#roadhouse rules

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Wedding Day Disaster

Summary; Dean Winchester x Fe!OC (but feel free to see yourself as OC) ~ After a wedding disaster, Alice finds herself in a popular road house making friends with the owner...

Warning; Fluff, illusions to smut, kissing, mentions of cheating, violence, swearing.

The night was darker than ever. The rain had been pouring for a few hours earlier, as the darkness had been rolling in but now it was mostly bone dry anywhere you looked. 

Ignoring the ringing of her phone and the material of her dress, Alice pulled in on the right down a small country road. She could see the taillights of a car just a few meters ahead of her and by the time she rolled into park, there were easily a dozen or more cars in the same positon as hers. Though, she highly doubted any of the passengers inside of them were going through what she was right this moment. 

Clicking the button of her seatbelt, she opened up the door, locked the car behind her and walked inside. Some of the couples outside looked at her for a few more seconds than she would have liked but soon went back to smoking their cigarettes and chatting away. 

It was the same inside. People stared. The small moments of silence were defening to her as she passed a couple of tables but people tried their best to carry on their conversations. She was just glad she hadn’t gone with the ballgown when shopping with her mother and aunt 8 months ago. 

The bartender, however...well, his silence was the most defening. But also the most comforting. His green eyes had spotted her the moment she got out of her car. The white dress making her stand out like a sore thumb. He watched as she made her way over to the bar and before she could even sit down, he already had a glass on the counter top and a bottle of whiskey pouring a double.

She took the glass in the hand and downed the lot in two gulps before placing the glass down. And he did the same again. And so did she. 

“Thank you.” Alice managed to say once the burning of the liquor stopped. 

“Just yell if you need anything. The name’s Dean.”

“Alice.”

Dean nodded and went back to work, serving multiple customers at a time whilst she sat in the corner of the bar, looking around her. People were having fun, laughing, smiling, drinking, arguing, playing games. There were a couple of navy officers in the corner playing pool -- they must have been travelling through the town. Maybe they had come back home?

Alice wasn’t really keeping track of time. She just looked down at her phone and the numbers in brackets beside each caller ID. 

8 missed calls from Mom. 17 missed calls from Sadie. 6 missed calls from Husband. 

I should probably change that. 

With a few clicks, although hesitant, Alice changed the Caller ID back to what it had been when she first met him. Ronny. 

The bastard. The lying, cheating-

“Hey,” 

Alice jumped a little and looked up from the trunk of her car. She had left the bar a few minutes ago in search of something a tad more comfortable. 

“Hi.” Alice replied to Dean before she began to rummage through the trunk again. She had to have some clothes somewhere.

“I thought you might want to borrow these.” Dean held out a pile of clothes consisting of jeans, an plaid overshirt, an old t-shirt and a belt. “I’m not trying to be creepy. I just want to help.”

Alice scanned Dean’s face and body for a moment. She didn’t get this feeling very often, but she knew she could trust him. She couldn’t just quiet put her finger on why, though. Maybe it was a ‘just because’. 

“Thanks.” Alice smiled, taking the pile from his hands. She moved back and sat down on the rim of the trunk, placing the pile on her lap and streching out his legs. 

Dean was cautious as he sat down beside her, streching out his own legs and folding his arms across his chest. 

Alice looked up from the ground, shaking her head to move the hair from her eyes so she could see the stars above her. “Go ahead, ask. I know you want to.”

Dean shook his head and tried his best to lie. “N-No. I-I don’t want to-”

“Dean.” Alice looked at him. “Just ask. I know you’re dying to.”

Dean gave a sorry smile. “Okay. What are you doing in a wedding dress in a place like this? Unless your groom is running late?”

“Well,” Alice sighed. “I was meant to be getting married today, at 2 o’clock this afternoon. Only, when he was meant to be getting ready to meet me down the isle, he was getting undressed with one of my bridesmaid’s helping him.”

“Ooh.”

“You said it.” Alice chuckled. “Yeah, after..half an hour of silent-shock, yelling and enough cursing to make even a sailor blush, I got in my car and started driving.”

“How long were you two together?”

“Nearly 6 years.” Alice explained. “Got engaged after 4. We were going to get married last year but the venue fell through and it was where my parents wanted to hold it so, we had to wait.”

Dean nodded, letting the following silence settle for a few moments before speaking. 

“Well, there’s a bathroom on the otherside of the bar where you can get changed and there’s enough liquor to make you forget your own name. What do you say? See you there in 30?”

Alice looked down to her dress for a moment before looking up to Dean. “Better make it 20.”

Dean smiled, clapped his hands and stood up. “Well, then.” Dean held out his hand and helped Alice up. “I’ll see you in 20.”

He saw her in 15. 

She left the bathroom with her white gown drapped over her arm in the dress bag from her trunk while the clothing she borrowed was a little big on her but she made it work. Besides, it was more comfortable. 

In the bathroom mirror, she had removed the golden pins from her hair and let the curles in her hair fall around her face. If this day had gone any other way, she would think she looked pretty...whimsical. Dreamy. Like in the way you look in a morning and find the love of your life cooking breakfast. Dreamy in the way that you see yourself how they see you on a Sunday morning. 

Alice pulled half of her hair back and pinned it up without thinking about it. Some of her baby hairs still fell, framing her face. And, finally, with the use of a small make-up bag from her trunk, she removed her fancy make-up from her face before drying it. 

Now she looked more like herself. 

“That was quick. You look good, by the way.” Dean said as he moved around behind the bar and popped the caps off a couple of beers before passing them to each customer. 

“Thanks.”

“So? What’s your poison?”

“Beer. Please.” 

“Coming up.”

Within seconds, a beer was infront of her and she took a swig of the alcohol. “So? Where do you want to begin?”

“I don’t know. Where do you want me to begin?”

“How about the beginning?” Dean asked, looking to her as he mixed a cocktail. 

Alice smiled. “The beginning is probably always the best place to start.”

So Alice begun. And Dean listened. Throughout it all. 

She started from when she had first met Ronny. There wasn’t much to say so she soon skipped to the engagment and everything that happened between then and the wedding. 

“Ronny’s a dick. You deserve better.” 

Alice smiled. “Thanks. I think you’re the first to say that to me. Well, second. Sadie would have said the same if we had time to talk before I left.”

“Why? What did you folks say?” But Alice didn’t answer straight away. Instead, she stood up and lifted the door to the bar. 

“What are you doing?”

More, many more customers had arrived sicne Alice walked through the doors. “I’m helping. You’re working alone back here and can’t serve everyone all at once. Though you are trying hard to prove otherwise.”

Dean studied her for a moment before walking backwards and pulling a dishtowel from the lower cupboard handle. 

“You ever worked in a bar before?”

“Not to my parents knowledge.”

Dean smirked and walked towards her before placing the towel over her shoulder. “Okay then.”

Alice began taking orders and soon found herself in competiton with Dean. Customers egging them on. 

“She’s making a mockery out of you, boy.” An older Irish gentleman mocked causing both Dean and Alcie to look at one another and chuckle.

“She sure is, Henry. She sure is.”

This continued throughout the night until eventually people began to head home and Dean began to clean up, Alice helping by clearing the tables and turning the chairs upside down onto the tops before moving to bolt the door. 

Dean poured them both a shot each before replacing the bottle. Lifting his glass, Alice did the same. 

“To...new beginning?”

Alice smiled. “To new beginning.”

The both downed the shot and turned the glasses over. 

“So, tell me.” Dean began. “What do your folks think of all of this?”

“They thought I should still marry him.” Alice fixed herself on one of the barstools, folding over her dishtowel as Dean kept his eyes on her and moved backwards to place back the bottles of liquor they had used. 

“You’re kidding!”

Alice shook her head with a light smile. It was nice to know someone other than Sadie and herself disagreed with her parents. 

“I am not.” Alice replied. “My mom pulled me aside, me thinking she was about to tell me I should maybe have a drink to take the edge off...but no. She was telling me I should forget it happened. After all,” Suddenly Alice took on a tone which signaled to Dean that these were not her words but rather her mother’s. “A girl like me is only so lucky to find a guy who likes me the way Ronny does.”

“Shit. She really said that?”

“She really said that.” Alice nodded, looking down. “Maybe that’s why I stuck with it for so long. I got so many of the same comments growing up. You’ll never find a guy if you dress like that. You’ll never get a job with a mouth like that.”

“Well, you’ve always got a job here. After tonight, any roadhouse would be lucky to have you pouring the drinks.” It sounded odd, but Alice took it as a compliment. 

“Thanks.”

“You got a place to stay?”

“I saw a motel about half a mile up the road so I’ll stay there until I sort something out.” 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You’re staying in town?”

“Might aswell.” Alice shrugged. “The company I work for, they had an opening pop up about a week ago. Make a few calls, find an apartment, a fresh start?”

“Are you not meant to take a mourning period?”

Alice shrugged again. “Maybe. Probably. But right now I’m too tired and too angry to cry. Thank you, Dean. For everything.”

“You know where I am if you need me.” Dean smiled before Alice left. 

However, as she got to the door, she quickly turned back and hugged him. “I mean it. Thank you.”

Dean smiled. “Anytime, Alice.”

“G’night, Dean.”

“Night, Alice.”

Over the following months, Alice worked through...everything. 

After spending two weeks crying - out of frustration, anger or sadness, she didin’t know - she called Sadie and had her go to her shared apartment and get her stuff out. Sadie wouldn’t have any trouble with running into Ronny since he got on the place and jetted off to Cuba for three weeks with the bridesmaid he’d been sleeping with for the last 10 months. 

Sadie sent everything belonging to Alice to her in a couple of boxes which Dean helped her sort through. 

There were a few items she wanted to keep, like photos of herself and her friends, but the rest of it...she either donated or drove to an old scrap yard which was Dean’s surprise one late Thurday, and beat the crap and smashed up each piece that could be. 

After that, Alice conversed with Sadie to make sure her trnasfer was made as quickly and as smoothly as it could be before herself and Dean went apartment hunting. 

Every place Alice went on her own, something felt off with each apartment and she always found it. She didn’t know what it was but she knew it was something. It was the water, or the electrics. So, when Dean offered his help, she accepted. 

And she soon found it. 

It was a two bedroom apartment, although the second bedroom wasn’t big enough to fit a human adult and their belongings so she would turn it into an office. Dean helped her shop Ikea and a few other places to pick out her furniture and appliances, him pushing the cart as she checked things off her list. She even helped him score a date in Target. 

Although, she prevented one from happening when he helped her move in. 

“Ow, what?” Dean asked, holding his arm where Alice had smacked his arm.

“You are not sleeping with someone who lived a few doors down. I’m not even moved in yet and I don’t want her asking me why you didn’t call her last night.”

“But she could be my future wife,” Dean argued.

“Well, if she is, then talk to her at the Roadhouse. She comes in every Tuesday.”

“But I’m busy.”

“You made time for me on a Saturday night. If you really want to talk to her, then you’ll find a way. Now, how do we set up this bookshelf?”

The pair of them fell asleep that night in the living room, Dean covering Alice up with a blanket before doing the same with himself. 

And then, after six months, Alice got a surprise. 

Alice and Dean were tidying the place up since someone had come in and made an offer to Dean he couldn’t refuse, to hold a surprise birthday party/engagment party for a couple in town so the place would be filled with the regulars and their families. 

Except, as they were cleaning and setting up for the next day, someone walked in whilst Dean had his back to the counter and Alice was in the back.

“We’re closed. Come back tomorrow- No. Day after tomorrow. We’re closed then, too.” Dean called out as he closed the cash register. 

“Please, this will only take a second.”

Dean turned around as he flipped the dish towel over his shoulder. “Bar’s closed. Go home.”

“Please. Just...I’m looking for Alice-” The guy, who Dean didn’t like on sight, stopped talking as Alice came from the back, carrying a case of beers. 

“Ronald.”

He smiled. And it made Alice’s stomach queezy. “Alice. You...You’re looking...well.”

Alice rolled her eyes and slammed the case on the counter, Dean knowing better than to stand in her way. He quickly stepped back as she tore open the cardboard case and unloaded the beers into the fridge. 

“Ever the complimenter, Ronald.”

“What ever happened to Ronny?” He joked but the look Alice shot him, he quickly shut up with that angle. 

Ronny was brutally tortured and killed before being brought back to life only to die again because it was the lesser fate. 

“I was hoping we could talk...privately.”

“Speak.”

“Er...Alice. I said privately.” 

“And I said, Speak.” Alice stopped packing the beers and lent her hands on the lower bar. 

Dean stood back and watched what unfolded. How painfully awkward it was and how, by the end of the 10 minute conversation -- not that Dean was timing it or anything -- Ronny walked out with his tail between his legs and, after listening to the shouts and few swear words leave Alice’s mouth, he realised there was no chance in hell she’d ever go back to him. 

Alice waited until his car had left the lot and his tail-lights disappeared onto the main road before she turned around and sunk her hands into her face. 

“You okay?”

Alice removed her hands and nodded, folding her arms around herself. “Yeah. I’m sorry you had to-”

“Oh, no. Don’t be. That was...awesome.”

Alice smiled. “Thanks.”

Suddenly, Dean was in front of her, holding her close in a hug. God, she needed that. She needed that hug. She needed to yell at him once more. She needed...this.

And she would have. For another four years...until it became more than she expected. 

It had been a busy night filled with laughter, dancing and music. 

It was Henry’s second retirement party since his other one lasted all around 5 minutes before he was off to work again. He’d been driving his wife mad being stuck inside the house all day with nothing to do. 

“This one will stick.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Henry.”

The banter continued all night and, as the time creeped closer to 10, Henry and his old friends from work called Dean over across the bar. 

“When are you going to ask her?”

“Ask who?” Dean asked. 

Henry nodded over to Alice who was currently talking to Henry’s daughter who was holding their own baby in their arms. 

“Ask Alice. To dance. Good lord man! Have you not asked the girl out yet?”

“I think she’d kill me if I did.” Dean joked. 

“Go on, lad. Ask the girl.” Henry slammed his hand down on the bar. “Or Holt here might just beat you to it.”

Dean looked back with a smile before looking back, placing down his towel and walking over. 

“That’s it, lad.”

“Alice!”

Alice turned around as Dean came closer. “Care to dance?”

“Didn’t think you did.”

“Maybe I just needed the right partner.” Dean suggested which, if she was being honest, sent butterflies fluttering around her stomach. 

“Okay then.”

Soon the pair found themselves on the dance floor, dancing along to the music as the band played and sung away. The music was from the 40s. Although not exactly Dean’s type, he didn’t much care. He was with Alice and that was all that mattered. 

Alice was spun out and spun in, and even dipped in Dean’s arms as they danced along. It helped that both were dressed as though from that ear or similar. It had been one of Henry’s requests. For everyone to dress as they once had, back in the day. 

He’d never admit it, but he was a sentimentalist. 

And this retirement would probably last a week at most. 

Only, something seemed to change when the music changed to something slower. Holding each other close, temples pressed together. Dean never thought he would be doing this. Falling in love. Dancing. Wishing he could spend every day with Alice.

He could hear Henry’s voice in the back of his head as he quoted Leap Year. “Dammit man,” he’d slap his hand on the counter, “Kiss the girl.”

That had been a few years ago now. Maybe 2? But he gave that speech almost every week. 

Eventually, the night drew to a close and the pair found themselves in a situation that happened every Saturday night or thereabouts. 

Alice began clearing the tables and flipping the chairs before moving to bolt the door, meanwhile Dean cleared away the glasses, replace the bottles of liquor but not before pouring them both a shot each. 

Dean walked around and met Alice on the other side of the bar before handing her the shot. 

“To Henry.”

“To Henry.” Alice smiled before clinking her glass against Dean’s and both of them downing it. 

Dean sat with his back to the bolted door whilst Alice sat in front of him.

“How long do you think this one will last?”

“I’d give him 4 days. Tops. Grady was telling me Henry’s already started looking in the Newspaper. He thinks she doesn’t know, but she does.”

Dean smiled. “That’s Henry for you.”

Dean watched as Alice looked around the roadhouse. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Alice smiled. “Just...this place.”

“What about this place?” Dean asked. 

