh of a joke about a time traveler who walks into a bar, had burrowed herself deep within her heart, much like she does with any counterpart she meets.

It’s incredibly difficult not to meet this girl and not hold some sort of placement in her life. Her heart is massive, but the love she radiates is gracious and touches anyone who dares get too close.

And the love Gemma has for her is just as the same.

Michal was asleep when the two of you arrived; you knew your way around, and confidently walked to the spare room down the hall, last door on the right. Gemma trailed behind you, holding your milkshake as you flipped on the light, and kicked off your shoes.

Olivia was already sprawled out over the comforter.

“Could you stay with me, tonight?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice, babe.” Gemma smirked, setting your drink down on the bedside table. “Have you ate?”

You shook your head, even trying to recall if you had mustered an appetite to have some breakfast, but even then you think you took a couple bites out of an apple and forgot about it.

“I’ll make you something—actually, Michal and I have spinach ravioli left over… Want me to heat some of that up for you?”

You graciously nodded. “You’re too good for me.”

“I just love you is all.”

The next morning, the spot beside you was visibly vacant, and from down the hall you could vaguely hear a low, sullen voice talking over the sound of the television. Gemma fired back in response, and from your feet, Olivia peeked her head from the covers, turning towards the disrupting noise.

“Let her sleep—she’s exhausted—”

“Just give me five bloody minutes!”

You knew any chance of sleep you wish you had was far gone.

“I’m up—just fucking talk!” You hollered into your pillow, your eyes still adjusting to the sunlight cascading into the room. You could guess it wasn’t any later than nine that morning, and before you had a moment to check, his unquestionable footsteps neared your door, and you heard a light tap. “I’m obviously awake.”

After you walked out the night before, he ignored your wishes and followed you downstairs where the shortest reaction he got from you was the front door slamming in his face.

“Can I talk?”

I don’t know, can you?

“You literally came here and woke me up from some incredible sleep, mind you, and you’re asking me if you can talk.” He was in a blind panic and darted his eyes around the room. “Well, talk.”

“I’m a fucking twat, I know this. It’s inexcusable what I did—what I put you through—it was selfish—I’m so fucking selfish—I can’t fucking deal with this kind of stuff, and I’m a bloody twat for leaving you because I can’t handle it. It’s cowar—I’m a coward! I can’t face shit—and I love you so much, and I left you… I’m so sorry, please believe me. I’m such a twat—"

“Shut up, please—you’re giving me a migraine.” You held up a single finger as you adjusted yourself in bed. “Look, I don’t even know how early it is, and you know how much I hate mornings.”

“I know, but…I didn’t want to wait until the afternoon to talk to you.”

“That’s fair.”

“It’s 10:30 by the way.”

“Did you practice that speech in your car, or did you just wing it?”

While you were in bed with Gemma, watching King of the Hill on her iPad, Harry resided to his office where he spent much of the evening hunched over his journal, scrawling out endless messages to you about how much of a wanker he is, and by the time the sun began to rise, he had his eyes in his hand and began waiting for an appropriate time to come and see you.

“I…thought a little bit about it, yeah.”

“You really hurt me, alright? It’s not something I can just forget because you said you were sorry. When I needed you the most, you weren’t there. What kind of partner is that?” He stood silent in his spot; his hands dug deep into his trousers. Suddenly, he was a little boy again getting scolded by his mother. “I had your mom, I had Gemma, but not you. The only person I needed. I get this wasn’t part of the plan, and we got our hearts broken, but that doesn’t give you the right to run off because you can’t handle seeing me upset.”

Olivia stretched her limbs out over the covers, purring against the sheets.

“I appreciate you coming, I really do. This isn’t something I can just forget and move on from. I want to work on this, but it’s going to take time… I still love you though.”

*

September 19, 2019 Los Angeles, California

“Your shirt looks like amebae under a microscope.”

He stifled a grunt, looking down at his shirt with concentration, and every so subtly did you see him glance swiftly at the bathroom mirror. “I’m surprised you even know what ameba are.”

“Or it looks like those eye floaties you get, but…colorful, you know?”

“Will you stop bullying me?”

“Only when you tell me how much you paid for that shirt.”

For a second, and you saw it flash through his eyes, he considered telling you, but figured that was a fight for a different afternoon. His silence was all the answer you needed. You nodded and left the room.

He found himself eminently lucky that you even agreed to accompany him to Los Angeles, but it was under the one condition that he takes you to In-N-Out whenever you oh so politely asked. Though, after you harassed him over his attire that morning, he was undecided to change his mind.

He didn’t.

You did, however, apologize and say he looked like a sexy ameba, and he then locked you out of the car for five minutes.

To be fair, you only accepted his offer to travel with him because you missed your friends, and they were the one thing that remained untouched from the summer. You felt the emptiness being carried with you with every passing day, and all the books and websites said that was normal, but finding distractions and hobbies to pass the time was coming close to becoming a sport – way too laborious for you.