“If you had told me 4 years ago that this is where I would spend all my time...”

Dean looked around. “Same. I bought this place on a whim, what, 10 years ago? But I wouldn’t want to change a thing.”

“Not even one thing?”

As they looked at one another, everything of the last four years...every moment, every look, every thought, smile and laughter came into one and, between looked from each other’s eyes to lips and back again multiple times. It all finally came together. 

It was odd, but not because it was bad. Because it was good. 

Alice pulled back, but not too far before she leaned in again. By the end of their second kiss, they both pulled back and after a beat, they smiled. This was it. They were always meant to be friends first but this...together, it felt right. 

Both leaned in back again, this time, smiling and more than ready. The kisses grew more heated, Dean standing with his hands pulling Alice in closer by her face and neck. 

A small moan came from Alice’s throat as Dean suddenly lifted her, as she went to stand up, and placed her on the countertop of the bar, his hands roaming her body, pulling her closer as Alice’s hands went around his neck and into his hair. 

Between the kisses, Alice managed to speak -- though she was seconds from completely never being able to speak again. 

“Upstairs.” More kisses. “Now.”

Dean half smirked, half smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The morning light slowly faded in. Above the headboard of his bed lay a window, looking out across the land and hills in the distance. The curtains lay open a little wider since Dean woke up. The light came in with waves of glitter that shimmered above them. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been awake. Maybe half an hour? But he wouldn’t move an inch. Beside him, Alice was still asleep and he wouldn’t move for the world. 

“Morning.”

Dean turned his head and found Alice awake, and smiled. “Morning.”

Alice smiled back before burying her head downwards. Dean turned to his side and kissed her forehead with a chuckle. Alice could feel his smile against her skin with the rumble of his voice. 

“You’re beautiful.”

Alice soon looked back up, the pair just watching one another until the other made the first move. 

Alice lent up for a moment, kissing his lips before bringing her hand to his cheek to draw him in closer. Is this what she’d been missing for the last four years?

Dean and herself both smiled into the kiss but before Alice could pull him in closer, he made the first move. Alice found herself lying on her back as Dean’s arms wrapped securely around her and deepened the kiss. 

Neither could ask for anything better.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x fe!oc #dean winchester x fe!reader #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean winchester au #roadhouse #roadhouse rules #spn #spn family #spn fan fic #oneshot #spn one shot #dean winchester one shot #supernatural #sam winchester #castiel #spn x you #Supernatural Fan Fiction #supernatural fandom #spn fandom #fluff #fade to black #love #illusion to smut #kissing

[harrenhalyuri]

whenever I get into something new which I have a potential interest in writing/drawing for it, the first thing I start researching is the food. It's insane how much food can be a world building tool and how much you can learn through it

That said, I've been thinking about the rogue trader's voidship kitchens lmao

#mortred loves fine dining but doesnt know anything abt it #only shows up to eat #nieve however....... she's in the business. she ran her first tavern mostly by herself #now im obsessed with the idea of w40k!nieve #instead of having a bar in a planet or inside a void station like footfall... im thinking it would be super cool if #the bar itself was located independently out in the space. a small void station of its own #exactly like a roadhouse but in space #which ofc would be dangerous... her clientele would vary wildly #from passing merchants to pirates to xenos and anything in between #nieve would def have a few deals with the fellowship and/or the kaballisca to make sure the bar's grounds are protected #an unspoken rule that the bar is off limits. no one raids the neutral ground #anyway this gives me much 2 think abt #mesa de bar

[gretavanglimmers]

Jake Kiszka & Female Reader

Chapter One: Don't look at me like that...

Summary: As landlady of the Vagabond Blues, you make all the rules. But there's one you just can't seem to keep with the lead guitarist of your house band. He waits for you every night at closing time. Set in the backdrop of the 80s style Roadhouse bar, Jake is a bad influence. But could he be exactly what you need, too?

A/N: Lovely tumblr friends, I'm a long time lurker reader and now here I am, sharing with you my first fic. I sincerely hope that it tickles your pickles. It's had a once over with a fine tooth comb, but please forgive any errors. And if I'm missing a trigger warning please feel free to pop into my inbox and give me a boot up the bum. Other than that, enjoy!

Warnings: Physical violence/Blood/ DomSub dynamics/ Fingering/ Oral Female/ Spitting / Restraint / Penetrative vaginal sex

The smoky haze of another Saturday night hung in the air. Tammy Wynette on the jukebox and the scent of spilled bourbon on your fingers. Broken glass crunched beneath your feet, and Jake was waiting for you on his perch at the end of the bar.

"Not tonight, baby." You sighed, slinging a cloth over your shoulder as you addressed him the same way you did every other patron. "I got this mess to clean up before I can clock off."

He barely lifted his eyes up from the papers rolling between his thumbs. Throwing his cigarette up and catching it between deft lips. He flicked his lighter open on the edge of his hand and held it until the papers startled to sizzle.

"You say that every night, Cookie." He replied, knocking back a single shot of tequila as the bar emptied. "And every night I wind up with a new pair of panties in my glove box."

Trophies. Reminders that he'd had you pressed up against his steering wheel out in the dusty parking lot. You should have known better than to wear any, knowing that he would be fixing to take you home.

"'Aint it enough to sit in my company a while?" You asked, filling his shot glass before he could ask for another. "We barely get to talking while I'm serving drinks and you're up there playin'"

He took a long drag off his cigarette, embers burning to ash as he slammed a five dollar bill on the sticky bar top. Whenever he paid for his drinks, it meant he was trying to get into your good graces. You took the money and slid it into your bra strap, hitting him with a seductive smile that told him it was your little secret.

"That's not a tip, Cookie." He admonished, "You'll get that later."

Of course you would. As much as you enjoyed making him wait, him being there made all the 2am closing rituals more palatable. You would serve beers to drunks and shmucks all night, playing nice and flirting a little while Jake sat on stage with his band trying to be heard over the clamour of bar fights and card games. Sometimes catching his eye between songs and fisticuffs.

"Be a doll and lock up for me." You said, tossing him a set of keys.

Jake had always been a dark horse. Turning up with his guitar one day, the flyer you'd left in town asking for a house band to play at the Vagabond Blues tucked under his arm. He'd played a few riffs on a scuffed up old acoustic, the way his lips pouted and his hips moved when he played sealing your fate. You'd hired him on the spot. Thinking his uncommon way of playing would bring in the girls, but keep the regular old timers happy with their penchant for nostalgic rock.

He didn't say much. Kept himself to himself. Every now and then a little nugget of something funny slipping out, making you notice him in a room full of mini skirts and denim. Chestnut waves of long hair tucked behind his ear, eating up your resolve to keep sex out of your business practices.

"You better give me my five dollars back if you want me to perform extra duties." He teased, sliding off his bar stool into a puddle of Jack Daniels.

You were fairly certain he knew he'd get what he wanted. But you leaned over the bar all the same, winding fingers around the chains at his neck and reeling him in towards your lips. Close enough to kiss, but not quite.

"You'll get that later." You whispered, releasing him before he could get too worked up.

The wicked grin he gave as he crossed the room kept you watching him. His ass in those tight levi's was a spectacle in and of itself, causing you to bite down heavily on your lip as you shook your head in disbelief of how flawlessly pert and round it was.

A beautiful distraction from the saloon door flying open. Your heart sank as it often did when people didn't respect your closing time. Drunk and in search of that elusive last sip. You often wondered what they had to go back to if they never wanted to go home.

"Hey!" You called, waving the white dish rag in your hand high above your head. "We're closing, Benny. You know the rules!"

Jake caught him as he stumbled in. Closely flanked by his dithering girlfriend, who could barely walk in her blood red stiletto heels. Chewing gum as she tried to placate his attempts to reach the bar.

"I'm so sorry, Cookie!" She cried, looking windswept and dishevelled as she fell over the chairs and tables. "I done told him it was closing time!"

"I 'aint having it tonight, Savannah." You tutted, confident that Jake could handle it. "You let Jake put him outside, now."

"Yes Ma'am." She replied, inebriated but not enough to know when it was time to call it a night. "I really am sorry about this."

Jake had him by the scruff of his collar. Placating him softly, telling him he'd had enough. Easing him back towards the door as he tried to break free.

"You go on home now, Benny." You humoured, placing a defensive hand to your hip as you prepared for the inevitable fight.

Punches rolled into the air, each one dodged and caught. Curses and spit flying everywhere as Jake manhandled him to the ground. Glasses smashing as tables were flipped, the sound of girlish screams as Savannah tried to keep her little skirt from riding up as she hitched herself onto Jake's back.

"What the hell, Savannah? Get the fuck off of me!" He shrugged, with very little effort, as she fell back into an abandoned deck of playing cards.

You whipped your dish rag on the back of a bar stool and flipped open the bar flap. Striding across the floor through a menagerie of spilled drinks and broken glass. Hardened to the way people loved to brawl after a few too many drinks, this was an inconvenience more than anything else.

"Get him the fuck out." You lashed, grabbing the poor girl by the straps of her little halter neck top and helping her to her feet. "And if you can't keep your man on a tight leash, I don't wanna see either of you in here again until you can. You hear me, Savannah?!"

Benny didn't like that. His fist reeling upwards as Jake lifted him from the ground. Both hands aggressively on the ripped shirt of your offending regular, unable to stop it connecting with his jaw. A simmering bubble of anger about to spill over the edges of your calm demeanour.

"Damn it, Benny!" Jake cried, reeling back before striking a dull kick to his stomach in a pair of boots you knew would leave a mark. "You want a drink so bad?"

You watched as Jake spat blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Something visceral and instinctual in the way you settled back onto the edge of the foray. Savannah lingered in the open doorway, the way you looked at her enough to keep her there.

"Have a fucking drink, my friend." Jake said amusingly, using the edge of his boot to turn Benny's head towards the whiskey saturated floor board.

Jake looked over to where you were standing. Arms crossed and a pout that spoke a thousand words you wouldn't say until the door was bolted shut.

"Alright, that's enough." He moaned, picking Benny up off the floor, every ounce of fight in him gone. "If I let you go, you're not going to swing for me again are you?"

Benny shook his head, defeated. Staggering into the doorway where his equally unsteady girlfriend caught him. The two of them descending into the early hours rain, their voices pitched and argumentative.

Jake picked up the keys from the floor, taking the liberty of locking everything up precisely how you'd asked him to. You could see the blood dripping from his lip, a look of consternation as he kept his eyes on you. He shoved the last bolt across, like he was pissed off at the interruption. Staring at you as you waited for him to be done.

"Don't look at me like that." You warned, taking a step back as he approached.

"You know I'm dead inside until you touch me, don't you?" He replied poetically, backing you up against the locked door. "There's only you who can get my blood pumping again, Cookie. You know that."

His blood was all you could taste as he caged your body between his and the door behind you. Pressing you into a kiss that was warm and metallic. His tongue probing yours in desperate search for a release that had been building all night.

As if you ever had the strength to deny him. Or yourself. Telling yourself pretty stories about driving yourself home without letting him have so much as a taste of the lace between your thighs. Such fiction always made you feel better about your intentions, until they fell by the wayside.

"We can't keep doing this, Jake." You said, like you always did, an echo of something you knew would never manifest. "It's bad for business."

Where he'd cut his lip, you could see the blood pooling. He sucked on it as he towered over you. Rubbing the remains of his kiss across your lips with the pad of his thumb.

"You tell yourself that." He murmured against the shell of your ear. "Tell yourself you don't want this. Your wet little pussy tells me a different story."

She betrayed you, the thing between your legs. You couldn't silence her purring, even if you'd tried. Your head was a revolving door of wanting him and trying so hard to convince yourself that you didn't. Your heart ached for him, even when he was sat on that little stool with his guitar perched on his knee, playing the blues for a crowd that barely listened. But that was yours to keep. That didn't belong to him. The throb was all his, though. He'd claimed that the first night he'd waited for you after closing. You couldn't hide it. He knew the way he made you gush from his touch. You had no control over your actions when he awakened that part of you.

"You're bad." You whispered, clenching your eyes shut tight, letting him open the buttons of your daisy dukes. "So, so fucking bad for me."

You could feel the clammy touch of his palm against your stomach. Opening your eyes the moment he slipped it down behind the waist band of your panties. Rounding over your mound where his fingers hooked delicately into the waiting wetness of your slit. Making you moan into his open mouth.

"There she is, my sweet Cookie." He crooned, taking your earlobe between his teeth, tentatively sucking. "They named you well when they called you that."

It was just a silly little childhood nickname. When your real name had been too hard to pronounce, your little brother had resorted to calling you Cookie. And it had stuck, nothing more than a curse to you now as he desecrated it. Took all the innocence out of it and made it filthy.

"Shut up!" You growled, wrapping your hands around his wrist. "Just shut the fuck up for once, Jake..."

His air of mysterious quiet didn't extend to these moments. He liked to talk. A revelation which had come to you unbound the first time he'd ever talked you through it. Giving you a running commentary on his every move, letting you know precisely how hard you got him. Keeping you hanging off every sensual word.

But sometimes, just sometimes... you needed him to push through all the nagging doubts. To make you forget that you were breaking your one and only rule. That you'd made it part of Vagabond Blues lore. No fucking the other employees.

You clutched him tight, forcing lazy circles around your hard clit. Biting down on your lip, panting heavily as his fingertip brushed over the hood. His eyes were locked on yours. Silently speaking to you as he rolled over the peak of your throbbing bud. He couldn't shut up, even if there were no words coming out of his mouth, his gaze conveyed his pleasure.

"Not here...not here..." You simmered, knowing you were moments from casting off the panties you knew he would keep as a souvenir.

He held you against the door, his hand applying enough pressure to keep you locked where you stood. Fingers stilled on your clit, like he was gently punishing you for trying to stop his flow.

"Nobody else is coming through that door." He asserted, his mouth lingering at yours, eyes shifting from your begging stare down to your parted lips. "And if they tried to, I'd take on any man who came between me and this..."

Your eyes rolled back as he slid a single digit into your entrance. Curling up inside you just enough that his tip could reach the sweet spot that made you fold into a thousand pleading little pieces.

"Guitar fingers..." You hummed.

He liked it when you stroked his prowess as a guitarist. It made him roll his hips into you, his painfully hard cock pressed into your stomach. His arousal piqued, and you truly believed that nobody could tear down that door without having to get through his dominance first.

"Gonna play you like a Gibson." He giggled softly, pulling down your shorts, taking the panties with them as you stepped out. "Make you sing for me, Cookie."

He brought big, strong hands down the curve of your spine and rounded them off around your ass. He lifted you up, forcing your thighs to wrap around him. Your saturated core dampening his shirt as he carried you over to the little box stage at the side of the bar. Laying you down with careful intention, your legs hanging off the edge for him to manipulate.

"No, not like a Gibson." You said, inching up your t-shirt until it sat around your collar bone, tits spilling out. "Play me like your Harmonica..."

You caught sight of his jaw clenching. His throat flexed as he swallowed, considering your demand as he slipped off his shirt. Unbuckling his belt so that it fell to either side of his waist, just enough to free his buttons and zipper. You could see the tip of his penis sitting snuggly behind the waist band of his boxer shorts.

He stood back. Folded his arms around his chest and gazed at you with intensifying heat.

"You want me to tongue block on your pussy?" He raised an eyebrow, resting his line of sight on the bloom of your centre as you hooked your toes over the edge of the stage.

He'd never looked more rockstar. Shirtless with his jeans wide open, his hair shrouding the darkness of his wild expression as he tilted his head forward. Softly predatory. In anticipation of getting a taste, he wound a tight fist around the chains that hung around his neck, licking a stripe across the split in his lip.

"Do something," You begged. "Anything, before I come to my fucking senses."

He wouldn't let you. He stood over you, pulling down your thighs until your legs were resting in the crooks of his arms.

"This is mine. Say it..." He growled, spitting onto your slit and letting it drip.

You almost couldn't formulate a coherent sentence. "Yours."

He nodded, railing a hand up to cover your left breast. "And these?"

"Yours." You echoed, "All of it, yours."

You'd heard the expression before. Be careful what you wish for. Begging him to do anything might have been too wild a request. He squeezed tightly, letting your hard nipple feel the friction of his closed fist. You were never coming to your senses, never...

Above your head were the stationary instruments of the Vagabond Blues Band. A set of guitars leaning against stands, an acoustic drum set at the back and a menagerie of amps and wires. Jake had an almost demonic glaze over his face as he leaned forward, letting your cunt press against the fabric between your flesh and his.

"Ever since I met you, Cookie, you've made it hard for me to want anything else." He said, gently placing your arms up as he clamped his mouth around your aching nipple. "I know it's wrong, I know it's against the fucking rules. But you got me all kinds of fucked up..."

You didn't realise what he was doing at first. Distracted by his beautiful mouth sucking on your breasts. Watching his tongue make circles around the gooseflesh of your areolas. Biting into the curve of them, leaving his mark as you laid beneath him savagely moaning, unaware that his amp cable was being twisted around your wrists. It was only when you tried to break free that you had to struggle.

"I got you all kinds of fucked up, so now you're keeping me prisoner is that it?" You tried to wriggle free, but the sleek black cords were pulled tight.

"You want me to set you free?" He smirked, pulling down his boxers, letting his raging hard cock fall out from behind it. "Just say the word, sweet Cookie, and I'll set you free."

He pushed his jeans down just enough to move his tip closer. With your knees parted and on full display for him, he wrapped a cautious hand around his base and began slapping your wetness against the inside of your thighs as he tapped your slit with his cock.

"It's wrong to want you the way I do." You confessed, your voice on the verge of wilting.

He continued tapping away at your clit. "Yeah, it's wrong. But doesn't it feel fucking good?"

You could only nod. Words evaded you. Breathing heavier and heavier, your chest heaving with your arms restrained above you as he drummed away on your pussy with his violent cock.

"Seems I got the wrong instrument." He snickered, "You wanted the Harmonica, right?"

You let out the most simpering whimper. A sound which made him smile in utter abandonment of his brooding.

"Oh, that's my girl." He beamed, trailing a palm down the centre of your body. "Fucking music to my ears."

He sank to his knees. Holding your thighs apart, knowing the grim state of the floor after a Saturday night you knew it was a real sacrifice on his part. Grateful for his dedication, you let him rest your legs over his shoulders as he buried his face into your aching, wet and impossibly hot pussy.

You began sobbing. Begging. Crying out deliriously. Trying so hard to be good and not unravel right there on the flat of his tongue as he licked deliberate stripes up the length of your dripping slit. Driving you to the edges of what was tolerable as he slurped and swallowed your wetness. Like he'd done with your nipple already, he clamped his mouth around your throbbing clit and started rolling his tongue against it. Pulling it into his mouth with gentle suction, humming his own feral moans against it as he jerked himself off.

You could feel the vibration, the movement of his body as he reeled his fist up and down his shaft. Pulling the flesh back and forth, squeezing as he rounded off at the tip. You knew his style, his melody. And the more you pictured it the more you ached for penetration.

"Fuck me, Jake..." You cried, fighting against your restraints to rag his head back, to take a fist of his hair so that you could see your juice glisten on his mouth. "I need it, baby...please!"

The blood was rushing in your ears. Your own heart beat thrumming wildly over the din of your own voice rising. Breathless and helpless, your wrists bound and your thighs rubbing eagerly against his ears it felt like he was deliberately keeping it from you.

"Don't make me cum in your mouth, Jake." You simpered, "I want you inside me. I'm your fucking boss, Jake...listen to me!"

Down through the valley of your heaving breasts and laboured breath, his eyes flitted upwards. Resting his chin on your mound, covered in a sheen of your mess, he pulled his tongue out of your cunt and looked up at you.

"You 'aint my boss when we do this." He switched, rising from his knees to appraise you. "You can be my boss while ever I'm getting paid to play. But soon as that door closes, you're my girl."

He loosened the cables. Stretching over you, setting you free. Immediately you sat up, resting on your palms as you watched him step back.

"Where are you going?" You asked, feeling a sudden rush of vulnerability as he hitched up his jeans and walked across the room towards the door.

Heat flushed to your cheeks. You felt humiliated. If he left you there like that, there was going to be no way back. You could already feel it rising in your chest. The pain and the breaking of your heart that you hadn't known would come.

Your shorts and panties were right where he left them, in a heap by the door where he'd make you take them off. You watched him reach into the pile of denim and pull out your black lace thong.

"Spoils of war." He replied, shoving them into his back pocket. "You look so beautiful like that, by the way."

You were sitting on the edge of the stage, your hair messed up and your cheeks all rosy. Still feeling the throb of where his mouth had been. You let your t-shirt fall, pulling it down in an act of rising shame at what you'd done.

"Beautiful enough that you're going to leave me here like this?" You wondered.

His brow knitted together in confusion. "Leave?"

You shrugged. "You're leaving, 'aint ya? Pissed you off with my I'm your fucking boss bullshit?"

He feigned offence, placing a hand at his heart as if you'd placed a dagger right there in the centre of his chest. You couldn't help but smile bashfully, looking down at your bare thighs as he strode back towards you.

He chucked your chin with the back of his hand. Making you look back up, unable to stop yourself from meeting his impenetrable gaze.

"Why you worried, woman?" He asked, "Nothing I done ever worried you before."

"No but..." You huffed, trying to reclaim your balance. "Then you said I was your girl when we do this."

You had to be strong all the time. The Vagabond Blues couldn't be run by anyone with a weak stomach or a fear of getting hurt. You had to be ten steps ahead at all times, predicting the moods and behaviours of every single soul under that roof. It was a lonely place to be.

"I'm not leaving." He answered softly, kissing you with his broken lip. "I didn't fuck my girl, yet."

You let him sink his teeth into your jawline, letting out a deep sigh as he pushed your legs apart. Quick, shallow breaths exhaled as he pushed his jeans back down. Trying in vain to keep yourself calm. But it was no to avail, you could feel the room begin to spin as Jake pushed his tip against your grieving clit.

"I can't be..." You whispered, tethered to him as he slipped inside slowly. "You know I can't be your girl."

You felt the soft brush of his hair against your cheek as he shook his head.

"No, Jake. Look at me, I want you to see me." You breathed, making him fuck in slow, hard thrusts that made your tits bounce against his chest. "I'm not who you think I am. I'm not somebody you can just claim."

"I know." He moaned, clinging to your body like it pained him. "You gave yourself to me, remember?"

"I mean it, Jake." You said firmly. "I can't have authority around here if people know about us."

He placed his hand over your mouth. You tasted the salt of his sweat on your lips. You could have said it a thousand times over and the outcome would always remain the same. He would wait for you at the end of the night, and you would go to him.

"Can't you feel that?" He said, low and gravelly as he peered down to watch your pussy swallow him whole. "Can't you feel how good my cock stretches inside you? Just let it go, Cookie."

Pussy lips like ribbons against his shaft, he pulled his hand away so that you could take a look for yourself. Like poetry in motion he was, fucking you so deliciously slow and hard. Sliding in with gentle force before slamming his body against yours to the hilt. Edging you closer and closer to that sweet finish.

"That's it, beautiful." He encouraged, his breath hitting your tongue so warm and familiar as you writhed against him on the edge of the stage. "Cum on my cock, let me feel that juice drip on me. Just let it all go, you can do it."

When it washed over you it was like being reborn. You wailed into the rafters, letting it echo into the eerie silence of the empty bar. Jake shuddered when you calmed, feeling a little wetter than you had been a moment ago.

"I can't do it, Jake...I can't!"

You'd never let him see you cry before. And for some unfathomable reason, he felt it necessary to kiss the tears which spilled from your lashes.

"Yes you can." He replied, "You already are."

.

.

.

Chapter Two: Look what you made me do... *Coming Soon

@takenbythemadness @writingcold @velveteencatch @scoreofinfantryvines @edgingthedarkness @lyndz2names @jakesmustache @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @thewritingbeforesunrise @itsafullmoon @shutupdevvie

#vagabond blues #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #gvf fanfiction #fanfic #greta van fleet fic #greta van smut #gvf fanfic #jake kiszka smut #gvf smut #greta van fleet fanfiction

[raaorqtpbpdy]

This Sure as Hell Never Happened on Scooby-Doo

While investigating a fairly routine haunting in a Michigan hotel, Sam and Dean come face to face with a creature unlike any they've faced before. [Takes place around mid season 1 for SPN, and at a non-specific point in the DP timeline]

Written for @crossoverdanuary Week, Day 7: Supernatural | Veil

First off, congrats to Supernatural for finally making the main prompt list after two years of being an honorable mention lol. I had a lot of trouble coming up with an idea for this one for some reason, so it ended up being kind of generic. This is, however, the first time I've ever written the Full Hazmat AU, which was pretty exciting.

AO3 Link

[Warning for minor violence, and references to suicide throughout]

As a general rule, hunters steered clear of Amity Park, although the reason why varied from one to another.

Some believed all the so-called supernatural occurrences there were just a hoax, like Bigfoot, so there was no point wasting valuable time and energy looking into them. Others swore up and down that, hoax or not, there was something about that town that made you see things. Impossible things. Things that made even the most experienced hunters pause. Some simply believed that Amity Park could take care of itself. Outside interference would only cause more problems than it would solve.

Then there were those who believed that Amity Park, that the very town itself, didn't want them there. That hunters were just not welcome.

The town was infamous in the hunter community. Grizzled, plaid-wearing men would talk about it at roadhouses and truck-stop diners. They'd warn other people away, tell them not to even drive through it on their way to somewhere else. There was nothing in that town worth dying for, and they took care of their own. Hunters weren't needed, they weren't wanted, and they'd just do better if they stayed away.

Every once in a while though, Amity Park's unique brand of freaky bled out of that isolated town. And when it did, then it became the hunters' problem. Unfortunately, more often than not, they wouldn't know it until it was too late.

Sam and Dean were investigating a supposedly haunted hotel. Staff and guests they'd spoken to had all reported blinking lights, cold spots, scratching in the walls. The staff seemed content to blame it on the owner's unwillingness to spend money to fix or update anything. The guests, on the other hand, not so much.

Those who stayed overnight reported horrible nightmares about bleeding out from their wrists. Some of them even claimed to have seen things, although they couldn't seem to agree on what they saw. A few saw a woman, covered in blood from slit writs, and crying, who vanished in the blink of an eye. But another claimed to have seen a small figure in a partially melted hazmat suit.

"Could there be more than one?" Sam asked when they'd returned to their own room in the hotel.

It was more expensive than the crappy motels they usually stayed it, but it was more convenient, and it gave them an excuse to wander around if they were actually staying there.

"Maybe, but... I don't know. If someone committed suicide in the hotel, it makes sense that their spirit would linger," Dean said. "I just can't think of any reason why there would be a ghost in a hazmat suit. Can you?"

"If the building used to be some kind of lab or research facility, it's possible," Sam said, "But this hotel was established back in the late thirties, and even if there was a research facility here before the hotel, the hazmat suit he described was much more modern than they would have worn back then."

Dean scoffed as he plopped down on his bed.

"Of course, leave it to my nerd brother to know what hazmat suits looked like in the thirties," Dean mocked. "Seriously though, that second ghost just doesn't make any kind of sense."

"We'll know more once we find info about anyone whose died in this hotel," Sam said. "This place has been in business for almost seventy years, I'm sure we'll have plenty to wade through."

"It could have been that guy was just making up a story," Dean said. "We've got three people claiming they saw a woman who disappeared, but only one mentioned the hazmat suit. Maybe he was messing with us."

"He seemed pretty shaken up about it," Sam said. "I didn't think he was lying."

"I didn't either, but...." Dean shook his head thoughtfully. "Something about that story just doesn't sit right. And you know what else? That redheaded girl who got all defensive when we started acting questions. Something doesn't sit right about her, either. She acted like she was responsible, or trying to protect the person who was. Except we already know this is a haunting. We know there's at least one ghost, so why did she act like that?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "Could be she was trying to hide something else."

"Maybe...."

"Come on," Sam said. "Let's start by combing through local death records at the library."

"You go ahead," Dean told him. "I wanna talk to that girl's parents, see if they know anything. I'm starting to think there might be more to this case than just a standard haunting."

"Fine. We'll meet back here later."

—

"So, what'd you find?" Dean asked when his brother got back to their room.

"Okay, so get this," Sam began. "There have been several deaths in this hotel. A couple of heart attacks, a couple of accidents. One guy fell out his window, which caused the hotel to seal all the windows on the upper floors shut so they couldn't be opened. There have also been three suicides since the hotel's founding.

"A World War 2 vet shot himself in the head in December of 1945, just a few months after the war ended; A girl OD'ed in 1963, leaving a note about how the state of the world had made her unwilling to live in it; and lastly, a woman in 1992 slit her wrists in room 201 after her husband divorced her, blaming her for the murder of their only son."

"Sounds like we've ID'ed our first ghost," Dean noted. "We got a name?"

"Jennifer Bishop," Sam said. "She was accused of murdering her son, but never convicted because they never actually found the body, only a whole lot of blood they identified with DNA testing. She defended her innocence until her death, but the police never actually investigated anyone else for her son's disappearance and presumed death. Once she offed herself, they just closed the case."

"Another gold standard of police incompetence," Dean said. "Did you find out where she was buried?"

"Her family was catholic, but since she committed suicide, they couldn't bury her in their family plot at their church. Instead, she was buried in a public cemetery, Lincoln Memorial Park... but it's in her hometown: Petoskey, Michigan. She was only here for the trial."

"Great, so we gotta drive all night to get to friggin' Petoskey," Dean moaned. "Awesome. This is why hotel ghosts suck. Did you find any leads on hazmat suit?"

"Nothing. What about you?" Sam asked. "Get anything useful interviewing that red-headed girl's parents?"

"Nah," Dean said, shaking his head. "Remember those hellhoundslair dorks?"

Sam nodded.

"That's what they were like," he continued. "Overenthusiastic, but incompetent. She probably realized we were asking about ghosts and was nervous they'd overhear. While I was talking to them she reminded them they'd promised not to hunt any ghosts while their family was on vacation. They didn't seem too happy about that, but they at least stopped insisting they'd help me 'catch that slippery specter', so that was something, I guess.

"I did learn she has a younger brother, though. I didn't get to talk to him, but when I was leaving, I overheard the two kids talking, and he said something like, 'there's not enough of her there to talk to', and 'there's not a whole lot left of her at all," Dean finished. "Not sure what that was all about, but it seemed like they were trying to keep it on the down-low, especially from their parents."

"You think it could be related?" Sam asked.

"As far as I know, the brother never promised not to hunt ghosts," Dean replied with a shrug. "That and a gut feeling are pretty much all I have to base it on, though."

"Well, we know who our suicide is, at least," Sam said. "One of us should go take care of Jennifer Bishop while the other stays here in case she starts causing anymore trouble, or in case the hazmat ghost shows up again, if its even real."

"Why don't you take the salt-and-burn this time," Dean suggested.

Sam froze and looked at his brother, completely shocked. "You... want me to take your car and drive two hundred miles away... by myself?"

"And if you bring her back with so much as a scratch on her, I'll make you wish you were never born," Dean said. "But I feel like there's something at this hotel that I'm missing, and I'm gonna stick around until I figure it out."

"It's really bugging you, huh?" Sam noted. "Alright, well... it's a three hour drive, so I'd better get going."

"Yeah, and don't forget to fill up the tank on your way back."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said as he walked out the door.

They'd already brought some weapons from the trunk into the hotel room, so Dean wouldn't be unarmed if he ran into one of the ghosts.

He did some quick math in his head. The ghost, or ghosts, probably wouldn't show up until it was night. Sam had a six-hour round trip, plus a good hour to dig up old Jennifer, probably longer, since he wouldn't have help. It was early afternoon now. 1:18 pm, a glance at the clock told him, so he could expect Sam back around nine-ish, give or take an hour. Sunset was around seven.

Jennifer would be gone well before nightfall... but that other ghost... if it even existed, they didn't have a single lead on it.

Dean headed down to the lobby.

He'd noticed them yesterday, a group of older ladies with a basket of yarn in the middle of them, chatting up a storm. He and Sam hadn't spoken to them yesterday, but now that Sam was gone, it was time for Dean to dial up a very particular type of charm that Sam would tease him for mercilessly if he ever saw it. He stood nearby, waiting for his moment.