You even found yourself searching “Losing interest in things I used to like” and you were considerably shocked to discover the rabbit hole Google led you down.

You didn’t consider yourself depressed, not by any means. Sure, you were sad most of the day, you never really gained your appetite back, you stopped painting and watching King of the Hill and Breaking Bad, and if you didn’t spend the entire day sleeping, you would lay in bed with your eyes closed, praying you would eventually grow tired enough to slip away for a little while.

Harry even signed you both up for couple’s therapy.

“This is for people who cheated on each other and refuse to break up!”

But regardless of your inherent fussing, he refused to back down. Where the two of you stood mentally, this was your last chance at redemption, and he wasn’t letting you back out. The way he saw it, if you didn’t make an effort to try and fix what was broken, there was no hope for the relationship moving forward.

That was when you realized the outcome was more than just losing your baby.

After the first session, you made an appointment with your physician, who later prescribed not only you with anti-depressants, but Harry as well. Your world was spinning madly, in every which direction, but at least you had your boy holding on madly with you.

The first time you encountered a fan since the summer happened on that very first outing in Los Angeles when you and Harry were arriving for your lunch plans. (Not In-N-Out, but you let it go.) If it had been solely one girl, you trust that you could easily fight her off if given the opportunity. I mean, sure, you didn’t fight off that other girl, but she had the upper hand, or so you tell yourself.  

But, no, she was with a group, and you felt the urge to vomit.

“I’m going to throw up—” You propel yourself in the other direction, ready to sprint back to the parking lot, and thinking back on it now, you can’t even remember the last time you even sprinted. “Let me sit in the car—let’s get the food to go—I don’t care—”

This is why we should have fucking gone to In-N-Out.

“Pet—you can’t run forever, okay? I know it’s fucking scary, but you have to face this one day.” You remember the exact quote Harry was reciting from the therapist, just with less profanity. “I won’t let them do shit, alright?”

They did stop him, of course, and you took a few steps away so they could have their moment, but you made sure he was still an arm grab away incase—

“Hey,” You had disregarded the voice, opening a game on your phone – Numberzilla – before you registered someone had spoken to you. “I’m sorry to bother you…”

At first glance, you could easily discern she was unsure of herself. She likely had a rush of confidence, and now standing blankly in front of you, she has lost all certainty. From behind, you peered up to find Harry staring at the back of her head, already inching into his pocket for his keys.

“Oh,” you gulp, clutching your phone in your hands. “Hi…”

“I just…was just hoping that you were doing okay.”

Doing okay, because of—

Your heart thudded to a stop.

“You alright?” Harry was at your side, and the young girl took a step back.

“Sorry—I’m sorry.” She gave a weak smile. “I just wish the best for you two.”

She was already walking off when you mustered up the words to thank her, but you were doubtful she heard you. Harry’s arm was in a tight grip around your backside, with his keys hung in his hand, ready to run.

The two of you cancelled your lunch plans and hit In-N-Out instead.

*

September 24, 2019 Los Angeles, California

“Is it okay?”

It was a Tuesday; you had a clear agenda for the day, and it was a little after lunch that you found yourself aimlessly clicking through channels, with your boyfriend sitting down by your feet, flipping through the pages of your current read.

You had felt the undeniable ache since the night before, and you thought maybe if you just ignore it, it’ll go away, but it only lingered, taunting you with its insatiable lust.

The itch you don’t want to scratch.

Your heart was racing, your palms were sweaty, and it didn’t matter how tightly you squeezed your legs together, nothing could rid you of this.

“H,” You poked his leg with your toe. “Bear with me on this, okay?” He didn’t respond, but he carefully set your book back down on the coffee table. “Will you have sex with me real quick?”

“I…you want to?”

“Do you have condoms? Because if not, I can take care of this myself—”

“Yes, yes, I have them. I have—they’re upstairs.”

And there you were, minutes later, his cock was inside of you, and he slowly rolled his hips carefully into you, dipping his toes into the water. He physically cannot express how much this meant to him, and how long he hid this desire deep in his gut, because God forbid he be the one to bring it up. If he had to wank off in the bathroom in between commercial breaks until you decided you were ready to have sex again, he’d find a way to tolerate it.

“Is it okay?” He choked out in between breaths; only minutes in, and he was cradling dangerously on the edge.

“Yeah—yeah, it’s okay. It feels good.” You readjusted your hips, stretching your leg out to wrap around his. “Maybe a little faster?”

“I’ll cum in a second—” He shook his head, halting his movements when that tiny, little knot inched closer to unravelling. “Just give me a sec.”

“Babe—”

“Hold—” He reached his arm under the bend of your knee, lifting it up as he thrusted back into you. “Fuck—”

He was relentless; you stretched your hand down between your thighs, rubbing and kneading that small bundle of nerves as his cock hit deep within you with no sign of letting up.

It had been way too long.

“Harry—fuck—” It was deep, pulsating, and you lifted your hips up as your orgasm radiated throughout your every limb, tightening around his cock as he thrusted hard, giving you one last nudge of pleasure as his grip tightened around the sheets, fucking into you with a lasting, animalistic moan, cumming thick ropes into you.

You made him access the condom, triple checking there wasn’t a hole unbeknownst to either of you, and after a fourth overview, he politely asked you if he could throw away his used condom now.

You would be okay this time.

He ran a bath a little later, and you submerged your body deep within the bubbles, letting them rest at your jawline. You felt like you lost your virginity all over again.

“H?” You asked, rubbing the bubbles up your arm.

“Yes, pet?”

“Do you want to get married?”

The question caught him, and he cracked his eyes open with curiosity. “I want to, yeah. You know I do.”

The conversation had only been passed around once, when you were terribly drunk and crying over some sob film where the boyfriend dies before they have a chance to elope despite their parent’s protests. The film stuck with you for weeks, and you always wondered, if you knew you were with the one, why wait? Why wait for tragedy to strike?

“Let’s get married.”

He chuckled, wiggling his toes against yours. “You’re mental.”

“No, I’m serious. Why wait? Seriously? I love you, you love me, and we aren’t getting any younger.”

“Pet, you’re 24.”

“And only getting older!”

“So, you want to find some Little White Chapel in Vegas and get hitched?” He leaned up a little, a smirk stretching out on his face.

“I want a real wedding, of course, someday, but right now…let’s do it. Let’s go to Vegas or Miami or somewhere, and just do it.”

It took an hour, but he eventually agreed, and was on the phone with Jeff to arrange a flight and hotel. The next day, the two of you ran around downtown to every consignment shop in the city, looking for a white dress – not as hard as you thought it would be – a diamond ring – a little tough, but you found one for cheap – and a nice pair of heels in your size – a lot harder; you bought a size too big by accident.

And in 24 hours, you would be marrying your best friend.

*

Miami, FL September 26, 2019

“Shit…fuck, we’re actually doing this?” You stuffed a wad of tissue paper into the toe box of your heels – one size too big – and stood up to test them for a final time. “No going back?”

“Cold feet, pet?”

“No, I’m fucking—it’s humid in here.” You swing around to face him, fanning yourself off with a loose People magazine, and its then you see him standing smugly in his slacks, a proper grin etching itself across his face.

“Cold feet—the expression, pet…”

“Harry—fuck, I’m nervous. My shoes are too big, I feel a pimple forming on my chin, and I’m pretty sure the wire in my bra broke ten minutes ago because something is stabbing my tit.”

“Well, I think your tits look great.”

“You can thank that bombshell bra I bought years ago for that.” You stroll back over to the sofa and toss the magazine carelessly onto the coffee table. “Did you have them sign an MDMA?”

“NDA, and Jeff got that covered.” Harry combs back a piece of his hair, that one strand that always gives him trouble. “Hold onto this for me?” You watch as he removes his H ring, and strolls over to the sofa. “Put it in your bra—can’t lose much in there.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“And you’re my wife.” His fucking smug grin falls over him like a tidal wave, and you wish you could just slap it right off his face.

“No, I’m not.”  

“Give it a couple minutes.”

Your heart hurled itself up into your esophagus, the tremorous pounding radiating all throughout your head to your toes. Harry appeared quite relaxed as he staggered to the full-length mirror to adjust his collar, and from the reflection, he caught your watchful stare.

“Your mom is going to be pissed.” You think back to Anne, and all the good she’s done for you, and you are now repaying her by having her miss her son’s wedding. “We’ll need to plan the real thing soon.”

“We’ll tell her when we want to tell her, but for now,” he swung around on his heel to face you, “This is about you and me…and the rest of our lives.”

You make a mental note to thank Niall later.

You think back to those years ago, and how you almost bailed on Niall that night to stay home and watch The Young and the Restless with your roommate. You weren’t thrilled to get that phone call, but as long as Niall agreed to pay for a couple drinks, you found it in yourself to put on a pair of pants and enjoy a night out. 

And maybe if you had inclined to stay home, your entire life would be a completely different world right now. Maybe you’d be in somebody else’s kitchen helping them prepare dinner, or on some lavish vacation with a guy you only met a month ago, or maybe you’d be alone in your apartment, binging a new show to pass the time you only let flutter by.

But you were here now, standing at an alter that smelled roughly of cigarettes and mildew, wearing shoes that were too big on you, in a dress that probably saw more weddings than you ever will, holding the hands of the man you were prepared to love for the rest of your life.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore, not the harassing, not the attack, not the stalking. It didn’t matter what anybody threw at you anymore; you were hard as fucking stone, and not a single person was going to damage what the two of you were building.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

[liveoffcoffeestuff]

there's a betting pool about when cas and dean will get together. everyone is in on it. lucifer, Micheal/adam, claire, gabriel, the empty, billy, Micheal from the other wold, mary, kaia, jack, benny, balthazar, Lisa, many demons, angels, monsters, witches, ghosts, absolutely everyone. It gets so bad that eventually chuck and amara join in. Sam runs and keeps track of the bets, there is no discrimination u can be a good guy or a bad guy, you can try as hard as u want to get them together. god tries to write them together. Amara tries to make cas jealous. jack literally calls both of them dad. lucifer killed cas. billy puts them in a life threatening situation. sam tells dean to confess every other week. hell rowena tries to cast a spell where they only speak the truth.