"I swear," one lady said. "I turned up my thermostat four times last night. I had it cranked all the way up to ninety, and I could hear the radiator groaning like anything, but my room was still freezing."

"Did you phone the concierge?" another lady said.

"I tried, but they just apologized and said it's an old hotel," replied the first. "Didn't even offer to send a handyman, or move me to a different room or anything. Anyway, that's why started coming down here during the day. I just can't stand it."

That was his chance. "You too?" he asked her. "Which room are you in?"

"I'm in 201, why?"

Bingo. 201. The same room as their suicide victim.

"Well, it got to a point where I got my tools outta my car and just fixed the darn radiator myself," Dean lied. "I could take a look at yours too, if you'd like."

"Would you?" she asked, sounding beyond relieved. "Oh, thank you so much. It's gotten so bad I can hardly sleep at night, so that would be a real godsend if you would do that. You're such a lamb."

"Oh, it's no problem, ma'am," Dean said, taking an empty seat nearby. "The name's Dean, by the way."

"I'm Millie," the woman said. "And these are my friends, Cathy and Debbie. We're in town for a big doll convention. We're collectors, you know. And Debbie even makes dolls herself out of felt."

"I do, and I've gotten pretty damn good at it, if I say so myself," Debbie said. "I even made a felt baby doll for my granddaughter's birthday a few months back and she was over the moon."

Upon closer inspection, all three of the ladies seemed to be knitting or crocheting very small clothes, presumably for dolls. Hopefully he could redirect the topic of conversation back to ghosts soon, because Dean didn't know Jack about dolls.

"What about you?" asked the third woman, Cathy. "What brings you to Lansing? I assume you don't live here, or you wouldn't be staying at a hotel."

"I'm here on business," he replied, silently thanking god that she'd changed the topic for him.

"What kind of business?" Millie asked. "You said you can fix a radiator, are you some kind of technician, or construction worker?"

"Actually... I'm a private investigator," he lied.

"Oooh, exciting!" Cathy said. "What are you investigating?"

"I'm afraid I can't share the details... but maybe you ladies could help me," he said. "Have any of you seen anything strange while you've been staying here?"

"I saw a man dancing near the park who could clasp his hands behind his back and pull them all the way in front of him," Debbie said. "That was pretty strange. I gave him a dollar."

"I was thinking more like in the hotel," Dean said. "Maybe like... a figure in a hazmat suit?"

Millie gasped, and Dean fixed his gaze on her.

"You have?"

"Well... you see, I have sleep paralysis," she said. "Last night, I had only managed to fall asleep for an hour or two because it was so cold, but then I woke up in the middle of the night because my room suddenly got even colder, but I couldn't move, of course. It takes me a while to be able to move after I wake up.

"And then I saw, like you said, someone wearing a hazmat suit, a black one with white gloves. They were small, like they weren't fully grown, and they were glowing," Millie explained. "Their suit was damaged, partly melted, it looked like. I'd never seen something like that before, but I just figured it had to be a sleep paralysis hallucination, and maybe it partly was, but do you think it could have been real? That someone broke into my room last night?"

"How frightening," Debbie said with a shiver.

"Maybe," Dean said. "Maybe not. I'm not really sure yet." He paused, consideringly. That was two people now who saw the hazmat suit, and this one saw it in the same room where the other ghost had died. "Did it say anything to you? Or do anything that you saw?"

"I couldn't really turn my head, but they seemed like they were looking for something, didn't seem to find it though. Nothing was missing from my room when I finally got up, at least," Millie said. "They didn't say anything, and only looked at me for a moment. Oh! But they might've been muttering something. Not sure what it was, though."

"Thanks, that's a lot of help," Dean said. "If you think of anything else, let me know?"

"Do you think I'm in danger?" Millie asked. "Should I request a room change after all?"

"If that would make you feel safer," Dean said. "I'm not sure it's as cut and dry as a break-in... but maybe you should just stay in one of your friend's rooms for a night."

"You can stay in my room tonight, Millie," Cathy volunteered.

He stayed for a little while, chatting with them. It wasn't something he wanted getting out, but old ladies always loved him for some reason. He even managed to get Cathy's key-lime pie recipe, which the other two swore up and down was absolutely to die for. Who knew when the next time he'd have a kitchen to try it out would be, but he'd make sure to write it down next chance he got, just in case.

It wasn't until he saw that red-haired teenage girl and a short, black-haired boy who was presumably her brother walk through the lobby that he excused himself to follow after them, claiming they were persons of interest in his case.

"If you didn't find anything, how did you even know it was the right room?" the sister was asking when Dean got close enough to hear.

He was trying hard not to be noticed while he tailed them, but as quietly as they were talking, he had to stick closer than he would have liked.

"That was where her presence was the strongest," the brother answered. "I just don't know how I'm supposed to help her when she's not strong enough to speak, and we're leaving tomorrow, so tonight is my last chance."

Could he be a psychic of some kind? Maybe a medium?

He turned around abruptly, and Dean barely had time to make it look like he was examining a shop's window display of... glass baubles and nick-knacks. Oh, yeah, he definitely seemed like the type to be interested in those. Hopefully they wouldn't question it.

"Is he staying at our hotel?" the brother whispered.

"Yeah," the sister confirmed, "and he was asking about cold spots and flickering lights, too. You think he knows something?"

"I think I'd rather stay away from him," replied the brother. "He could be the dangerous type."

After that, it seemed like the kids were deliberately trying to shake him, and it wasn't long before they did, almost as if they'd simply vanished into thin air.

Dean gave up searching and returned to the hotel. He found Millie in the lobby and asked if she'd let him into her room to fix the radiator, even brought the few tools that he'd had in his room to make the story more convincing.

"Even if you don't stay in here tonight, I figure I can at least do the hotel a favor," he said.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," she said. "Don't you go snooping around in my underwear drawer," she teased, and he laughed along with her until she closed the door behind her and headed back downstairs to her knitting.

Any evidence that there had been a suicide in this room had been long since erased. It was cold, just as Millie said it was, but there didn't appear to be any problem with the radiator. One of the tools he'd brought along was an iron crowbar, and he gripped it tightly.

"Jennifer, you in here?" he called out.

The time was 5:06, meaning Sam was probably digging up her grave right now.

He got no response.

"Jennifer?" he called again. "Jennifer Bishop?"

Nothing.... he was pretty sure that kid had been saying she wasn't a very powerful ghost, maybe that was why she hadn't done much. She hadn't actually killed or even hurt anyone beyond a couple of nightmares and a cold room. Maybe she couldn't show herself during the day.

The Winchester brothers had only stopped here because they happened to be so close by when Sam read an article that claimed guests at this hotel had seen apparitions, and experienced horrible nightmares about a woman slitting their wrists. But the nightmares weren't actually killing anybody. Normally, they wouldn't have even bothered, but they were only a few miles away, and nothing else was close by.

Dean opened his mouth to call out one more time, but before he could, there was a flash of light and a distant-sounding screen, and he watched as the ghost of Jennifer Bishop appeared and almost instantaneously disappeared.

One down. One to go.

And wow was this room suddenly sweltering. Millie wasn't kidding about turning her thermostat up to ninety. Dean adjusted it to a much more reasonable 74°F, and left to go tell Millie he'd fixed her radiator.

After she was done thanking him, he headed up to his room and called Sam.

"Dean?" Sam said. "I took care of Jennifer Bishop."

"I know, I saw her burn up," Dean replied. "Nicely done. Anyway, I got some new info about our second ghost."

"Yeah? Let's hear it."

"The lady staying in the room where Jennifer offed herself said she saw a glowing figure in a hazmat suit in her room, thought it was a sleep paralysis thing until I brought it up. She said it seemed like it was looking for something, but it didn't seem to find anything."

"So we have a second witness for our hazmat ghost," Sam said. "And the description lined up?"

"Exactly," Dean confirmed. "I also have a new theory about those siblings, the red-headed girl and her brother. I think the brother might be a psychic, and was looking for a way to help Jennifer pass on peacefully, except she wasn't a strong enough spirit for him to connect with. Not sure how or even if this ties into the hazmat ghost at all."

"Still no clues about who it could be?" Sam asked.

"Nada," Dean said. "I did confirm that there was no lab or any kind of scientific facility at this site before the hotel was built. According to the hotel manager, before it was a hotel, it was a movie theater that went out of business during the great depression and got torn down, and before that, it was live-theater, but I'm pretty sure that was before hazmat suits were even invented. Before that, nothing. Just an empty lot."

"So maybe we're looking for someone who died somewhere else and their spirit was brought to the hotel connected to a cursed object," Sam suggested. "Have you seen anything in the hotel that looks like it might have come from a lab? Or belong to some kind of scientist?"

"If it was something that belonged to them, then it could be anything," Dean pointed out in exasperation. "A chair, or a painting, or a vase? I'm not gonna be able to find it unless I know what it is."

"You'd better start looking into any deaths in the area that might have been related to radioactive materials then," Sam said. "Any kind of death that might have occurred while the deceased was wearing a hazmat suit."

"Yeah, something that would have burned right through it," Dean said. "According to our descriptions, the suit is partially melted."

"You got this Dean?" I still have two and a half hours of driving to go.

"Yeah, I got it," Dean replied.

He did not got it. He got nothing. He stayed at the library until it closed at eight and didn't find a single death that fit the description. He got back to the hotel around the same time Sam did.

"Did you fill the tank?" he asked immediately.

"Yes, Dean, I filled the tank," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "Did you identify our hazmat?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, I couldn't find squat. It's like this ghost is..."

"A ghost?" Sam finished for him, raising an eyebrow.

Dean scowled. That had been what he was about to say, but he knew it sounded stupid, that's why he'd stopped.

"Yeah."

Sam shook his head as they went back up to their room.

—

The brothers were still puzzling out what to do about their second ghost, Dean cleaning his guns while Sam poured over their dad's journal, when they heard a muffled gasp from above them. Floating there on the ceiling was a figure in a hazmat suit, its faint glow barely visible in the light of the room.

For an instant, none of them moved. Then, acting quickly, Dean grabbed the crowbar that was next to him on the bed and flung it at the figure on the ceiling.

Rather than passing right through, causing the hazmat ghost to dissipate, the crowbar made contact with a clang, hitting it right on the head and knocking it to the floor between the two beds.

"Quick, salt, Sammy!" Dean shouted, rather than gape at the seemingly unconscious 'ghost' on their floor.

He tried to grab the hazmat-wearing figure, and to his surprise, it worked. He dragged it into the armchair in their room while Sam laid a ring of salt around it.

"Do you actually think this'll work, Dean?" Sam asked. "I mean, it doesn't seem like any ghost I've ever seen. Iron is supposed to repel ghosts, not actually hit them. I'm pretty sure this is something else."

"Iron hurt it—"

"Being hit in the head with a crowbar hurt it," Sam pointed out. "Based on that, it could be human for all we know."

"It was on the ceiling, Sam," Dean said flatly, grabbing the iron chains from under the bed and wrapping them around their captive. "And this don't look like Spider-Man to me."

"Well it doesn't look like a ghost, either," Sam insisted.

"So, what, you think this is some kind of Scooby-Doo situation?" Dean asked. "We'll pull off the mask and it turns out it's just some shady real-estate developer who wanted to get the hotel closed down so they could turn it into a theme park? Let's try it then."

Dean grabbed the hood of the hazmat suit and tore it off. 

They both gasped at what they saw.

Whoever it was, he looked young, maybe 13 or 14. His hair was as white as sheet and floated on an imaginary breeze. His face was dark. Lightning-bolt scars criss-crossed it all the way down to the neck until they disappeared under the suit's collar. His skin appeared to be badly burned, flaking off in ashes which vanished before they hit the ground.

He groaned as he started to come back to consciousness, and when he opened his eyes, they were a solid, eerie green, glowing so brightly they almost hurt to look at, even in the well-lit room.

"Still think he's human?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam shook his head, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.

"This sure as hell never happened on Scooby-Doo."

"Ugh," the mysterious boy groaned again, blinking and shaking his head like he was trying to get his bearings. "Did you seriously throw a crowbar at my head?" he demanded after a moment. "What the hell, dude?!"

"What are you?" Sam demanded. "A demon?"

"I'm a ghost, what the hell does it look like?" the boy replied.

"You don't look like any ghost we've ever seen," Dean said.

"Let me guess, you're more used to shades like the other ghost that was floating around this hotel, right?" the kid guessed. "She seems to have left the building though. You two got any idea why?"

"We took care of her," Dean replied. "Sam dug her up and salted and burned her bones. And if you really are a ghost, then we can do the same to you."

"You... you straight up ended her?" he asked. "Just like that? You didn't even give her the chance to move on? Ancients, what the hell!"

"She had the chance to move on when she died, and she didn't take it," Dean said. "Instead she terrorized people, so we showed up to stop her."

"She gave a few people nightmares! Everyone has nightmares sometimes! You didn't have to destroy her!"

"What's it to you, did you know her?" Sam asked. "She a friend of yours?"

"Well... no, but I was trying to?" the boy replied. "She was too weak to capture, and I didn't want to destroy her by trying to fight, so I was trying to learn more about her and help her move on."

"If you're a ghost, why don't you move on?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, what's keeping you around?" Dean echoed the sentiment more harshly.

"The same thing preventing you from salting and burning my bones," came the reply. The so-called ghost did not elaborate.

"And what would that be?" Dean finally asked.

"I guess you could say I'm not dead enough yet."

"So you're not a ghost, then," Sam said.

"I am," said the boy. "I'm not a shade, like that woman you ended. I'm what a ghost is like when we actually have enough power to be a whole person and not just a shadow of our former self. I'm a ghost like you've never encountered before."

"Whatever you are, we're gonna get rid of you," Dean jeered.

"Why?" asked the boy. "I haven't hurt anyone. All I did was try to help another ghost pass peacefully through the veil. Don't you hunters have any sort of moral code?"

"So, what?" Sam asked. "You're proposing we just let you go?"

"Fat chance," Dean scoffed.

"Not exactly," the ghost replied with a smirk. "More like I'm telling you not to feel to guilty when I escape." Then the ghost stood up, iron chains falling right off him. "Iron is more difficult to pass through without destabilizing, but not too much of a challenge for ghosts like me. Sorry, but this will be the last time we see each other."

With that, he pulled his hood back on, obscuring his face once more, so the only thing visible was the glow of his eyes behind the black lenses of his mask. Then he flew right up through the ceiling.

The Winchesters tried to find him. They searched the hotel top to bottom, probably looking half-mad, but he was gone. He'd simply vanished without a trace. And they never did see him again.

#dp #danny phantom #spn #dp x spn #superphantom #dp crossover #crossover #sam winchester #dean winchester #danny fenton #jazz fenton #fic #things i wrote #crossover danuary week 2024 #crossover danuary week #suicide ment #full hazmat au

[angelinthefire]

So my latest idea for deancas in the winchesters tv show (a tv show that I have not watched [... yet???]) is roughly something like this:

ok, Dean and Jack and Bobby get back to Heaven, and Dean goes into the Roadhouse this time. It's a little party. You can tell that Dean is still melancholy. And then he sees Cas again. Cas is kind of nervous. But Dean just melts when he sees him, and also manages to look somehow sadder. And he hugs him tight for a long time. And Cas relaxes too. But they're still in the Roadhouse surrounded by people, so they don't talk, and Dean gets pulled back into the celebrations.

But later, it's night, and Dean steps out back of the Roadhouse, into the field. Cas is there, looking up at the sky, hands in his pockets. Dean comes and stands next to him.

Their conversation starts out much the same way as in Full of Grace, with Dean being like:

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. Though I was hoping you'd take longer to get here."

Dean scoffs and shakes his head. "I tried, y'know. To be the guy you gave that speech to."

Cas turns to face him fully. "You are that guy."

"Cas..." Dean's gaze seaches Cas' face as he searches for what to say.

Then:

Dean focuses and asks softly, "What do you want?"

"Dean?"

"Tell me. You said the one thing you want is something you can't have. So tell me."