This is great and all but cas and dean know about the bet and have been keeping their relationship secret since season 7.

[remythologise]

(Apologies for this ask being so disorganized) Not sure if this take is controversial but I really hate how Supernatural puts humans/humanity as being the ideal and never challenges it (and when you look at how there's a historical foundation to view monsters and non-humans through the lens of race, it's so problematic because they really are putting whiteness on a pedestal). They spent so much time saying Heaven and angels are wrong for making judgment on where humans go when they die despite not understanding humanity but are all like hunters are allowed to decide whether monsters/non-humans get to live or die despite not understanding them. And like I know the reason why they never challenge this is because they view Dean as the embodiment of what is means to be human and Dean can apparently never be wrong (even though he is flawed and there are times when he very much is in the wrong). I really do love Dean but as a WOC it's so hard sometimes to watch how Dean views those who are Othered and why it's so hard to not roll my eyes when they villianized Gordon. When you take the whole show into context, Gordon was basically like "if you are considered an Other, you are evil and must be exterminated, no exceptions" while Dean is like "if you're an Other, you are evil but if you're useful and help me, then I'll spare you"(and you can see this in how Dean treats Cas, Kevin, Jack, Benny, Kaia, etc). And the worst part is he never really gets called out for it (like in the beginning, it was very much just he (and Sam too) using Cas as a tool to solve their problems and not really treating him like a person and then instead of calling them out for this, they just extend this behaviour to other characters). Ideally, once the Winchesters started allying with the Supernatural, the show should have moved towards having more of a nuanced view on the Others but instead they were all like, the Supernatural are all evil except for the few that aren't and that's because they are "one of the good ones" but then again maybe I'm excepting too much from a show which has the tagline (catchphrase?) "Saving people, hunting things"-like they are basically telling us what they think about those who are Othered

I think you’ve nailed it exactly on the head anon. The attitude towards monsters is SO inconsistent, and it makes them seem really callous ESPECIALLY with how Cas and Jack are removed from the narrative at the end and proof of the whole ‘if you’re useful I’ll spare you (until you’re used)’. It’s shown time and time again that monsters can change, can be good, but the Winchesters so often blindly murder even when there isn’t PROOF their victims (yes, victims) are dangerous - off the top of my head in season 15, 15.10 The Heroes’ Journey where they slaughter all of the monsters in the warehouse when it’s VERY likely most of them are just there trying to get money to survive, and 15.14 Last Holiday where they just walk in on vampires (drinking from blood bags!!!) and start killing them... because they spotted them on a map. Uncomfortable Implications! There’s obviously a total lack of consistency on the writing team but this issue seems EVEN MORE CENTRAL to the show ethos than, say, Destiel or John Winchester Narrative... I do genuinely think it’s just the carelessness of privileged writers. Like, THE WITCHER does a good job of this! It’s not hard! They always imply that monsters can be good or bad, and PEOPLE are very often the real monsters. SPN is way more interesting when it’s grappling with the moral grey area of the Winchester’s choices (1.12 Faith!!). And the fact that Dean is always shown as In The Right (except, as someone else mentioned on a text post somewhere, when he’s fully ‘evil’ and killing genuinely awful human people due to Mark of Cain. Which, lol.) EVEN when he should be in the wrong! just makes the whole thing jarring. Sometimes really uncomfortable! Like I like shows to challenge my views but not when the message is ‘non-conforming individuals in American society should be eliminated’. Of course there are rare moments where Dean (or John) are called out by better writers but they are fairly few and far between, and the lack of resolution at the end of the show (most glaringly on how Dean treated Jack...) is just. Case closed, Jack and Cas were Things, and only humans were People. 

Also I find it interesting that Supernatural so rarely went with monsters as ‘metaphors’ if that makes sense. The best ‘monsters’ in the horror genre in my opinion are those which reflect societal issues (Get Out) or reveal internal fears of the characters (2.20 What Is And What Should Never Be). But I think the show really lost most of that idea as it went on. And when the Winchesters are killing a lot of generic vampires/ghosts/werewolves. And when we KNOW vampires/ghosts/werewolves that are good (Benny, Kevin, Garth for example), it’s even more jarring that those were the ‘things’ being hunted. I don’t know, I just think Supernatural wanted to be a horror show but was SO bad at it on both a technical level and a theoretical level because it was SO basic most of the time. And instead of shifting the genre, the tone, the message... it stuck stubbornly to the same messaging it had in the Bush era* of ‘us vs. them’ and refused to realise the kind of story it could (AND SHOULD) be telling. (*although honestly Kripke era was actually more careful and consistent on this issue!)

[weekendwritingmarathon]

This weekly roundup includes fics written (at least in part) during the 1k1h sprints and/or the Weekend Writing Marathon events.