Cas fumbles for the right words for a beat, just the thought of what he wants alone starting to make him emotional. Finally he says with a sad smile, "To have a life with you."

And the irony is not lost on Dean. He takes a breath that's thick with tears, clearly thinking about might-have-beens. His gaze drops from Cas' eyes to his mouth, and he says with a soft desperation, "Then let's get out of here. Let's live."

Cas balks. "I can't."

"Since when do you care about rules?"

Cas just looks at him imploringly.

But Dean is already getting worked up at the idea. "Come on, what's one more time? It'll be just 30, 40 years, that's nothing." He grips Cas's arm. "But we can... you can have anything." His eyes are bright with a hungry kind of hope. "I want... I wanna give you anything."

And Cas is clearly getting reeled in. He's staring at Dean like he wants to kiss him.

"He doesn't mean it, you know."

Cas and Dean turn towards the new voice.

"Jack?" Cas says.

"He's telling you what you want to hear, so you'll do what he wants," Jack says with a kindness tipping towards pity.

"What the hell?" Dean says.

Jack turns to him, matter of factly, "Am I wrong?"

"Of course you're fucking wrong. The hell is wrong with you?"

Jack shakes his head sadly. "What's wrong with you? You have heaven, Dean." He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "There is something wrong with you, isn't there?" he says like he's seeing it for the first time.

Dean hardens. "Then kick me outta heaven. Go on!"

"... where's Jack?" says Cas, who hasn't stopped staring at Jack the whole time.

Jack turns to him, confused.

So Cas repeats himself, firmly but slowly, "Where is Jack?"

A horrified look comes over Dean's face.

Not-Jack smiles. "He's with me. Don't worry, he's safe." It's not reassuring.

And anyways, the upshot of the following dialogue would be that Chuck didn't win. Chuck has to live out his miserable existence on earth. But God did win. Because Chuck was just a guy that God was possessing. But the way God possesses someone, they start to lose sense of themselves, and parts of their personality start to find expression in God. Chuck was petty and squirrely. Jack will be a different kind of God. But the whole thing is unsettling and chilling.

I'm not sure how I would have things escalate, but they do. Of course Cas wants God to leave Jack alone, maybe he even offers himself as a vessel but God refuses. Idk, more stuff is said, it ends with God giving them a clear and definite threat about not screwing shit up anymore.

Then he disappears.

Dean and Cas are both striken. They talk. "What do we do?" - "What can we do?" etc. etc. I haven't thought about this part in depth, but some sort of plan is made.

Dean caps off the conversation with "We've got work to do"

They head towards the impala. Then,

"Dean?"

Dean turns towards Cas.

"Did you mean it?"

Dean doesn't answer at first.

"It's okay if you didn't," Cas says. And he's sincere. He's got bigger things to be upset about now, after all. "I'd understand."

Dean gets a hard look. He moves towards Cas, grabs him by the lapels, and pulls him close, and when they're close enough to kiss, Dean says,

"We're gonna kill god. And then I'm gonna show you how much I meant it."

End scene. And then I guess Dean and Cas just pop up in the background of the main plot here and there as they chase god through the multi-verse

#spn #destiel #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #deancas #not actually fanfic #this also feels like a variation on Godot ain't got nothin' on me and my baby #and the 'run away with me' speech at the end of Ignite Your Bones #what can i say i have a handful of ideas that i am wed to

[moira-mains-go-to-hell]

Overwatch Women Relationship/ General Headcannons:

These are very specific, but I find them cute.

This is super long, because it’s All. Of. Them. I was going to break them up, but then I forgot, and rolled with it.

No warnings, all sfw.

Ashe

Is very much allergic to pollen.

With that being said she has the loudest damn sneeze

Cannot cook to save her life but makes really good concoctions of stoner type food. That and she is a dip girl. Every woman from the south knows one good dip they can make and it’s been imbued in us since birth. No one else at the party has the same dip either, wonderful how it works really

Widow

Has vintage luggage she uses for long term missions

Sleeps on her back with her arms folded like she is dead just to freak you out.

Hates pressure cookers

D.va

Is really good at Pilates (she took it up instead of physical therapy after her injuries in the cinematic)

Can fold gum wrapper swans

Disassembles her blaster when she is bored just to put it back together again (she times it and keeps the times in a golf notepad)

Junker Queen

Really good at electrical engineering but has only seen YouTube lectures about it on a shitty rebuilt mac

Listens to nickelback unironically

Prefers fruity drinks, but that’s the closest you will get her to eating a god damn fruit

Kiriko

Can and will sit you down to explain the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy

Is a Jojo’s fan. Thinks it’s under appreciated.

Cannot tell you the difference between jams, jellies and preserves.

Moira

Hates chain steakhouses (outback, Texas Roadhouse, ect) Loathes the atmosphere.

Has favorite poisonous plants

Is better than you at Mario kart

Mercy

Is not good at social cues to the point she will put on the complete wrong music for a situation (think Disco Inferno while she is trying to Rez a burn victim levels of bad taste)

“Does not like coffee” but if you make it she will drink from yours

Spins her blaster when she puts it back in its holster

Pharah

Likes shows like “How I Met Your Mother” and “Rules of Engagement”

Wakes you up in the middle of the night to go with her to the dingiest convenience store to acquire the best sandwich of your life

Hates coleslaw

Brigitte

Doesn’t count her reps, only times them with specific tools (a song, a show, a podcast)

Has helped her father defy the Geneva Conventions

Thinks The Grand Canyon is made up (Torb told her as a joke when she was little and has believed it since)

Zarya

Has been to the secret Russian lab where they keep stem cells of every known disease to exist. (It’s a real thing, I think don’t quote me-)

Brings back small rocks from places she goes

Doesn’t like birds

Mei

Snow ball has a built in dance party mode specifically for when she is sad.

Doesn’t like using Amazon

Knows all of “Yakko’s World” and sings it to herself

Tracer

Tries to tip well but doesn’t know the math so she leaves way more than is needed

Has tried to convince Winston to give her a laser beam inside of the accelerator

Wears Velcro for convenience

Ana

When she is able to settle down and stop being on the move, she catches up with reality shows and calls you to tell you about them

Puts little stickers on her little healing vials to make them look friendlier… not that anyone is gonna notice

Doesn’t like to eat breakfast. Just has tea in the morning.

Symettra

Has special pads on her visor because she doesn’t like the way it sits on her face

There is a disco mode in her turrets that she will never tell a soul about

She commits to bits to get you out of trouble without even knowing the full scope of the situation.

Sombra

Sweater thief, but in the worst possible times. If she forgets hers on a mission, she takes yours and dips

Likes those little strawberry grandma candies

As good of a hacker she is, she is absolutely terrible at 1v1 combat games. Mortal Kombat, Smash, Jump Force, you name it. She isn’t winning.

Sojourn

Phone is set to military hours. You never ask her for the time

Does not nap

Makes jokes about her legs. When you compliment her she knocks on the metal and goes “Quads of steel”. She thinks it’s the funniest bit in the world

*bonus* she may be rough around the edges but she is the loudest laugher at a comedy show

#overwatch #ashe overwatch #widowmaker #widowmaker overwatch #elizabeth caledonia ashe #junker queen #junker queen x ashe #dva #d.va overwatch #d.va ow #hana song #aleksandra zaryanova #ow zarya #pharah ow #pharah #mercy ow #mercy overwatch #angela ziegler #tracer #tracer ow #lena oxton #symettra #sombra overwatch #sombra #sojourn #ow sojourn

[fallingrealms16]

Destiel Fic Recs Part 3 !!!

(人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

yes a part 3? omg i just love these ficsss

Salio (to the end) by BekasStrife

96K Words // Chapters: 31/31 // 22K Hits // COMPLETED

//MATURE//

Salio (Latin): To leap, to jump forward. Right after losing Sam to the cage, Dean finds both Bobby and Castiel standing beside him at the cemetery: unharmed. Alive. Both human. As they fight to move on, Dean struggles to fulfill his promise to his brother, while Castiel adapts to what being human means, in all the ways that matter. Will choosing each other be enough? What to do when Chuck comes for them, spurned by vengeance?

2. Love As An Act of Merciful Conquest by dean35111

15K Words // Chapters: 17/? // 4K Hits // UNCOMPLETED

//TEEN AND UP//

In the summer of 2001 Sam leaves Dean his gun and the simple instruction to shoot first. For the first time, Dean is completely alone. The angels pick up on the distress signals of Michael's vessel and send Castiel to protect him in order to ensure the vessel's safety for their upcoming war. But Dean Winchester needs more than someone to protect him. He needs someone to save him and it's Castiel's duty to learn how.

3. People are monsters by Nachsie

7K Words // Chapters: 1/1 // 8K Hits // COMPLETED

//NOT RATED//

Castiel is the only prince in the long line of werewolves, soon to inherit all of his father’s rule. He until then occupies his time as a very known and respectable cop who just so happens to hate the owner of the roadhouse bar. Dean winchester is a human man who cares too much about money and doesn’t cut off his patrons till their card declines. Castiel hates him. Especially since Castiel has to come clean up their mess, and deal with the drunks every night. After one drunken mistake, Castiel accidentally ends up mated to Dean, which is suppose to be IMPOSSIBLE! But if that wasn’t also a problem. Castiel is ALREADY engaged to a female chosen at birth to be his mate. He needs to clean up his mess ASAP. However, the only way he seemed to come up with is...to kill Dean... Easier said than done, when all of Castiel’s plots to murder Dean keep end up with their clothes on the floor.

4. Inmate 241 by Sinwriter

30K Words // Chapters: 21/? // 4K Hits // UNCOMPLETED

//MATURE//

Angry and a bit sad. Blue eyes and slowing steps behind. Family on the outside. Sorry to say we will call you insane. When you tell us about the demons behind your walls.

5. Trope Springs Eternal by VioletHaze

41K Words // Chapters: 8/8 // 34K Hits // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

Dean's in love with Cas. Cas is in love with Dean. That much is obvious to everyone who sees them. But instead of acting on it, these two idiots seem bound and determined to score gold medals in the pining olympics. The staring, the longing, the unresolved sexual tension that's strong enough to combust and engulf the planet…is there anything that can push them out of their safe, cowardly positions? Leaving them to their own devices hasn't worked so maybe it's time to pull out the big guns.

#destiel fanfic recs #destiel fanfiction #destiel #dean and cas #dean x castiel #dean is bi #dean winchester #deancas #castiel #castiel winchester #castiel wings #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #alternate universe #books and literature

[raised-u-fr0m-perdition]

𝖕𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖑𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖕 | 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖓 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 | 1

Summary: “She’s like you’ve been pistolwhipped.” He bit his lip angrily. “Hits you right in the head and makes it spin. I used to hate it. But now? I’ve turned out like every other guy; had one hit of her and… I’m addicted. So yeah, pretty much.”

MASTERLIST

A/N - Second book of the series! Feedback is much appreciated and it’s my fuel, so don’t hesitate to give any constructive criticism and/or feedback!

BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : CYNICAL - EMEI

“Thanks for helping rebuild the roadhouse, sweetie.” Ellen smiled, taking my hand, and I glanced at the tribute to Ash in the centre of the largest wall there. “You’re a real help.”

“No problem.” I replied with a grin. “It’s the least I could do after you agreed to give me a job, especially when...” 

“Remind me to kill him when I next see him.” 

“I’ll do it myself, don’t you worry.” 

“Beer for the gentleman over there.” Jo nodded towards the other end of the bar, and I took the task up, quickly uncapping a beer and sliding it down the table. “So, you broke it off with James?” 

“Sadly.” 

“He was good for you, though. Real salt of the earth.” 

“Nowadays you don’t get salt of the earth, do you?” I chuckled, then went to the next patron. “What can I get you?” 

“Whiskey, sweetheart.” The man smirked. “Neat.” 

“Coming right up.” I poured a glass of whiskey, passing it to him. 

“Wait.” Jo smirked, turning me around. “Is that the corset you used to wear when your parents weren’t around? Y’know, when we’d have nights where we were just managing the roadhouse by ourselves?” The corset she was talking about was black and had hints of lace, while I wore an oversized plaid shirt over it with Jo’s abandoned and faded shorts, cause it always had looked better on me (with mutual agreement. In Jo’s words, ‘I had more legs to show off.’, but all girls are gorgeous in their own right. Jo has a more feminine body than mine.). I’d rolled up the sleeves of the plaid halfway up to my elbows for more practicality, of course, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to work.

“Ivonne Hazel Rainer, you wore things like that while I was gone?” Ellen snapped in her mother tone.

“It was for kicks!” I laughed, putting my hands up in mock surrender. “But I found it and I was like ‘why the hell not’.” 

“I still haven’t forgotten the time you came home with golden hair.” 

“I never will, either, trust me.” Ellen went to serve more patrons, but then Jo gave me a look. “What?” 

“Don’t think I don’t recognise that plaid.” She sighed. “That’s Dean’s.” 

“I didn’t notice.” 

“It reeks of his cologne.” 

“How do you know what it smells like?” 

“Because he’s literally the only one who wears it?” 

“Touché.” I sighed, then cracked open a beer for myself. “He hasn’t contacted me in two months.” 

“You sit back. I’m gonna kill him.”

”Dude.” Sam groaned, lying on the bed. “Bela stole that rabbit’s foot from  us. We need to get it back before I die.” 

“I’m working on it.” Dean snapped from his perch at the table. “But if she doesn’t want to be found, she’ll be damn hard to find.” 

“Then do you know anyone who could?” Dean but his lip, frowning. “Earth to Dean?” 

“Maybe…” He sighed, “definitely… Ivonne Rainer.” 

“Then call her.” 

“We haven’t spoken in two months, and we didn’t exactly end on good terms!” 

“Screw good terms, just do it.” Sam took out his phone, holding it out to Dean without managing to hurt himself. “Call her.”

”She’s not gonna pick up. And we can’t track her, cause the rules with Bela apply to her too.” 

“Call the roadhouse, then. They rebuilt it, and Ellen and Jo might be able to tell where she is.” 

“Ellen probably wants to kill me.” 

“So thank your lucky stars if Jo picks up.” Dean reluctantly took the phone, calling the Roadhouse.

The phone rang, and Jo picked it up while I chatted to a man who had apparently come from Britain. 

What can I say? I’m a sucker for a British accent. 

“So, are you free after your shift, darling?” He asked, white teeth glinting. 

“I could be.” I smirked, leaning forward on the counter. 

“How about I get your number, for starters?” He slid a napkin forward, and I took out a pen just as Jo cleared her throat. “Yeah?” 

“Code Red.” She whispered, and I nodded, turning to the guy with a smile. 

“Rain check on that number?” 

“‘Course, sweetheart.” 

I went over to the phone, winking to Jo as I took it. “Harvelle’s Roadhouse; this is Ivy speaking.” I heard a pause from the other end, so I frowned. “Hey, buddy, I’ve got customers waiting, so speak up before I hang up.” 

There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘Beanie.’

I’ll be damned if I didn’t recognise that voice. 

“Son of a…” I breathed, my hand tightening on the telephone. Remind me to kill Jo, please. “Dean.” 

‘Hey.’ 

“Don’t ‘hey’ me. What do you want?” 

‘Help.’ 

“Yeah, help with what?” 

‘We need to track down a girl named Bela. There’s a cursed rabbits foot that she stole from us, and Sam could die in a week. We need to get it back.’ 

“And you need me to help?” 

‘You’re the best tracker I know.’ 

“Sweet words, Dean. Use ‘em on someone else.” 

‘Please. I don’t care what I have to do to make it up, but help Sammy.’ 

I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes, and I could feel an anticipating silence on the other side. “Call Bobby, get whatever you can on her. I’m coming.” I put down my phone, then turned to the British guy. “Sorry, man, but you’re gonna have to catch me another day. Family troubles.” I held my hand out to Jo, who chucked me the keys to my Mustang. “And you’re in for a hell of a telling off when I come back.” I picked up my wallet, stored my gun in my waistband, put on gloves, saluted to Ash’s portrait and left, getting into my car and flooring it.

Hours later, I pulled up at the motel, getting out of the car and walking up to the room door that Dean had texted, and I knocked sharply. I heard clattering, and a couple of loud curses, then Sam opened the door, a grin appearing on his face when he saw me. 

“Ivy!” He laughed, pulling me into rather a clumsy hug. “Thank god you’re here.” 

“Thank god I’m here, yeah.” I walked in, throwing my satchel down. “This rabbit’s foot better be worth it, cause I just missed a hot date with a British guy-“ I came face to face with Dean, who was stood up and looking at me like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Ivy.” He nodded slightly. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on the red plaid I was wearing with a look in his eyes that I couldn’t place. Then they moved to the corset, then my shorts, and he bit his lip. I fought back a blush, instead staring straight into his eyes with what I hoped was indifference.

“Dean.” I smiled a bit, then got straight to business, taking out a map. “Ok, so, Bela Talbot, born in 1979, shocker, and she’s everyone’s favourite black magic arms dealer. She takes valuable or dangerous items, like cursed objects and the works, selling them to the highest bidder. And the things she sells? Well, they rack up millions. I’ve tracked her scent to this apartment in Queens, but she’ll be booking it tomorrow evening. Best to hit her fast.” 

“How did you figure all this out?” Sam asked, peering at my map. 

“I know how she thinks. Bela and I have been frenemies since we first met on one of my hunts eight years ago. One’s out to destroy the bad and the other to sell it; it’s bound to cause rifts. Now I’m gonna go confront her, get the rabbit’s foot and get back to my job.” 

“And the hot date.” Dean scoffed. 

“And that.”

”With the British guy?” Sam chuckled. 

“What can I say? Girls are suckers for a British accent. As long as it’s not a chav accent, no, I don’t like those.”

Dean and I were walking towards the car after fixing Sam up so he wouldn’t break anything or hurt himself, but I could feel the tension like it burned my skin, especially as we got in the car. 

It actually started to feel claustrophobic after a few hours.

“Ivy, I just wanna-“ 

“This isn’t for you.” I cut in, staring straight ahead. “I’m doing this so Sam won’t die.” 

“And yeah, I’m thankful for that.” 

“Let’s leave it there, then.” 

“Ok.” His hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were turning white, and he looked like he was actively trying to keep his eyes off of me. “How have you been?” 

“As good as I can be.” 

“That’s fair.” 

“Ok.” 

“Can we at least try to talk normally while this is happening?”

”No.” 

“You don’t wanna fix this?” 

“Let’s just get the rabbit’s foot and then do the mushy discussion.” He tried to speak, but I held up a finger as we pulled up. “Capiche?” 

“Fine.” We got out of the car, taking out our guns as we broke into Bela’s room. Dean stuck a post-it note on the wall, and I gave him a look before dragging him back just as Bela came our way, holding a gun. Then she saw the post it note and turned around, spotting Dean. “You left without your tip.” She smirked, drawing her gun with a look I knew all too well. Then I tapped her shoulder with my gun, and she whipped around, gun now trained on me while mine was on her.

“Hi, Bela.” I waved, flicking my safety off. “Long time, no see.” 

“Ivy.” She smiled. “How long’s it been?” 

“One year, give or take.” 

“Long year, especially with your quick trip to tell.” 

“We’re not here to talk about that.” I snapped. “You’re gonna give it back.” 

“Sweetie. No I'm not.”

“It’s cursed, Bela. Lose it and you could die.” 

“You'd be surprised what some people would pay for something like that.” 

“Really?” Dean scoffed. 

“There's a lucrative market out there. A lot of money to be made.” Bela laughed. “You hunters with all those amulets and talismans you use to stop those big bad monsters. Any one of them could put your children's children through college.” 

“So you know the truth, about what's really going on out there, and this is what you decide to do with it? You become a thief?” 

“I procure valuable items for a select clientele.” 

“Yeah. A thief.” 

“No.” She smirked. “A great thief.”

”Bela, Dean’s brother touched the foot.” I reasoned. “And you know how it works.” 

“Take it, then.” Wait for it. “For 1.5 million.” 

“Sure, let me just call my banker.” I scoffed, then held up the rabbit’s foot in a gloved hand. “Or this. You know about my sticky fingers, Bela, you’re used to this by now.” Then I took the gun out of her hand, emptying the clip before running out, Dean following and taking the rabbit’s foot from me. I glared at him, sighing. “You do know that you have to keep that on you at all times, right?” 

“Yep.” He nodded, storing it in his jacket pocket and zipping it up. “I’m aware.” 

“If you lose it, I’m booking, it cause I don’t wanna deal with this.” I gestured to all of him, and he bristled. 

“You just gestured to all of me.” 

“That’s what I mean.” We got in the car, and he started it, driving back to the motel. 

“Where’d the tattoos come from?” 

“One I got seemingly in hell, the other I got about a month ago at a tattoo parlour.” The second was just above my waistband. It looked like this: 

𝖛𝖎𝖙𝖆 / 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖘

“That’s life or death in Latin, right?” 

“You bet.” We stayed in silence for a while, until he spoke up again. 

“Good work with Bela back there.” 

“Thanks.” I found the courage to look at him, and smiled a bit. “You too.” Then I got a call, so I picked it up. “Talk to me.” 

‘Give it back.’ Bela demanded from the other end. 

“Sure, just hand over 1.5 million and we’ll call it quits.” 

‘I hate you.’ 

“Same here.” I grinned. “C’mon, you knew that the Winchesters had me in their arsenal. Why mess with them when you knew I was coming in?” 

‘I wasn’t expecting them to call you of all people.’ 

“Then you didn’t think outside the box. Sorry, Bela, but you know the rules. Finders, keepers, snoozers, losers.” I cut the call, then Dean spotted another tattoo. On my neck. It was the date I went to hell in Roman numerals, but it was mostly hidden by my hair.

“You have a hell of a lot of tattoos.” 

“Yeah? Well, hell does that to you. You’ll see what I mean when you get there.” 

“Don’t be like that.” 

“You know what? I will.” 

We reached the motel, but saw two hunters in there who had tied up Sam. I took my gun back out, and we went up to the door, hearing the last words of the guy. 

“That guy’s named Kubrick. Certified psycho.” I whispered, and Dean took out his gun too.

“It's God, Creedy.” Kubrick smirked, pointing a gun at Sam. “He led us here for one reason. To do His work. This... is destiny.” 

“Nope.” Dean shrugged, both of us entering and cocking our guns. “No destiny. Just a rabbit’s foot.” 

“Put the gun down, you two, or you're gonna be scraping brain off the wall.” 

“Oh, this thing?” Dean smirked. 

“Yeah, that thing.” 

Dean started to put his gun down and so did I, hoping that he had a good plan. “Okay. But you see, there's something about me that you don't know.” He picked up the pen next to his gun. 

“What’s that?” 

“It’s my lucky day.” He threw the pen, and it lodged perfectly into the barrel. The heck?! He laughed loudly, turning to me. “Oh my God, did you see that shot?!” 

“Yeah, I did!” I snapped back, my eyes glowing blue as I swept my hands to the side, taking the gun out of Kubrick’s hands. Creedy launched a punch at Dean, but he sidestepped and Creedy stumbled straight into me, and I took his head, slamming it straight into the wall, knocking him out. Dean picked up the remote, throwing it towards Kubrick and hitting him right in the gap between his eyes, knocking him out immediately. He turned to Sam with a childish grin, amazed by himself. 

“I’m Batman.” He chuckled. 

“Yeah. You're Batman.” Sam grimaced. I took out my knife, cutting him loose and checking him for serious injuries. 

“Ok, Batman,” I sighed, “we need to burn this rabbit’s foot.” 

“All right. Bone ash, cayenne pepper, that should do it.” I thought aloud, then held my hand out for the rabbit’s foot. 

“Hold on a sec.” Dean bit his lip, scratching some lottery tickets as fast as he could. 

Sam groaned. “Dean, you-“ 

“Hey, back off, Jinx. I'm bringing home the bacon.” He then stored the tickets in his jacket, and took out the rabbit’s foot. “All right, say goodbye, ‘wascawy wabbit’.” 

Then a gun cocked. 

“You have to be kidding me.” I sighed, looking up to see Bela holding a gun. 

“I think you'll find that belongs to me. Or, you know, whatever.” She smirked. “Put the foot down, honey.” 

“No. You're not going to shoot anybody.” Dean chuckled. “See, I happen to be able to read people. OK, you're a thief, fine, but you're not—“ Bela shot Sam’s shoulder, and he went down. “Son of a-“ 

“Yeah, you can read people.” I hissed, secretly taking the foot from Dean. 

“Back off, tiger. Back off. You make one more move and I'll pull the trigger.” She pointed it at Sam. “You’ve got the luck, Dean. You, I can’t hit. Him? I can’t miss.” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Dean gasped. “You don't just go around shooting people like that!” 

“Relax. It's a shoulder hit, I can aim. Besides, who here hasn't shot a few people? Put the rabbit's foot on the ground now.” 

“Hey, Bela?” I called out with a grin. 

“What?” 

“Think fast.” I threw the foot at her, and she caught it, the luck transferring to her. Her eyes widened as she turned her gaze on me, and I winked. 

“Damn.” She cursed, and I laughed. 

“So, whaddya say we burn this thing and make sure that all three of you live, hm?” She reluctantly dropped the foot in the fire, rolling her eyes. 

“Thanks very much. I'm out one and a half million, and on the bad side of a very powerful, fairly psychotic buyer.” 

“Wow, I actually don’t feel bad about that. Sam?” Dean smirked. 

“Nope. Not even a little.” Sam agreed. 

“Maybe next time I'll hang you out to dry.” She hummed, leaning on the gravestone next to Dean. 

“Oh, don’t go away angry.” Dean pouted, then straightened his face. “Just go away.” 

“See you another time.” She smirked, then walked off. 

“You guys good?” I asked, checking the foot was ashes before extinguishing the fire. 

“We’ll live.” Sam smiled. “Thanks, Ivy.” 

“Yeah, we owe you one.” Dean nodded. 

“Don’t mention it.” I grinned. 

“I guess we're back to normal now, huh? No good luck, no bad luck. Oh! I forgot we're up $46000. I almost forgot about the... scratch tickets.” Dean checked his jacket, which had no scratch tickets. 

“Bela did a number.” I laughed. “Anyway, I have to get going. Tyler the Englishman awaits.” 

“Or… you could stay.” Sam suggested, stepping forward. “C’mon, we’d be toast without you. Charred bread. The hot date can wait.” 

“Sam-“ 

“Please?” He flashed his puppy eyes, making me frown and close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. 

“Ok, fine.”

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #spn #dean winchester x oc #spn masterlist #dean winchester x you #supernatural oc

[deancaspinefest]

r/Relationships

Author: prosopopeya & marbleflan | Artist: Alexiescherryslurpy Posting on Saturday March 18

I swear I'm a straight dude, kind of a ladies' man if I'm honest. I'm the love 'em and leave 'em type–maybe that's why I never bothered to get my ex gf (37F)'s last name… or her marital status. We were in the middle of a horizontal tango session, if you know what I mean, when her husband (37M, straight??) walks in. I've never looked twice at a man, but he's the most beautiful person I've ever seen, male or female. Even though he met me when I was getting naked with his wife, he never held it against me. They got divorced and somehow he became my best friend. He even let me move in with him when my pipes burst (not a euphemism) and I had nowhere to go. I think I might be in love with him. Is it possible to be straight all your life but gay for just one guy? Sometimes I think he might be into me as well, but then I think it's just 'cause he's kind of a weird dude. When I look at him, it feels like a hurricane inside me, like I'll burst if I don't kiss him. TLDR: Wondering if asking the guy (whose marriage I ruined) out is a good idea.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

"Where did you guys meet again?" "Oh, um. Through work." It's technically not not true... if you follow six degrees of separation rules. "I think you'd like him. He's funny-- Not like, conventionally funny, I guess, but he's got his own kind of sense of humor that kind of catches you off guard." His phone buzzes again, loud against the counter, and Sam cuts his eyes over to look at it. Dean slides it off the counter to slip it into his pocket. "He's going through a divorce," he blurts, which makes Sam raise an eyebrow. "And he's just-- It's an adjustment, you know? He just really needs a friend right now." More true than his previous partial truth; in fact, that statement is objectively a true one, and it's Dean who's having trouble (apparently?) with parts of it. "Do you need to answer him then?" Sam asks, his tone softening, and Dean imperceptibly relaxes. "Oh, no, he's just elbow-deep into Dr. Sexy after I told him to check it out." Sam rolls his eyes again, laughing this time though, and he goes back to his nachos. "Are you sure being friends with you is the right move, if that's what you get him into?" "Come on, it's perfect breakup watching." "It's the TV equivalent of eating a pint of ice cream so I guess you're not wrong. So, are you helping him rebound?" Dean swallows his beer the wrong way and chokes. "What?" "You've been hanging out a lot." They've been out a handful of times at the Roadhouse, and Dean thinks that shouldn't count as a lot. "Not really sure that's where he's at," Dean says, mostly to the nachos. "Anyway, he wouldn't need my help." "No?" Sam prompts, sounding amused. "No way. He's got this approachable sorta hotness, you know, like he doesn't even realize it, and he dresses like a lump so it catches you by surprise." "Are you sure you're not dating him?" Dean's eyes snap up to find Sam smiling, the joke written all over his face, the picture of disbelief that his macho brother could possibly do something like that. "What?" "'Cas is so funny and hot,'" he teases, shaking out his hair. Sometimes, Dean thinks clearest through the panic, and this feels like one of those times when he throws a chip at Sam. "A good wingman knows how to sell," he says, and watches Sam laugh that one off too, leaning back down to eat his food. Dean's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pokes around at his nachos some more, but suddenly nacho night doesn't seem as appetizing as it did before.

 [continue reading on Ao3 on Saturday March 18]

#Destiel Fic #Destiel Art #Destiel Fanworks #DeanCas Fic #DeanCas Art #DeanCas Fanworks #Pinefest Previews #2023 Dean/Cas Pinefest #Author: prosopopeya #Author: marbleflan #Artist: Alexiescherryslurpy #enemies to friends to lovers #bisexual awakening #roommates

[father-salmon]

writing patterns!!

tagged by @honestlydarkprincess thank you, my bean!!

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

(none of these are buddie so there's your disclaimer lmao)

1. God is a Bit of a Freak - Rated E, Meg Masters/Castiel/Dean Winchester

Honestly, if you ask Meg what she gets up to on a general Saturday evening, the answer isn’t what you’d expect. Yes, she’s single, nearly 30, and has… a semi-normal amount of friends. You’d think she’d be with them or on a date or something.

2. What Happens in Oz... - Rated E, Charlie Bradbury/Dorothy Baum

The way Oz works is that it’s every person for themselves. Charlie is learning this very quickly and sooner than she’d like. The body of someone she and Dorothy once considered an ally is now dead on the floor, courtesy of the latter. Blood seeps out on the tufted carpet of Oz’s version of the Men of Letters bunker. What once was the Bravest Cowardly Lion’s fur is now a stained and stepped-over relic of the past. Charlie suppresses the urge to gag. She glances at Dorothy, whose face is hardened with the stink of betrayal that hangs in the room. The air runs thick with it.

3. Holy Ground - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Cas - One Week Before the Wedding 

Coming back to a place you’d long ago given up on, feels a bit… bittersweet. Everything is nearly exactly as it was 15 years ago; the convenience shop on the corner, the church in the center, the Roadhouse. The only thing that has really changed is the people. It’s more or less the same crowd, only with more wrinkles and bigger bellies. The stores are more weather-worn, too – the paint faded on the signs and windows by the same sun that has chapped skin and dulled lined-dried clothes until the whole town seems washed out and pale.

4. enthusiastic consent - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Dean has a shadow. 

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Everyone has a shadow. 

Dean has two though, he’s sure of it. He’s been sure of it since last week when the debilitating feeling of being watched was too much to bear and now he believes it. Because he’s seen the goddamn stalker ! Albeit, handsome stalker but stalker nonetheless.

5. Bedroom Hymns - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

The Impulse Purchase - 2014

Dean didn’t even think twice about clicking the order button on a value pack of men’s panties. If anyone were to look through his search history, he would vehemently deny it but that’s the perk of having his own computer. 6. close encounter of the fourth kind - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Others

To say Dean was abducted is the understatement of the century. 