Fics are ordered first by fandom, then by word count from smallest to largest.

*

Promises from Fathers by Yuliares

DOTA: Dragon’s Blood || gen || Teen & up || Major Character Death || 812 words || Complete

Summary: Invoker and Filomena leave the temple, and return home. There's a little more time for them, together.

Other tags: Angst, grief, sick child, father-daughter, spoilers

*

A Taste of Salt by Yuliares

The Irregulars || gen || General || No major warnings apply || 650 words || Complete

Summary: The crew settles into 221B, and Watson gets a tattoo.

Other tags: Found family, domestic fluff, tattoos, 221BBaker Street

*

Strangers Who’ve Known Love by Yuliares

The Irregulars || M/F || Teen & up || No major warnings apply || 2,308 words || Complete

Summary: In the face of loss, Leo tries to build something new.

Other tags: Making the best of an arranged marriage

*

A Heart On Its Own Feet by treefrogie84

The Old Guard || Joe/Nicky || Teen & up || No major warnings apply || 6,165 words || Complete

Summary: Yusuf is twenty-seven when he learns the last principle of growing up: you can't go home again. He's thirty-three when he meets the love of his life. He's... a lot older than that when he comes home again.

Other tags: You Can't Go Home Again, 5+1 Things, Comfort No Hurt, post 9/11 racism, minimal historical research done, FTH Auction 2021, food as memories, language as memories

*

The Emptiness of Burning Cities by treefrogie84

The Old Guard || Joe/Nicky || Mature || Graphic Descriptions of Violence || 6,811 words || Complete

Summary: They’ve been running missions non-stop for over two months, and Andy just keeps pushing for more: more jobs, faster. They’re all exhausted and Joe just wants a break. One more job and then he’s putting his foot down, grabbing Nicky, and running for the hills. He just wasn’t expecting it to go so very bad.

Other tags: Background Relationships, Canon Typical Major Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Exhaustion, Unprocessed Trauma, Mercenary Work, prison labor, bad things happening to kids, Political Prisoners, Depression, Pre-Canon, the cost of violence paid by the soul, stressed team

*

Not Your Guardian Angel (chapter 27) by @tryslora​

Original Fiction (Welcome to PHU) || M/F/F (Shane/Pels/Jess) || Teen & up || Author chooses not to give major warnings || 3,245 / 102,546 words || WIP

Summary: Seth’s voice is low, almost gentle. “If you’re hungry, you should eat.”

Other tags: Magic, College, Guardian Angel, Ghosts, Soulmarks

*

Not Your Guardian Angel (chapter 28) by @tryslora​

As Above || 2,577 / 105,123 words || WIP

Summary: Pels pushes her hands harder into her pockets. “Let’s do this,” she mutters.

*

Letters Addressed to the Fire by treefrogie84

Supernatural, Wayward Sisters || gen || Teen & up || No major warnings apply || 978 words || Complete

Summary: The match flares, sulfur bright, as she drops it into the bowl. The ingredients spark and fizzle as they light, wormwood and saffron going up in smoke and reflecting into the glass sphere suspended above it. Patience takes a deep breath and holds it while she glances over the notepad balanced on her knee. Breathing out steadily, she carefully reads off the summoning and settles back to wait.

Other tags: spell casting, failed summoning

*

A Snowstorm of Dreams by treefrogie84

Supernatural, Wayward Sisters || Kaia/Claire || General || No major warnings apply || 1,202 words || Complete

Summary: The burned out ruins aren't a hunt, just a landmark for them to stop at for the night on their way north. Nothing special at all.

Other tags: Road Trips, getting engaged, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Days Off

*

Reach the Morning Light by treefrogie84

Supernatural, Wayward Sisters || Kaia/Claire || General || No major warnings apply || 1,585 words || Complete

Summary: Good news! She's out of court-ordered rehab and at least a state away! Bad news! She's in the hospital, there's another hunter on her ass, and her nightmares have broken through and are chasing her down. (Aka: Wayward Sisters from Kaia's pov)

Other tags: Pre-Relationship, Episode: s13e10 Wayward Sisters, POV Kaia Nieves, Lesbian Claire Novak, demisexual kaia

*

Sicarius by DomesticatedFeral

Teen Wolf || Stackson || Teen & up || Author chooses not to give major warnings || 16,894 words || Complete

Summary: “No, I began training to become an assassin. I didn’t feel like I had the time to get involved in a relationship, nor did I want anyone getting involved in all-” he gestured to himself- “this.” Jackson raised an eyebrow at his statement. “The assassin thing.”

Other tags: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Assassination Attempt(s), BAMF Stiles, Lawyer Jackson Whittemore, Assassin Stiles Stilinski, POV Multiple, Brawling and Fighting, Internal Conflict, Beacon Hills does exist in this AU, Past Ethan/Jackson Whittemore - mentioned only, Psychological Torture, Angst, Original Character Death(s), Car Accidents, Jackson Whittemore is Bad at Feelings, Mutual Pining, Past Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski - mentioned, Gunshot Wounds, Mild Gore, Blood and Injury, Love Confessions

*

Have you posted a fic recently?  Any active WWM participant can Submit your fic here by midnight EST Wednesday and it will be included on next Friday’s WWM Fic Roundup post.

[boygirlbowie]

A Different Kind of Guilt

Summary: Kaia's dead and Claire's not dealing as well as she wants everyone to think. After a hunt gone wrong brings up more emotions and guilt than she can handle, she decides to drink them away. Dean, who's done that more times than he can count, finds her, and they have a talk.

Basically just an excuse for me to write h/c where Dean is Claire’s dad. :) I love their dynamic!

Word Count: 2961

Warnings: violence, angst, suicide ref (not about any important character), implied (?) attempted sexual assault of a minor (it’s so light, it’s barely there. Claire just punches out a creep)

(read on ao3)

Claire had been doing ok. The beer in her hand now—her second of the past couple hours—was no indication of how she had been, in the not too distant past. Really, she had been ok.

After Kaia had— after everything that happened with Kaia, she’d decided to stick around Jody’s for a while. She didn’t go back to school, and Jody didn’t try to make her, trying to be sensitive, but she’d been careful on hunts, and let Jody back her up sometimes. She had friends now, in Patience and Alex, and something like a mom in Jody and Donna.

Her relationship with Castiel was even normal now, as normal as your relationship with an angel possessing your father’s corpse could be; they talked at least once a week, so they both knew the other was safe, and sometimes he sent her music recommendations. She wasn’t really into Beyonce, or Taylor Swift, but she never said anything. Sometimes she even sent him a song or two back, and if her taste was a little too punk for him, he never said anything either.

Anyways— she’d been doing ok. Until this case, this stupid fucking case. A ghost had been killing kids with seemingly no pattern at a high school. It took three dead kids before Claire had put it together: they had all come forward about a boy who had been sexually assaulting girls on campus. He committed suicide, but apparently stuck around to take his revenge on the girls he blamed for it. It was a stupidly obvious pattern; she shouldn’t have realized it sooner— would have, if she hadn’t been exhausted from the last hunt (ok, so maybe she hadn’t been being as careful as she said, but it wasn’t like it had mattered. She could work just fine on four hours of sleep. Until she couldn’t). She got the last girl who had reported him to the school, Rachel Bishop, and drove out to his grave to burn the body. She told the girl she would be safe.

I’ll protect you.

Like that ever works. Claire scoffed, downing the last of the beer from her glass. She needed something harder. She didn’t usually drink, but the bar was dark and seedy and the bartender hadn’t even asked her for an ID. And she needed a drink, ok? She needed to be a little bit numb. A bit more. She waved the bartender down again.

“A whiskey? Neat,” she shouted over the growling indiscernible noise from the speakers that was probably supposed to be music. She had enough money to black this night out.

The man behind the bar barely looked at her as he poured whiskey into the same glass that had held the beer. She gave him a thin smile and took a big sip. It burned in her throat, full and sharp on the way down and she grimaced. The smile became a bit more genuine. She deserved to feel a bit of pain, deserved it for the promise she made to Rachel, and broke.

Just like the one she made to Kaia, another lie.

She had squeezed gasoline over the whole body, dropped in a thick match, and set the corpse up in flames. It should have been done there, and she thought it was, but she assumed they were clear too soon, and as she turned back to Rachel, the girl was flung across the cemetery, her head cracking against a headstone. She slid to the ground, a bloody smear trailing from the back of her head on the engraved marble. Her hand, which had been clutching a flashlight, went limp, and all Claire could do was stare in horror. All she could see was Kaia’s hand, going limp, her own slipping from it.

And then the ghost had appeared in front of her, and then she had seen the family headstone. A little box, secured to the base of it with initials carved into it, and one of them was his. She cocked the shotgun and fired into the boy, and then turned and fired into the box. Again, a third time, and it cracked open, plastic baggies with little rings spilling out. She struck a match and set the rings on fire.

The ghost burned away in a flash of fire, and Claire stood still. She swayed a bit, hands shaking on the shotgun. A family ring as a tether, not just the body. Fuck. She had forced herself to Rachel’s side, even though she knew there was no way she could have survived that head wound. And she was right: no pulse.

After that, the night was a blur. She knew she’d been supposed to meet up with Jody the next morning if the hunt was still on, and call if she solved it before then, but all she could think to do was leave. Her bag was quick to pack back at the motel. She’d thrown it in the back seat and hit the gas hard on the way out of town. She just had to get out of the town, as far away.

Sometime around dawn, the adrenaline all drained from her body, and a night of hunting and driving caught up to her, and she pulled off the highway, turned off the car, and fell asleep with her jacket pulled up over her shoulders, propped up sitting against the window. When she woke up, it took all of two minutes for the memories of the night before and the guilt to crawl back. And now, somehow, she’d ended up here.