His ass was literally taken out of his comfy memory foam mattress, shoved into a sac, and brought to… wherever the fuck this is: this Area 51 looking room, that’s for damn sure. 7. The Red Means I Love You - Rated E, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak

An oak tree marks Claire’s first grave. She found it on a whim, adrenaline rushing through her veins trying to find an appropriate burial spot among the woods just behind campus. She dug feverishly until she couldn’t see the ground above her, paranoia growing higher by the minute. It was only when she scrambled back up and dropped the extremely disfigured body of her mother into the ground and covered it up did she feel the relief. That was the only thing she didn’t prepare for. 

8. Butcher's Cut - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Does Dean Winchester have a clue about what he’s doing?

No.

Is that stopping him?

Also no. 

But opening a butcher/sandwich shop in town with his best friend — neither of them having any experience of running a business — may be one of the more stupid ideas he’s ever had. Not that he’s had any good ones but, here he is. 9. baby, it's cold outside - Rated T, Castiel/Dean Winchester

THUMP! 

“Ow—son of a bitch! ”

Castiel whips his head up from where it’s buried in his book to find the source of the sound. 10. nobody cares this is the day i was born - Rated G, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Two days. That’s all he gets. Two days before his birthday, Lisa shoves a birthday card at his chest and tells him she’s breaking up with him and he’s left there with a crumpled gift and a broken heart. Two days. He’s fine. He can cope. Except it’s his birthday in two days and he had planned to spend it with Lisa and now? Well, he’s blown off every other attempt his friends have made to spend his birthday with him, so it’s definitely too late to ask if he can join in on plans they probably made without him. 

--- no pressure tag list!! @underwater-ninja-13 @bigfootsmom @loserdiaz @giddyupbuck @gaylicense @spotsandsocks @devirnis @monsterrae1 @yelenasbuddie @buckaroosheart @snarkythewoecrow @dicklessthewonderclown @bleuzombie @malicmalic @cactusdragon517 @deancodedcastielenby @songliili

#the pattern is that i just throws these guys in situations #no context #just a situation #tag game #salmon writes fics #ao3 #supernatural #destiel #charlie bradbury #dorothy baum #claire novak #kaia nieves #dean winchester #castiel

[freakwiththeknifecollection]

I was tagged by @misscrazyfangirl321 thank you so much girl!!! 💖💖💖 THIS WAS NOT EASY, not just because my url is really long but also certain letters were REALLY hard to find in my playlists lmao

Rules: pick a song for each letter of your URL and tag that many people

"F rom Now On We Are Enemies" - Fall Out Boy

R eady To Go (Get Me Out Of My Mind) - Panic! At The Disco

E lectric Touch (Taylor's Version) (From The Vault) (Feat. Fall Out Boy)

A ll Too Well (10 Minute Version) [Taylor's Version] - Taylor Swift

K ids In The Dark - All Time Low

W e Are Never Ever Getting Back Together - Taylor Swift

I Don't Care - Fall Out Boy

T he Archer - Taylor Swift

H old Me Like A Grudge - Fall Out Boy

T he Last Of The Real Ones - Fall Out Boy

H um Hallelujah - Fall Out Boy

E xile (feat. Bon Iver) - Taylor Swift

K ing Of My Heart - Taylor Swift

N ovacaine - Fall Out Boy

I 've Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth - Fall Out Boy

F orever & Always (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

E nchanted (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

C hampagne Problems - Taylor Swift

O ur Lawyer Made Us Change The Name Of This Song So We Wouldn't Get Sued - Fall Out Boy

L ove From The Other Side - Fall Out Boy

L ove Story - Taylor Swift

E verybody Wants Somebody - Patrick Stump

C an't Fight This Feeling - REO Speedwagon

T he 1 - Taylor Swift

I nvisible String - Taylor Swift

O ut Of The Woods - Taylor Swift

N obody Puts Baby In The Corner - Fall Out Boy

Bonus: 27 by Fall Out Boy because my url is 27 letters

I've been having major brain fog lately so I'm just gonna do my best, please don't be offended if I left you out it's not personal!! It's hard to remember everyone's urls lol. Sorry if you've been tagged in this before!! Tagging: @lumiereandcogsworth @wheelsupin-five @notyourspookygirlfriend @nasatshirts @frecklydork @clarasamelia @uh-ohspaghettio @calliopeos @normalgirlisms @aintmyjewelry @someoneoffthestreet @flugames @heartbreakfeelsogood @bloodydeanwinchester @joharvelles-roadhouse @katya-goncharov @scoobydoodean @envydean @mrcowboydeanwinchester @samsrowena @jacklesbrainworms @only-a-heartbeat-away @eyeofthemoose @lighthouseriots @transfangbenny @coldasyou @butch--dean (also @swinging-stars-from-satellites)

#I DID IT I TAGGED 27 SJFSJGDG #tag games #I mainly listen to fall out boy and taylor swift as you can see #about me #you guys don't know how happy I was that I could put can't fight this feeling and the 1 next to each other!!!! THE CHESTERVELLE ANTHEMS!!!!

[gretavanglimmers]

Jake Kiszka & Female Reader

Chapter Two: Look what you made me do...

Summary: As landlady of the Vagabond Blues, you make all the rules. But there's one you just can't seem to keep with the lead guitarist of your house band. He waits for you every night at closing time. Set in the backdrop of the 80s style Roadhouse bar, Jake is a bad influence. But could he be exactly what you need, too?

Warnings: Alcohol and smoking. Pissed off Jake. Oral male. Dirty talk. Full sex. Violent fucking. Throat grabbing. Bar fighting.

Smoke hung in the air as you extinguished your cigarette. Gentle plumes of white rising up from the ash tray on your desk, the urge to light up another taking hold immediately.

You wanted the numbers to make sense. You wanted the profits to balance. Nervously tapping the edge of your pen against the books, none of the intake matched what should have been coming in. You stared at the pages incredulously, waiting for any of it to start tallying.

A gentle knock on your door gave a welcome reprieve. You threw your pen down, sighing in exasperation and leaned back into your chair. The swamp of papers on your desk blurring into your periphery as your door opened a crack.

"Fuck me or marry me, Josh. I don't have time for anything else." You said, noting the head of curls peering in.

He was Jake's twin brother. Singer of the band. A merry breath of fresh air when compared to his counterpart and somebody you suspected knew about what had been going on after hours. But he'd never dare say, and you'd never take the time to drag it out of him.

"Well, if those are my only two options I guess I'll have to make an honest woman out of you." He replied, slipping in and slumping into the red leather couch opposite. "You wanted to see me?"

You threw him the papers and waited for him to peruse over them. His brow furrowed in concentration, waiting for him to notice the anomaly. Taking the time to roll up another smoke.

"What am I looking at?" He asked, turning the pages over like you'd handed him a bedtime story.

"Fucking underhanded thievery." You replied, exhaling through your nose. "Look at those numbers and tell me I'm not getting fucked."

His lip curled in a smirk that wasn't unlike Jake. But with Josh, there was never any underlying agenda. You liked that about Josh. What you saw with him is precisely what you got.

"You think it's one of the bar staff?" He queried, flipping the pages up and down, "Looks like they're skimming off the top."

"They'll skim my knuckles if I catch them doing it." You hissed, taking a savagely long drag. "I've decided to haul everyone in and see if the snakes reveal themselves."

He raised an eyebrow. "What does this have to do with me?"

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the piles of paper in front of you. Sleeves rolled up and a devilish grin forming on your lips.

"You're in my corner, aren't you? They're scared of me but they'll listen to you."

You knew you had to rule with an iron fist. Any hint of weakness and the chain of command would break. Josh had always been good at fairing any weathers the Vagabond Blues stormed up. His cheery disposition was without confrontation or malice. You needed him.

"I don't know what sort of power you think I have here, Cookie." He shook his head, slipping the papers back onto the edge of the desk. "But it 'aint enough to charm the snakes."

"You underestimate yourself." You assured him, "What other choice do I have? I can't ask Jake."

Josh huffed and extended his arms out on the back of the couch. He knew as well as you did that Jake would lead with his instincts rather than calculating them first.

"You've got your hands full here, boss." He sighed, "Why don't you let me and Sammy take care of it for you?"

You hadn't thought to involve Sammy. He was barely old enough to play there, let alone drink. But he was their little brother and Jake had vouched for his ability to play the bass and keys. You'd been impressed, allowed his youth to be overlooked.

"What's your plan here, Kiszka? Get the scumbags to admit they've been stiffing me and then get little Sammy to show them the door?" You laughed, referring to his age rather than the fact he towered over both of his older brothers.

"You got a better idea? Jake runs around like your personal henchman, they wont expect it from the boy." He suggested, "And besides, the money you'll be saving can be our Christmas bonus."

You rolled your eyes. "Better make sure Danny's working tonight, too. You're going to need all the help you can get."

Danny had always had an air of calm. But in the face of adversity, you'd seen him bring men twice his size crashing down the earth. He was the Vagabond Blues band's drummer, although somewhat unofficially he'd become a little more than that lately. It felt like you were recruiting musicians in covert security positions. In lieu of being able to afford to hire actual security.

Nobody fucked with the band. Without the music, the bar was just a sink hole for drinkers and debauched waifs and strays. People who had nothing better to spend their dime on. The music was what kept them from remembering that sobering truth.

"You worry too much, Cookie." Josh said, pulling the cigarette out from your lips as he stood to leave, stealing a drag before he walked out. "You're a mighty woman, but you're still only one person. You should think about letting the reigns out a little with all this."

You shook your head as he tried to return the cigarette.

"Is that an offer, Joshua?" You asked, intrigued.

He'd been growing out his facial hair lately. Trying something new. It suited him, took him further away from looking like his twin. Not that you'd ever considered that they ever looked quite as identical as they could. There was something about him that would never reflect in the other. And it was why you were having this conversation with Josh, and not Jake.

"I could help you, if it was what you really wanted." He shrugged, taking the cigarette down to the butt before stubbing it out in your now over flowing ash tray. "Legit, of course. I'd want to sign contracts and such."

You lent him a knowing grin. "I'll think about it."

You didn't want to be there at the end of the night. This one wasn't going to be the usual. You anticipated some violent fall out and had been on tenterhooks all night. The regulars poured in early, followed by the rag tag revellers that sought out something a little harder than their usual Saturday affairs. The Vagabond Blues could provide that. It had always been a place for outsiders. Something you'd initially taken on the chin, but not when it effected your profits.

Jake was doing his thing. Like a caged animal unleashed, he was pissed off. You could see it in the way his eyes kept searching you out over at the bar, his lips set in a thin line and his nostrils flared. Pissed because he knew he wasn't going to get his way with you tonight. No doubt he knew what was coming.

But the intervention took precedence. You'd called it a "staff meeting" but it wasn't. It was a finger pointing accusation fuelled witch hunt for the profiteering cunt who had been stealing from you. And you were on a knifes edge about it. Jake being pissed at you was the least of your worries.

"Benny and Savannah are outside."

Lutz was the newest barman you'd hired. Didn't know enough of the ropes to know how to stiff them, yet. He was leaning over the bar, empty glasses in his hand, waiting for your response.

"You tell them no fuckery tonight." You replied, shooting your most stern face over towards the saloon door where they waited. "One step out of line at it's a permanent ban."

Lutz nodded and went to give them the good news. Even though you knew, sooner or later, they'd fall foul of breaking the rules again. They always did.

You couldn't help but swing your suspicions around. Watching everyone's movements like a hawk. Lutz was on the periphery, but not completely out of question. Bonnie was someone you'd be damned to accuse, on account of the fact you'd given her the job as a kindness to her sister who had begged you to help give the poor girl some stability before she went completely off the rails. Jerry was your prime suspect. He'd worked the bar the longest. Practically created the ropes, knew the inventory like the back of his hand. But he was older, why do it now? It didn't make no sense. He'd worked there even before you'd taken it over.

It felt like you couldn't fucking take it anymore. Retreating back to your office, slamming the door shut behind you to muffle out the chaos and pulling out a bottle of rum from your desk drawer as you sank into the old couch and kicked off your boots.

You didn't want to think about the damn place. It was already too late to try and pull the knife out of your back. All you wanted to do was sink into an oblivion where nothing and nobody was your responsibility. Least of all drunks and vagabonds.

You knew it wasn't Josh at the door when the knock came far more aggressively than he would've tapped. You rolled your eyes and sighed heavily into the darkness. You just needed a moment to breathe.

"Not right now!" You called, hoping they'd take the hint.

You hadn't noticed the distinct lack of guitar behind the closed door. So when it opened you were surprised to find your lover standing there. You checked the time on the wall clock in the light from the hall outside, certain there was still a few hours of playing time left.

"I said, not right now." You repeated, leaning your head back to try and stave off the headache that was brewing.

Jake closed the door and plunged the room back into relative darkness. The neon light from the sign outside shining in through the broken blinds on the window.

"If not now, then when?" He demanded, leaning on the edge of your desk with his arms folded.

"I aint your girl right now, Jake." You reminded him. "You're clocked in on playing time, I'm your fucking boss until midnight. Get back out there."

He didn't budge. "The fuck you are. Talking about letting Josh help you out. Letting him take care of shit with Sam and Danny. Like I didn't throw those drunken fools out last weekend."

He had no intention of leaving the room without having this conversation. Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. What was already turning into a tumultuous night seemed to be leaning straight into being one of the worst nights of your life.

"I really don't need this right now, Jake." You huffed, taking a swig straight from the bottle. "I got enough shit from every other fucking employee, I don't need it from you."

You'd never seen him pissed off before. Mildly vexed, perhaps. But not like this. You could see the whites of his eyes and the way his breathing was short. He would back you into a corner, regardless of what you said.

"This isn't about anyone else." He said bluntly, " This is about you and me. And the fact you wont let me fucking help you, even though you know... don't you?"

You rolled your eyes. "Know, what?"

You'd kicked the hornets nest, now. He stood up and curled his fists until his knuckles were white. His mouth trembling on words he knew he couldn't take back if he let them spill out.

"You're a fucking bitch, Cookie." He snorted, "If you can't see what's under your fucking nose. As if I'd wait for you every damn night just for a casual fuck. It aint about that. I want to see you home safe."

He softened a little. Like admitting it had taken all his strength. And even though you just wanted to be alone, you could feel him reeling you in like he always did. In ways you couldn't see, or smell, or taste. That were completely invisible other than you felt it and always let it take you.

"You know what I need right now, Jake?" You relented, patting the side of the couch next to you. "I need to forget that I run this fucking shit show. I need to forget that it fucking exists. I need to sit here and drink this rum and pretend there's nothing outside this god damn room."

Whatever magnetic force had brought you together in the first place drew him towards you. He was covered in sweat, his shirt saturated and his neck had a glistening sheen as he passed the light of the window.

"There's no happy ending for me, Jake." You whispered in the dark as he sank into the space beside you. "When are you gonna start getting it?"

His jaw was clenched. Half of his face shrouded as he regarded you. You were laid back, bottle in hand. On the verge of crying, but you could never seem to let the tears fall.

"You're full of shit, Cookie." He placed a well meaning hand on your knee. "You're not broken, you don't need fucking saving. Least of all by my fucking brother."

He would've taken anyone else over Josh being the one to step in and save the day. You could see the way it boiled his blood. The way he wanted to be the one to come to your aid.

"You know damn well it's got absolutely nothing to do with me." You explained, slamming the bottle down on the floor and rising to meet his gaze. "Josh doesn't give a fuck about me. He wants a contract, all legit. He's not doing it as a favour. He's gonna take care of the books for me and make sure nothing else goes missing. It's not a security detail, he's not taking people out by the scuff of their necks like you do."

"No, that's what Danny's for." He was adamant, reducing you to a cold and hard silence that you couldn't argue with.

"Why does it matter to you, Jake?" You questioned, "You're paid to play the blues. So play the fucking blues."

You leaned back down and retrieved your bottle. He didn't move. Sat there eyeing you as you tried not to spill the rum down your cleavage.

"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are when you're like this?"

You almost choked on it. Coughing on it and sitting back up just to clear your airway of what he'd said.