Finishing the glass of whiskey, she went to call for another, when suddenly a man slid into the seat next to her, leaning onto the bar heavily. He was tall, but skinny, maybe fourty, forty-five, and she thought she could easily take him if she had to. Hunting was training her  to do that; size someone up in seconds, determine what level threat they were. This man, not too high.

“You look like you’re having a bad night. Can I buy you a drink?”

She gave him a look, her best fuck off face, but he just grinned and leaned a bit closer. His breath stank. Actually, grinning gave the impression of happiness, a broad, toothy smile. Whatever this man was doing could be more accurately described as leering. Fine.

“Another?” she shouted at the bartender. “It’s on him.”

The bartender filled up her glass, and the greasy man’s beside her.

“So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing at a place like this?” the man asked.

She didn’t respond, just tilting the glass up, tipping the liquor down her throat. He watched her swallow with slitted eyes.

“I asked you a question, girly.”

He leaned closer, snaking an arm around her shoulders, dangling fingers reaching down, down— and she grabbed his hand, crushing it. She twisted his arm and slammed it into the bar. “Learn consent, asshole.”

The man yelped, jerking his hand back, and cradling it against his chest. “I was just being nice!”

“You nice to everyone, or just the teenage girls?”

His eyes darkened. “There’s nothing wrong with liking ‘em young.”

 Maybe it was being drunk, or maybe she just wanted an excuse to fight, but either way, he’d just given her one. He barely had time to finish talking before her fist was slamming into his jaw. He brought a clumsy swing of his own up, but she ducked, and kicked him in the balls. He screamed and staggered back, clutching between his legs.

People were starting to look now; even in a place like this, a full out brawl wasn’t everyday. He wasn’t fighting back, not really, but he’d already done more than enough. She caught his jaw again, then his brow, and then he was falling back into a table, tripping and landing on his back, and she was going down beside him, crouching and swinging, again, and again. His hands were limp on the ground and his lip was cracked and something in his face broke, and his face was bloody and it was her face and she was beating herself.

It wasn’t until a hand caught her shoulder, and physically hauled her off of him that she realized someone had been calling her name.

“Claire- Claire— stop, Claire!”

She swung around, fists ready to start on the next target, to see Dean, his hands raised, staring at her with what looked like, through the blur of alcohol and tears— goddammit, when did she start crying— worry. She took a step back, swaying a bit, and squinted at him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiled grimly. “You didn’t show for breakfast with Jody and you haven’t been answering your phone, so she went to check out the town anyway, and found another dead girl and no sign of you. She put out a hunter apb.”

Right. Breakfast with Jody. That’s why her phone had been ringing. (She’d put it on silent after the first hour or so of calls.) “How did you know where I was?”

“Marshall there’s a hunter who owes me a favor from a couple years back. Gave me a call back about a blonde girl in leather showing up at a dive bar.” He gestured to a burly man at a table nearby.

Marshall waved. “I applaud your work with Tom there. If there was ever a man who deserved to get beat down…” 

Dean looked at Claire. “Do I need to know?”

She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Not about the man— Tom— he’d deserved it, but about the drinking, about skipping breakfast with Jody, about turning her phone off, about the way she knew she was swaying right now.

“I’m gonna take that as a no.” He looked her up and down and grimaced. “You look like hell. C’mon, I’m gonna drive you back to Jody’s.”

She let him wind and arm around her back, supporting her as they walked out. Maybe she didn’t really need it, but the heavy pressure felt like a hug, and her throat constricted at the sensation in a good way, so she didn’t say anything. They walked quietly for a while, and she sensed he was saying nothing to let her speak. They rounded the corner of the block, and she finally spoke.

“I didn’t know what it felt like before.”

“What?”

“The guilt. The way you feel, I didn’t get it, not really. I mean, I’d let people down, but never like this before.”

“The ghost hunt? Jody said you’ve been working yourself to the bones, you should cut yourself some slack.”

“Yeah, well ‘messing up’ doesn’t equal four dead girls in other people’s jobs. Besides, it’s not just that. It’s…” Kaia. “To promise someone they’ll be safe, and then have them die— die because of me? It’s a different kind of guilt, you know?”

Dean looked down at her, his mouth a hard line.

“Yeah, I know,” he said softly.

“I mean I’ve always felt… guilty, I guess, about my mom leaving. I mean, let’s face it, she would never have gotten that low if I could have been better.” Claire broke off and gritted her teeth. It was a snarl, almost at herself. Stupid. She would never say stuff like this if she was sober; maybe drinking had its disadvantages too.

“C’mon. That’s not— your mom made her own choices. You were just a kid.”

“No—no!” They’d reached the Impala now, and they came to a stop. She pulled away from Dean, who let her go, but kept his hands hovering nearby in case she fell.

“It was my fault, it was me. I do that. I hurt people. People near me just… die. Dad could have gotten out back then when Cas was in my body but he didn’t, and now he’s dead. That’s on me. And then mom left, and then she got kidnapped, and I was mad at her instead of looking for her, and she was tortured, all those years, because of me. And then… and then Kaia.”

“Claire—”

“I told her I would protect her!” Claire shouted. At some point she’d started crying, the eyeliner smudged into the dark circles under her eyes. “I said she would be safe, and she wouldn’t have gone back into that world if it weren’t for me. So that— that’s on me too. She’s dead, and it’s because of me!”

“And then Rebecca, and. And I told her I would protect her too, Dean.” She was almost pleading. Tell me, tell me I did the wrong thing. Yell at me. Hate me for it as much as I hate myself. “Same as I told Kaia, should’ve known better, and then that ghost killed her, because I wasn’t paying enough attention.”

“Kaia’s death is not your fault. And Rebecca— sometimes things get fucked up on hunts. Just cause you missed a detail, that don’t make you a bad person.”

“No, but it makes me a bad hunter. And if I’m not good at hunting, what am I good at? What am I good for?”

“Claire, you’re not just a hunter. You’re, you’re a student, and a friend, and a daughter, to Jody, and to Cas, and… to me.”

“Yeah and a lot of good I’ve done for any of you. All I do is drag everyone into my little pile of crap. You’d be happier without any of this—” she gestured to her body with a shaky hand— “to deal with.”

“That’s crap.”

She laughed sharply, cutting him off. “Yeah, right. Just admit it! I don’t mind. I can handle it, I’m a big girl, promise. I fuck up everything and everyone I touch, and maybe I’m not a bad person, but I’m certainly not a good one either.”

“Listen, I don’t care if you’re a good person. Maybe you, you screw up sometimes. Everyone does sometimes, and if we’re honest, comparing screw ups, I think I got you beat, but a good margin.”

Claire crossed her arms and sniffed, forcing back the tears that kept rising up to her eyes. Stupid alcohol.

“Thing is, if we counted up every bad thing we did and laid them all out, none of us would look too pretty. But you do a lot of good, and I don’t just mean saving lives. Sometimes I go into the kitchen of the bunker in the morning, and Cas is listening to a song you sent him, and he’s smiling like someone just gave him a puppy or something. You mean a lot to a lot of people. I include myself in that.  We don’t want you to stick around cause you’re good at ganking monsters, or cause you’re some morally pure beacon of sunshine, we want you around cause you’re you. And that’s it.”

And dammit. Dammit, but the tears were coming back up again. The burning guilt and need to have someone scream at her, punch her, had diminished somewhat, and the alcohol felt heavy in her stomach now, dragging on her like it wanted her to fall over right there. She smudged tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands.

“Ok?” Dean asked, ducking his head to catch her eyes.

She lifted them, looked into his eyes, and saw honesty reflected back at her. He meant every word he’d said, and he wanted to make sure she knew. She also saw pain, and guilt, and… maybe that one was love. She nodded.

“Ok.”

“Great.”

She turned towards the Impala and he held up a hand. “No, actually, one more thing.”

Claire turned back to him.

“You can’t do this when things get bad.”

“What?”

“This—” he gestured to the bar, and her bloody fists. “I know it seems like it’s gonna help, trust me, I know, and if anyone has a right to drink, it’s us, but drinking isn’t the way you deal with all the crap from this job.”

“I don’t do it all the time,” Claire started, rolling her eyes.

“Hey— Claire, I’m serious. Look, do what Sam does. Go for a run, get yourself a self-help book, or something.”

“What, like you do that when things get bad? I’ll be fine.” She spoke flippantly; deflecting. 

“The last person you want to imitate when it comes to stuff like this, is me.”

She scoffed.

“No, listen. I’m not joking with this, ok? Listen to me. Drinking is good for about as long as you’re actively doing it. You get a couple hours, a day off from feeling. And the next day you wake up with a helluva headache, and a pile of new crap to deal with that you did the night before, when you were drunk. And speaking from experience, it sucks in the long term too. You start drinking too young, and it fucks you up for life.”

Claire nodded, reluctantly. “Fine. No more black-out nights.”

“Get a dependency on protein shakes, or bullet journaling, or set your hands at a punching bag.” He paused. “Or, you know, you can call me, if you wanna talk about something.”

She smiled. Thank you. “Softie.”

Dean grinned. “Shut up.”

“Sure you don’t want to Dr. Phil a bit more?”

“Get in the car, kid.”

She giggled, or snorted— the giggle she would definitely put down to alcohol if asked about it the next day, and slid into shotgun.

She hadn’t been doing well. Really hadn’t been fully ok since elementary school, definitely not since Kaia died. But she had a family again, now, and they cared about her because of who she was fuck ups and all. Maybe, maybe she could be ok. Maybe, someday, she could get there.

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Hello adored reader, I hope you enjoyed this fic!!

This is my first spn fic. As self-proclaimed Claire superfan it is my obligation to create Claire content. <3

If you have any thoughts feel free to send me an ask, anon or not. Constructive criticism welcomed, just be kind. If you like it, please like and reblog. Likes don’t get creators very far on tumblr.

i’m really excited about this i hope yall like it too :)