"You want in on the action? It's out there, not in here."

You could've talked at a brick wall and gotten more sense out of it. He could hear you, but he wasn't listening. And a part of you didn't want him to, anyway. The part of you that needed something to take the edge off where the rum simply wasn't doing the job.

"I beg to differ." He whispered, "Look what you made me do..."

He held your gaze as he took the bottle out of your hand. You swallowed hard. He shuffled closer. Placing your palm against the twitching bulge beneath his jeans.

"You feel that? It's all for you, Cookie. It's always for you."

You weren't sure if you preferred it when he was pissed off. When you could be angry with him and not have to pretend that you weren't falling for him.

"Oh, so now you're not even waiting until closing time?" You wondered, letting it happen regardless.

You could have fought it. But your mood was so low that you didn't want the stinkin' bar anymore. Let it run into the ground. Jake was offering you a way out. Let them knock on the door and see what he does to you after hours.

"Are you going to argue with me about it?" He asked, raising a speculative eyebrow.

"I should." You replied breathily, letting the space between the two of you inch closer. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are barging in here and barking orders at me. Questioning my authority."

His mouth stilled close to yours. Teasing breath from each other, wondering who would be the first to allow their tongue to betray them. Your hand was deftly squeezing his bulge, making him hum onto your lips.

"I just....oh, fuck. I just want to..." He stuttered, letting you keep him close as you slipped his zipper down. "Damn it, Cookie... I just want to keep you safe is all..."

"Mmm'hmmm." You murmured, pulling him out fully hard and pulsating. "I'm a big girl, Jake. I got it covered."

He shoved himself into your palm. Thrusting without mercy or apology, letting you grip him so tight he gasped. And he felt so damn good. There was a rush of moisture to your core, a visceral need to have him as your subordinate.

"You gonna let me have my way?" You asked, snaking your body down until your knees were pressed against the edge of the couch with his thighs on either side of you.

"Looks like you already are." He allowed, freeing himself completely as he watched you in the neon light from outside. "Take what you need, Cookie."

He understood.

As you licked circles around his tip, he gathered up your hair into his fist. You could taste the salt of his pre-cum already, in steady droplets that formed as you swept your tongue across his little slit of an opening. Once he had you in his grasp, you sank his end into your mouth and began sucking on it like a lollypop. Letting his head ride against the wave of your tongue. Listening to him breathe so much deeper, huffing out groans that were getting louder and louder.

"Your mouth feels so fucking good." He told you, in strangled words that came out more like he was struggling for breath. "What the fuck has gotten into you tonight?"

You were done talking about it, thinking about it. Whatever was happening out there wasn't important. The way his cock felt was your focus. The way he stared down at you, the way his jaw was slack. The way his stomach moved up and down as he fought for breath.

"You, Jake."

For a moment he was incredulous. In disbelief that you'd allowed such a sentiment to escape. So were you, holding his cock in your hand as you waited for him to say something that would absolve you of the emotional little slip.

"You wanna slow it down a little bit?" He asked, the corner of his mouth turning upward. "Light a candle or something?"

He was playing with you. Softly, but in a way that made you giggle involuntarily. You fucking hated it, whenever he drew from you things which you weren't prepared to give.

"Why don't you do what you do best and talk me through it, huh?"

You busied yourself with sucking him off. Sinking him back into the depths of your mouth. Rolling your tongue over his head, swirling up and down his shaft. Jerking him off as you swallowed, lifting the underside up so that you could paint a stripe from tip to the curve of his balls.

"You're suckin' that so good I can't...fuck... got me all speechless here, Cookie."

"Distract me." You suggested, his cock resting in the pouch of your cheek as you spoke.

He choked out a deep breath. Tightening the grip on your hair as your head bobbed up and down.

"Ok...ok.... I want you to imagine me bending you over the pool table. I'll get down and eat your ass, stick my tongue right into your little pussy hole... Slap my cock against it and slip into it deep and slow. Just how you like it. Fuck with your nipples a little bit, tug on them while you get fucked. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You hummed your approval against his balls. Sucking them into your mouth, letting your tongue slide all over them, your hand keeping him hard and solid. You could picture it in your mind. The empty bar, just you and him like it always was. You were fucking saturated.

"Fill you up with my cum and fuck it back into you. Watch it spill out of your tight little cunt. Oh god, Cookie...I can't hold on."

You spread your knees apart. Fighting to free yourself. Your spit was dripping down his big, thick shaft. You watched it pool with his pre-cum as you practically clawed at your panties. He ate you up as you straddled him on the couch, looking up at you like you were a fucking unicorn.

Nobody had ever looked at you like you were a mythical creature before. Like you were this beautiful, unattainable thing he wanted nothing more than to possess even if it was just for a fleeting moment. He just wanted to own your essence.

Would it be so bad if you let him?

"Sssshhhh..." He placed a finger to your lips, poised to let him penetrate. "You hear that?"

All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, throbbing from your head right down to the tip of your hard clit.

"I don't hear anything." You replied dismissively, gripping his base as you lined him up.

He grabbed your hips. "Yeah, exactly."

The silence was deafening as you impaled yourself on him. Bouncing hard, feeling him stretch you mercilessly as you fought for release.

The music had stopped.

"Cum in me, Jake." You demanded, feeling the tide of climax reach for shore. "Cum so fucking hard in me, baby."

What other choice did he have? You were an animal. Determined to fuck him with all the pent up frustration that was threatening to strangle you otherwise. Taking fists of his hair and pulling his head back, kissing him with your tongue so deep into his mouth you could taste what he had for breakfast.

When he couldn't take it any more, he wrapped a cautious hand around your neck and held you steady. Thrusting upwards, violent and so hard you almost lost balance.

"You want me to cum in this pretty little pussy?"

You nodded vacantly.

"Yeah, you do." He whispered viciously, taking away every thread of stress and anxiety that weaved through your nervous system. "You better wear those panties after, want you walking around the place filled with it."

The music had stopped. Above the white noise of your heavy breathing and the blood rushing to your head, you couldn't hear much else. Jake pounded into you until it felt like your mortal coil might spin right off and leave you dead for the sake of a mind blowing orgasm.

You could feel it when he came. The heat and the wetness. And the way he lingered with his tongue at your mouth until you were brutally finished. Sweat drenched and satisfied as he fell back into the couch and let you go.

"Did you realise the music had stopped?" You asked, hastily pulling up your underwear as you climbed off.

Jake ran a palm down the length of his face. "Yeah? The fuck did you think I was going to do, though?"

When the music stopped it only meant one thing. Carnage. And even though he was reluctant, Jake rapidly dressed and followed you out of the office and back into the bar.

You were still trying to straighten yourself out as you walked into the middle of a brawl. Not just a two man show of ego, either. You could already see the blood on the floor, mingled with beer and whiskey. Your muscles felt weightless as you tried to intervene, your body entirely ruined by what you'd just done.

"Break it up!" You screamed, yanking on collars and hair, never quite sure who you were reaching for.

Your previous calm dissipated into fear as you realised you were out of your depth. Crying out for him in the middle of it all. Feeling yourself being jostled and pulled in all directions, slipping on blood and fists flying.

All of a sudden the air shifted from your lungs. You felt yourself being pulled back, everything moving too quickly for your to properly respond. Chairs and tables were being used as weapons. All of it ruined. Everything you'd worked your ass to the bone for.

"Cookie, what the fuck were you thinking?!"

Jake was holding you back. The heat of his body still smelled like the sex you'd just had as he held you close.

"You gotta make them stop, Jake! I can't!" You begged, knowing there and then that you were at the end of the line.

He left you there on the side lines. Distraught and helpless. You watched him disappear into the fray. Terrified, perhaps, for the first time in your life for someone else's safety. You'd never cared much about the fights that had happened there before. It felt like not much really mattered as long as he walked out of it in one piece.

"Just fucking stop!!!" You yelled, certain no one could hear.

All you could do was stand there. And watch. And hope. You could see Danny pummel someone to the ground. Young Sammy was covered in cuts and bruises forming already. You could see the regular fist swingers in there, no doubt nothing to do with the initial cause but they sure did love to pack a punch regardless. Josh was in there too, fighting for breath as he fought off swing after swing.

Where was Jake? You couldn't see him anymore.

.

.

.

Chapter Three: Look at me, Don't look at him... *Coming Soon

@takenbythemadness @writingcold @velveteencatch @scoreofinfantryvines @edgingthedarkness @lyndz2names @jakesmustache @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @thewritingbeforesunrise @itsafullmoon @klarxtr @myownparadise96 @lipstickitty

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #gvf #josh kiszka #jake gvf #gvf fanfiction #greta van smut #fanfic #sam kiszka #greta van fleet fic #jake kiszka x reader

[songliili]

writing patterns!!

tagged by @father-salmon, merci mon coeur!

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

i don't even have 10 fics posted, literally. i'm gonna take two from my wips cause one of the posted is a collection of drabbles and i don't think that qualifies.

from oldest to newest, let's go.

you should floss more | T, Castiel/Dean Winchester, 15k

The thing is. Dean Winchester is not a teenager who doesn’t know how to act in front of hot people. He’s 32 and his reputation as a player says otherwise. He’s pretty smooth (most of the time), it comes with knowing his charming points and having no qualms in using them with women and men alike. In his younger years he liked to say he had a big heart and his mission was to give some love to as many people as possible. But once his 30s approached he started thinking it was time to settle down and he slowly stopped picking up people at dive bars, much to Sam’s relief.

You're a witch, Dean-o! | T, Castiel/Dean Winchester, 7k

When Dean is 25, a couple of things happen. The first one is, obviously, his birthday party: a full blown party organized by Mary and Ellen at the Roadhouse. The whole family is there and they have the time of their life. Dean even manages to convince Lisa to go home with him, which he's got nothing to complain about.

the great dean court off | M, Castiel/Dean Winchester, 21.5k

Of all the things Dean Wichester expected to find when he came back from the bathroom break, a folded piece of paper with ‘hey, if you’re not gay, my friend thinks you’re cute. here’s her number 316-557-9608 (and if you’re gay, here’s mine 316-997-2018)’ written on, was not it. Hell, he almost expected to not find his laptop.

I Had Some Time (With You) | E, Castiel/Dean Winchester, 23.9k

It's 2005 when things go to hell. Well. They go to hell for everyone except Dean, ‘cause he was ready for it. You see, Dean Winchester is a grumpy 36 year old paranoid bastard who spent a) the first 27 years of his life keeping up with his doomsday prepper of a father, until the bastard kicked the bucket in ‘96; b) his whole adult life running Chitaqua’s Survival Camp, that his father had started; and c) the last five years building the perfect apocalypse bunker in one of the cabins of said camp.

we all have a hunger | E, Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, 22.9k

Alex Claremont-Diaz, for all intents and purposes, is a smart person. He aced high school, he aced college, and he aced law school. He knows he is smart, and if that wasn’t enough, Nora once confirmed it. Sure, she also said that he’s just as dumb when it comes to, y’know, being perceptive, but beggars can’t be choosers; and actually, that doesn’t count because Nora was just getting back at Alex for not realizing she was dating his sister and they weren’t just best friends.

Fill My Stocking | E, Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, 22.9k

It’s silly, Henry thinks, that Alex is convinced of not being an open book for him by now. They’ve been together for three years, four if you count the one they spent as long distance friends with benefits, and Henry knows him and his tells pretty extensively. Alex’s media face might be blank and unknowable for other people, but not for Henry, who knows him and all his facets.

we started at the end | E, Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, ???

Henry’s alarm rings, as expected, at 8am on December 21st and, as usual, Henry blindly reaches for his phone to turn it off and then roll back to sleep, until his next alarm in ten minutes. Though, this time, there is a difference in his morning routine.

your body is the Sistine Chapel |  T, Castiel/Dean Winchester, 3.7k

The first tattoo Dean Winchester gets is an ugly stick-and-poke with one of his 'friends' from the school he's been at for two months. They're sixteen and Ryan has an uncle with a tattoo shop, so he steals some ink, a couple of needles, and they spend the afternoon hiding behind the school gym giving each other shitty tattoos.

bro, you're fucking hung! | E, Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, 3k

n💖💜💙 @hollerinn514 · Jan 20 oh my fucking god alex and henry are having an argument on who would top if they were a couple i shit you not alex just said “i think my dick is bigger so i'd top” i just know henry's face went fire engine red

can i ask you a question? | ??? (it's probably gonna be E, let's be honest), Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, ???

“Henry!” Henry’s head shoots up as he hears his name in Bea’s melodic voice, and smiles, closing the distance between him and his older sister. 

alright this is all i have. you can clearly see that the first four had a thing going on and it was fully intentional. i think i realised when i was writing You're a witch, Dean-o! then idk, i think i just didn't remember. i would've kept it up if i did, i would've found a way to make things work in the new fics as well. but it is what it is. maybe i'll go back to it one day!

---

no pressure random tags: @leojfitz @happiness-of-the-pursuit @read-and-write- @gayrootvegetable @littlemisskittentoes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @firenati0n @nocoastposts @wordsofhoneydew @cactusdragon517 @rockyroadkylers @kiwiana-writes @user-anakin @inexplicablymine @anincompletelist and whoever else wants to play this game!!

#songliili writes #tag game #the patter was there #it got lost #rwrb #destiel #firstprince #fanfic

[thekillingmoonmoon]

welcome...

about

moon. she/her. over 25 and sick of it. academic. writer. creator. public menace. alucard's queen of the night. kishibe's best babygirl. chosoyuki's sweet thing. higunana's darling. employee at the @underratedcharactercorner

rules

minors do not interact. at all. ever. if you hate it, don't read it. don't make your problems my problem. all characters are aged up over 21. age in bio when you follow else i will block you.

ao3

taglist

fandoms and characters i write for currently

jjk: toji, choso, nanami, yuki, yuta, maki, higuruma, mei, gojo and geto (only when the gods will it) csm: kishibe hellsing: alucard and integra tr: hanma shuji

current works

roadhouse blues // a third secret thing

jujutsu kaisen

chainsaw man

tokyo revengers

fire force

jujutsu kaisen

born to die au (toji x reader) future starts slow (band!choso x reader) roadhouse blues (bikergang au)

chainsaw man

cinnamon girl (sugar daddy!kishibe x reader)

tokyo revengers

the city (toman timeskip!hanma x reader)

unholy (jjk and tr)

#killingmoonmoon masterlist #killingmoonmoon main masterlist #killingmoonmoon admin

[ldyinthewxll]

like for a starter or two from one of the following muses. (specify in replies or it will be random)

all of these muses are oc’s/muses based on the wb/cw show supernatural

abigail ‘abby’ thatcher. late twenties-early thirties, hunter/bartender, bisexual, switch.[abby’s father was a hunter and friends with william harvelle, abby grew up in the hunter life and eventually she ended up as a hunter herself, abby works at harvelle’s roadhouse she likes to keep to herself.]

alden pruit late thirties-early forties, hunter, heteroflexible, switch.[alden parents were killed by a ghost when he was young, no one ever believed alden about what he said had happened to his parents and at some point he agreed that he was probably crazy, however when he was in his early twenties alden met a hunter who was hunting the ghost who killed his parents, and everything alden had been told he was crazy about was confirmed to be true.]

lennox hearst late thirties(1000+), demon, pansexual, switch.[lennox is a thousand year old demon, he is cruel and sadistic, he does however have a soft spot for children and animals. lennox had multiple crossroad demons that work for him, while craving power and chaos, lennox has no interest in ruling the world or any sort of apocalypse.]

harper becket late twenties(100+), crossroads demon, pansexual, switch. [harper’s real name is not known, harper becket is the name of the name of her host. harper is extremely manipulative and twisted, as she takes pleasure in not only trapping people in deals, but when she collects on the debt as well. harper’s vessel is only in her late thirties, but harper herself is well over a hundred. harper works for lennox, but she craves power and wants to overthrow him.]

#//i will do these tonight after i get caught up on drafts #—{ldyinthewxll} starters;🖤 #indie rp #indie supernatural rp #indie smut roleplay #indie roleplay #indie smut rp #indie kink rp #indie oc rp #indie rp starter #supernatural rp #supernatural roleplay